Читать книгу Release - Jo Leigh - Страница 7

ONE WEEK FROM THE day Seth started working at the clinic, Harper realized it had been a really bad idea. Although each morning he dutifully put on his face mask, as he liked to call the three pieces of painted silicone that changed his features just enough, by the time he got to work, he was in such a foul mood that no one dared get close enough to recognize him. Yes, she understood that it was difficult for him. And, yes, he should have been out saving the world instead of cleaning up puke. But still. He was scaring the patients. And the doctors. All except Karen.

Every time Harper saw the two of them together, at least one of them was smiling. Mostly Karen, but sometimes Seth, so what the hell was that about? The last time he’d smiled in the house was…well, not recently.

They drove home together, and while it only lasted about ten minutes, it could be pretty tense. Then Seth would hit the shower, change into clean jeans and a T-shirt no matter that it was usually freezing because she didn’t want to heat an empty house, then head down to the basement. She’d pretty much given up on asking him if he wanted to join her for dinner.

Sometimes, just for spite, she hid the cheese so he couldn’t make his damn sandwiches. He just ate peanut butter and jelly. Some meal for a man trying to heal.

But the truly weird thing was the looks he gave her. No, it wasn’t looks, it was just the one.

She refocused on the chart in front of her. The patient was twenty-two years old, a young woman who was bright, confident and had the whole world at her feet. And she was HIV-positive. Her ex-boyfriend didn’t like condoms. Of course, the girl hadn’t known then that he was a cheating bastard. Instead she’d thought he was just like the great-looking guys in the movies, in the magazines. How could a hunk like him catch a disease? That didn’t happen, right?

Harper wrote the scrips for the appropriate drug cocktail, hoping this girl would be one of the lucky ones.

Then came the next chart and the next, and when she finally looked around her office, it was almost seven. She usually left around six, so how come Seth hadn’t come by to see where she was?

She stood and stretched her neck and back, wishing she could justify the expense of a massage, but her wages here were laughable. Which was okay, she supposed, because a doctor in this town couldn’t get more low-profile. The good part about working at the clinic was her hours with patients. The bad part was writing all the grants and the fund-raising to keep the place going. Combining the two kept her busy. Kept her from thinking about the mess she was in. For the most part, at least.

She put her stethoscope in her top drawer, then headed for the doctors’ lounge, which was more like a big closet with chairs and a coffeemaker than a lounge one would find at a private clinic. But Seth wasn’t there. After a quick chat with one of the volunteer doctors, she checked out the reception desk, the offices, the supply room. He was nowhere to be found and no one had seen him.

Karen had probably taken him home. Harper couldn’t imagine Seth being so stupid as to take her to their house, so it had to be Karen’s. But he was wearing the latex on his face, which would surely come off when they got down to it.

Goddamn him. What kind of a bonehead would let sex endanger his very life? The lives of all of them? Yeah, it had been a while, but so what? She wasn’t getting any either, and he didn’t see her lifting her skirt for the first decent pair of trousers to walk by. Karen wasn’t even that great a physician. So she’d smiled at him, big deal. Who wouldn’t? He was a really great-looking man. Especially now, with his hair down around his collar. A woman would have to be blind not to notice his muscles. Every time he mopped the floors, Harper caught some woman staring at his back. Or his butt.

On the other hand, maybe getting laid was just what he needed. Let him get his aggressions out on Karen. Then maybe he’d stop being such a pain.

She headed back to her office, her thoughts stubbornly staying on Seth and his muscles, despite three attempts to stop it. He was like a bad song in her head, playing over and over. No, he was more of a sore tooth. Yeah, Seth the toothache.

The thought made her grin, but that froze on her face the second she stepped into her office. Seth hadn’t gone home with Karen after all. He was standing by her filing cabinet, glaring her way.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Me?” she asked. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I had to take the trash out back. I thought…”

“That I’d gone home without you? Don’t be silly.”

He tugged his baseball cap lower down his forehead. “Fine. I’ll wait in the car.”

“Don’t bother, I’m ready. I just need my purse.” She hurried by him, pissed that he was pissed. Embarrassed that she’d gone straight to the gutter. Besides, he wouldn’t sleep with Karen. He liked being miserable too much.

