Читать книгу Racing Against the Clock - Lori Wilde - Страница 9

“Are you hungry?” Tyler asked as they left the hospital in his silver BMW.

It was either early or late, depending upon your definition. The parking lot lay half-empty. The sky was dark and the street lamps exuded a fuzzy golden glow. Hannah had crashed her car around dusk, now it was after midnight.

“Famished,” she admitted and pressed a palm to her belly. She hadn’t eaten all day. Between the terror of fleeing Daycon’s men, living through a smashup and experiencing a miraculous healing, she was ready for a down-to-earth activity like supper.

Besides, eating might take her mind of this unexpected twist of sexual desire building at a brushfire pace between she and the good doctor. Being in the car alone with him was causing her to think some very unseemly thoughts. She kept getting a flash of what he might taste like. Warm and sweet, she decided. And deliciously sinful. Like Death By Chocolate dessert.

You’re just famished. Knock off the fantasy.

“How are you feeling otherwise?” Tyler fretted. “No nausea, no headaches, no dizziness?”

“I’m fine except I could eat a hippopotamus.”

“How about a hamburger instead?” He chuckled and pulled through a drive-through fast-food joint.

“Is this your idea of healthy eating, Doctor?” she teased, surprised at her own levity. The truth was, she felt good. Damned good. Happy to be alive and, if she dared to confess it, excited. For the first time since fleeing Daycon’s burned-out laboratories, Hannah had hope.

“Normally,” Tyler said, “I recommend healthier fare. But considering what you’ve been through you need the protein and a little fat won’t hurt you, either.”

She was usually conscientious about what she ate, preferring fruits and vegetables to meat and bread but her mouth watered at the thought of a thick, juicy hamburger. Sometimes junk food was exactly what the doctor ordered.

And what a doctor he was! Tall and lean but muscular. With a dark, brooding quality beneath his professional demeanor. A quality that issued a call to her own sense of isolation.

Stop this, Hannah. Stop it right now. No good can come of your sudden infatuation.

She knew better, and yet she could not stop sending him surreptitious glances over the rim of her thick chocolate milk shake.

Within minutes they were traveling south outside of Houston, the comforting smell of mustard and onions filling the car. After she had polished off the hamburger and the milk shake, she wiped her hands on a paper napkin, sighed her pleasure and leaned back against the leather seat.

What elegance. What style. The car perfectly fit the man. She must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, Tyler was pulling the BMW into the driveway of a dark, silent beach house.

There was no light, save for the full moon overhead and the illumination from the headlight beams. Sitting up, Hannah rubbed her eyes and rolled down the window. The scent of salt air mingled with the sound of the ocean lapping against the shore.

“This is it,” he said, coming around to help her out.

Her body had grown stiff during the hour-long drive from the city to the Gulf of Mexico. Stretching, Hannah suppressed a yawn.

Tyler reached to take her arm but she tensed and rejected his extended hand. He shrugged nonchalantly, but evidently she’d wounded his pride. She wanted to tell him it was nothing personal but how could she explain that she didn’t like to be touched? Particularly by strangers.

Growing up without much physical affection had caused her to crave a larger than average personal space. She needed distance. Her parents had taught her it was rude and presumptuous to press herself upon people. As a result, she often felt awkward whenever someone touched her. She didn’t even care to shake hands.

As for kissing, well, that had proven to be a nightmare the few times she’d tried it. Hannah supposed her less than enthusiastic response to swapping spit was the main reason she’d had a string of first dates but never a steady boyfriend.

And yet, some small part of her desperately wanted Dr. Fresno to kiss her.

She knew she was an oddball. Her parents’ negative view of romantic love had colored her outlook. Doctors Eric and Beverly Zachary had been friends and colleagues and little more. They had prided themselves on avoiding the trap of useless emotions in favor of a marriage based on mutual respect. They had even encouraged Hannah to make an emotionless match herself. When they had met Marcus Halpren, they had been hopeful she would choose him as her life mate. He had an IQ of two hundred and ten, and even though Marcus had been interested in her, Hannah had been unable to bring herself to ruin their friendship with a business merger. Although she liked and respected her colleague, she had never been attracted to him. A passionless marriage might have been enough for her parents. It wasn’t enough for her. She’d rather remain single.

In college, her roommates had extolled the joys of sex in vivid detail. Hannah had even attempted the act herself but after one or two groping sessions in the back seat of some guy’s car, she had come to the conclusion that one, sex was noisy, sweaty and not worth the bother and two, she was in the minority in her opinion.

“This way,” Tyler said, leading her up the path to the two-story frame structure built on stilts.

She could see sand dunes beyond, and the ocean shimmering in the distance. It had been such a long time since she’d been to the seaside. The water called to her, pulled at something deep inside her solar plexus. The tide was so elemental, so basic, at once temporary yet enduringly permanent. She was tired of her complex life and had a sudden desperate need for the simple fundamentals.

Food. Water. Love. Not knowing where that last thought came from, Hannah moved toward the ocean.

“Where are you going?”

“Can we take a walk along the beach?” she asked, desperate to clear her head. His proximity was disconcerting. The smell of his woodsy aftershave mingled with the scent of the ocean, creating a powerful draw inside her. A draw she must deny.

Tyler arched his eyebrows at her request. “Sure, if you feel up to it.”