She got her keys out as she walked by him again, and her shoulder brushed his. Brushed, not hit, but he stepped back, his mouth open, his eyes big. It hadn’t even been his left arm. “Come on,” she said. “I couldn’t have hurt you.”

His face turned crimson and he practically ran out of the office. She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened. She must have done something to set him off, but hell if she knew what. It was worse than dealing with a teenager. And, frankly, she had too many real concerns to worry about Seth’s weirdness.

CORKY BAKER HAD A problem, and from what he could see, it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Sitting in the traffic jam known as the 405 gave him too much time to think. To worry. Ever since he’d listened to Vince Yarrow and Nate Pratchett, he’d been hip-deep in lies, some so outrageous that only the government itself had the balls to go there.

He wondered for the hundredth time what the hell he was doing. He loved his job at the L.A. Times. He loved being an investigative journalist. He just wasn’t crazy about being a walking target. The more he found out about Omicron, the clearer it became that there was, in fact, a conspiracy. Could he prove it? Not yet. But he would. If, that is, he lived long enough.

He’d become almost as paranoid as Vince and his friends. His notes were coded, with copies in his safe-deposit box. He kept his associates and his editors pretty much in the dark. He’d sent his wife and son out of the state, although he was beginning to think that wasn’t far enough.

A smart man would leave it alone. Hell, he’d done more than he should have by exposing the cache of nerve gas in the paper and on national television. It sure hadn’t taken Omicron long to turn that around. Senator Raines had stepped right up to the plate and named the Delta Force men as the people responsible. The official story had holes all over it, but he couldn’t get a soul to go on the record. Nobody wanted to touch this, not in the military, not in Washington. They all ducked when they saw him coming. Not that he wasn’t used to that, but these people, all of them connected in some way to Omicron and the CIA, had let him know in not-so-subtle ways that if he continued to poke around there would be consequences.

Well, screw them. Corky Baker might not believe in much, but he did believe in a free press.

He advanced another few feet on the freeway, then stopped again. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed the small tape recorder he kept there. Without looking, he hit Record. “Tell Eli to come to the house in the morning to talk about the interview with George Page.” He clicked the machine off, then on again as he thought of one more thing. “Ask N about the lead chemist in Kosovo.”

This time he put the tape recorder back on the seat. He inched his way along the freeway as his thoughts turned to Pulitzer prizes and big damn paychecks. All he had to do was stay alive. Shouldn’t be all that hard. He was a public figure. People would ask too many questions. He’d live, and those Omicron bastards would go down in flames. In fact, he’d be the one to light the first match.

SETH WAITED UNTIL Harper was done in the kitchen before he made his ham-and-cheese sandwich. Not only did he not want her to see how much trouble he had with the knife, with the mayonnaise, with every goddamn thing in the kitchen, but being anywhere near her was getting more and more difficult.

It wasn’t just his dreams anymore. The woman haunted him in the daytime now, too. Even when she was in the next room, in the same room, his thoughts went places they had no business going.

He’d tried to talk himself out of it. He had a million reasons not to want her, but his body wouldn’t listen. He didn’t even have the excuse that she was the only woman around. Not anymore. It was even conceivable that the other doctor, Karen, was interested in him. Probably for the novelty of sleeping with a cripple. But what did he care? He should go for it. Ask her out. It wasn’t natural for a man to go this long without sex. No wonder he was going insane.

He got two pieces of whole-wheat out of the bag, then did up the twist tie with his teeth. The mayo jar went under his left arm to hold it steady while he unscrewed the cap. Then he had to put the cap down, take the jar in his right hand and put that down. Get the knife, shove the bread up next to the plate so it would stay steady, then spread each side slowly and carefully. Once that was done, he went through the whole under-the-arm procedure again just to close the damn thing.

It all took too long and felt too awkward, and he didn’t see how he could go through the rest of his life like this.

To add injury to insult, his hand hurt like hell. The left one. He knew it wasn’t there, but still, it hurt. A lot. All he wanted to do was rub it, right in the center of his palm. If he could do that, it would be fine—the cramp, if that’s what it was, would be gone and he would stop thinking about it—but there was no hand to rub. It was just a pain that followed him around like a shadow. Oh, sometimes it itched in addition to the ache, and that was even worse. Harper said it would get better as time went on. Which was fine except every single day felt like it went on forever, so when, exactly, were things going to improve?

It probably would have been okay if it was the only pain he couldn’t assuage. But there was this other thing, this hormonal thing that was probably a result of the amputation, although no one talked about it. It had to be some kind of chemical misfire that made him want her like this. As if he couldn’t breathe until he was inside her. As if she was the magic that would take his pain away.

He opened the pack of honey-baked ham with his teeth, then slipped out a few slices. Good thing he had teeth or he’d have been up the creek. Now if he could only figure out a convenient way to unzip his fly….

“I’m having some ice cream. Oh, you’re not done.”

He spun around, and the plastic bag of ham went flying out of his mouth. It hit the floor and slid, half the ham spilling on the linoleum as it went. Instantly he was so angry he could barely see, his eyes blurred behind a veil of red mist.

The only thing that penetrated was her laughter.

His fist curled into a ball so tight he could feel his short fingernails cut into his palm. His heart beat fast, pounding against his ribs. And Harper thought it was hilarious.

He wanted to hurt her. To grab her by her shoulders and shake her. She had no right. No business. She was a doctor, for God’s sake. She should know. But she didn’t. She didn’t understand, and that wasn’t fair because it was all her fault. She’d stolen his hand, taken it from him when he was too weak to stop her. Bitch. She’d ripped him apart, and her laughter sounded like a Klaxon in the quiet old house, bouncing off the high ceiling and the big plate-glass windows. Christ, he was so angry he couldn’t see. And he was getting hard at her laughter. What the hell was happening to him?

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. But, really, it was perfect.”

He needed to get out, to go down to his basement, but she was standing in the way. He didn’t dare touch her. He wasn’t sure what he would do—hurt her or kiss her or…

“Come on, Seth. Where’s your sense of humor? Even you have to see that was funny.”

He saw no such thing. Not when she was in her robe. The material tight against her breasts, curved into her waist. The hollow at the base of her neck pale and delicate. He could imagine the smell of her, the clean womanly scent that made him ache every time she came close.

She walked toward him and he stiffened, panic constricting his throat. He had to get out, to leave before it got even worse, but he couldn’t pass her. So he turned away, forced himself to walk to the front door. Then he was outside and the cold wind slapped him in the face.

He went down the six stairs to the crumbling walkway and the torn sidewalk. He went left, no reason. He walked on unsteady legs and kept walking until he got his feet under him and then he walked until the thickness in his pants went away. But the ache, the wound where he wanted her like air, wouldn’t leave him. Not for blocks or miles.

HARPER GAVE UP WAITING for him an hour after he’d stormed out. She’d been a moron, which wasn’t like her. Of course he’d been humiliated by the whole thing. He hated it when she walked in on him making his sandwich. Hated her to see him struggle. And she’d laughed.

It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he didn’t come back at all. He’d probably rather sleep in a cardboard box than face her again.

She left the front window and headed to the kitchen, where she put her old kettle on the stove. What she really wanted was a good stiff drink, but she’d settle for tea. If she didn’t have to work tomorrow…But she did. And so did Seth, so wherever he was, he needed to get his act together before seven.

This was not working out the way she’d hoped. She had to smile at the understatement. When she thought about how he’d looked at her…she wasn’t sure if he’d wanted to kill her or take her to bed.

It was that look of his, the one that had confused her for months, only about a hundred times stronger.

What was it with him? She got out her tea collection and went for the chamomile. That and the nice clover honey would at least cut the chill from her bones.

He hadn’t even grabbed his coat. So he was out there without his prosthetic, wearing nothing more than a T-shirt and jeans. If he had the brains God gave a post, he’d at least find himself a nice, warm bar.

She waited until the kettle sang, then poured herself a mug, which she took over to the kitchen table. Curling her leg underneath her, she sipped the hot tea, then pulled the phone close. It took her a minute to remember the number, but it was there, memorized out of necessity. She dialed, and after five rings Kate answered.

“Hi,” Harper said, wishing there was another way. “Do you think you could take Seth for a while?”

NATE WATCHED TAMARA as she peered over her half-glasses, reading test results from her latest run on the antidote. He supposed he could have brought Kate with him again on this supply run, but selfishly he wanted to spend time with Tam alone.

She was close, damn close. She’d managed to take most of the notes from the lab in Serbia when they’d escaped and use them to recreate the serum, but what she hadn’t gotten was a method of dispensing the antidote that would work effectively. Right now the only way to be safe was to have the serum injected, but that wouldn’t work if the gas were let loose in the center of a big factory or over an entire village. So she continued to work, alone, in the underground lab that was too cold and too impersonal to be anything but a prison.

“Come out to dinner with me,” he said.

She took off her glasses and stared at him in disbelief. God, her eyes were great. Slightly Asian, they were full of intelligence and innocence at the same time. “Have you been sniffing the vials again?”

He jumped down from the counter and walked closer to her, close enough to see the little tendrils of dark hair that had come loose from her tight ponytail. She was in jeans, T-shirt and lab coat, but even the coat and the glasses wouldn’t convince a stranger that she was a brilliant chemist.

He’d be the first to admit that he hadn’t been around many scientists in his life. His line of work lent itself more toward dictators and mercenaries. But he knew that Tam was not someone he’d have picked to be the brains of the operation. Like most sexist-pig men, he’d have pegged her as the saucy secretary or the babe on the payroll because she’d slept with the boss.

She’d disabused him of that notion the day they’d met.

“I’m not sniffing anything. You’ve been cooped up down here for too long. You need to get out. Have a beer. Laugh a little.”

“I’m too close, Nate. I’m not going to take any chances now.”

“I’m not asking you if you want to fly to Paris, Tam. Dinner. Even you have to eat.”

“I eat just fine.”

“MREs. Frozen dinners. That’s no way to live.”

“I’ll live when I have the disbursement system ready to go.”

He wanted to argue, but it was useless. She was an incredibly stubborn woman, and since he’d known her, she’d gotten her way in every single dispute. Except for that first one. She’d wanted to stay, convinced the government would be crazy to destroy the only hopes of an antidote to the nerve gas. In truth, it hadn’t been him who’d persuaded her. The first bomb had done that.

“How come Kate didn’t come with you?”

“She’s working on the ledgers from Kosovo. It’s coming along, but slowly. She can only work on it at night. She’s got that waitress gig at the IHOP.”

Tam put down her clipboard and leaned against a large cabinet full of test results. “She likes this cop Vince, huh?”

“He’s a good guy. He’s been a real help since Seth was shot.”

“How is Seth?”

Nate rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble of another ten-hour workday. “Physically he’s improving, but he’s still in a major depression.”

“That’s only to be expected.”

“It’s still tough. The guy’s been in the service since he got out of college. And he was in the ROTC before that. All he knows is fighting.”

“They’re doing amazing things with prosthetics now. In a few years, he’ll be able to do almost anything he could with his real hand. He just needs to be patient.”

“Patient? Seth? Not gonna happen.”

“He has no choice, though, does he?”

“You’re right about that. I just feel bad for the guy.”

“I feel bad for all of us.” Her head went down and she sighed loudly. “I’m so tired. I just want my life back, you know? I want to go to a movie. I want to sleep late and go on dates and shop for shoes. But every time I try to slack off, this major wave of guilt hits me. What if they use the weapon today? What if a village is massacred while I’m watching TV?”

“You can only do what you can do. One step at a time. But it’s important for you to take some breaks. This pace is going to kill you.”

“I exercise on the treadmill. I take vitamins. I’m fine.”

“You’re pale as a ghost. You need to get outside more.”

“It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“I wasn’t just talking about tonight.”

“Soon. I promise.” She sighed.

“Do you need anything else?”

“A team of graduate students would be nice.”

“Anything I can get you?”

“No,” she said, smiling just a bit.

“That’s a good look on you.”

She frowned, looking down at her lab coat. “This?”

“The smile.”

“Sweet but unnecessary. I’m fine. I’m not going completely nuts yet. And, as I’ve mentioned, I’m close.”

He nodded, getting the hint. “Fine. I’m out of here. But don’t be surprised to see me Friday.”

“I’ll have to remember to look at a calendar.”

“Do that.” He touched her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s not all going to go to hell if you have a nice dinner.”

“Sweet man, it’s already gone to hell.”

He couldn’t argue with that.