Without waiting for him, she trailed over the shifting sand toward the beckoning waves. She needed to put distance between them, needed to get some perspective on what she was feeling. She’d never been this physically attracted to a man before and she didn’t know how to handle her body’s purely feminine response. Particularly when she could not act on her feelings. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Jane,” he said, and it took Hannah a minute to realize he was speaking to her. “I know that’s not your real name, but I don’t know what else to call you.”

Hannah turned and saw him silhouetted in the moonlight, regal as a mythical knight. His handsomeness took her breath. He possessed an elegant self-assurance and a natural patience. In that instant, she almost told him her name but fear for his safety stopped her. The less he knew about her, the better for both of them.

Wistfully, she thought back to her childhood when her first-grade teacher had read the story of Cinderella to the class. Until that time, Hannah had never heard the tale. Her parents, disdainful of fiction in general and fairy tales in particular, had read only nature stories and biographies for entertainment. Of course, like any little girl, she had been enthralled with the notion of Prince Charming. Excited, she had rushed home to tell her mother what she had learned. Her mother had burst her bubble, telling her that fairy tales were utter nonsense written for silly fools. Then she had pulled Hannah out of public school.

The memory lingered. She wondered why her mother had been so opposed to the romantic story. Now, looking at Tyler, Hannah recalled the joy she had experienced upon hearing that story her first and only time.

What was the matter with her? Why was she thinking these crazy romantic notions when her mind should be consumed by thoughts of Virusall?

“Jane will do fine,” she said, and wished she could tell him her real name. She would have loved to hear him whisper “Hannah” in his low, sexy voice.

“I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be on my way in the morning.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “Listen, you’ve been very sweet and I really appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’ve got to be straight with you. I don’t ‘do’ people well.”

He cocked his head. The moonlight caught his eyes and they glinted with a dangerous light. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

“I’m a loner. I have a hard time with small talk.”

“And?”

“I snore.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you make a terrible house guest?” He gave her a look that raised goose bumps on her arms. What was it about him that drove her hormones insane? Was this what they called chemistry? It felt wonderful and wild and scary and out of control. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. But she loved it.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”

“Don’t worry. I live in the city. The beach house is yours.”

“I won’t be here long,” she reiterated.

“Stay as long as you need.” Tyler stepped closer and Hannah felt both fearful and thrilled that he might try to touch her again, but he didn’t. Discombobulated, she glanced away.

“Let’s walk,” she said and started down the beach.

The chilly night wind whipped the thin scrubs around her legs, sliced through her car coat and snatched at her curls. She took a deep breath. It was good to feel cold. She savored being alive with a handsome man by her side. A man she liked more than she had any right to.

These feelings were deadly. She had to be on her way as soon as she got a good’s night sleep. For both their sakes. Because she could tell by the expression on his face he was feeling the same powerful push-pull of attraction that was grabbing at her chest.

“I haven’t been to the beach house since summer. It’s probably pretty musty inside. Salt water takes its toll.”

Hannah nodded. Silence elongated between them, increasing their awkwardness with each other.

“Are you married?” she asked at last.

“No. Are you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, then she remembered she was suppose to have lost her memory. “I don’t think so,” she hedged. “I don’t remember.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure your amnesia is temporary. It’s not uncommon in the aftermath of an accident. Spontaneous memory usually returns in a few hours to a few days.”

Fresh guilt swept over her. The more she lied to him, the worse she felt.

“I was married once,” he said quietly. “A long time ago.”

The water lapped at their feet. The moon shone down. She could almost palpate his uneasiness.

“You never remarried?” She angled a sideways glance at him. His face was cast in shadows, his jaw ridged.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Divorced?” she asked, startled to find her throat thick with an unnamed emotion.

“Widowed.”

Then he stopped, turned his back on her and stared out to sea, letting Hannah know the subject was closed. He had loved his wife a great deal, she realized. So much that he still found it hard to talk about her. The knowledge stirred a longing deep within her. Would anyone ever love her with such intensity? Better question, would she even live to see the end of the week?

Not for the first time, she wondered why Tyler had offered her sanctuary. She shivered and hugged herself. If she hadn’t been desperate she would never have accepted his offer.

“You’re cold.”

He slipped off his heavy jacket and draped it gently around her shoulders. He held himself stiffly, making sure he didn’t touch her. He was as discombobulated by their attraction and apparently did not welcome it anymore than she did. That was good. If they both kept their distance everything would be all right.

The jacket smelled of him. Of hamburgers and hospitals, soap and antiseptic. She couldn’t help herself. She found the scent very comforting.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go to the house.”

She stumbled in the sand, almost lost her balance. He reached out to take her hand, but she hung back.

“Does touching me make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“I just don’t want you to fall, but if you’re uncomfortable, I understand.” He dropped his hand and seemed relieved she didn’t need him.

“I’m fine.” But then she stumbled again, belying her statement.

He reached out again. “Come on. Take my hand.”

Tentatively, she reached out and slid her hand into his.

Holding his hand was awkward at first. She couldn’t deny it. It was as if she didn’t belong in this place and had no business touching this man as they walked along in silence under the crescent moon.

His hand was smooth and firm. He held her loosely so she could easily break free if she chose. Hannah liked that. He was offering his support with no expectations. He simply wanted to keep her from falling.

Palm trees swayed. Leaves rustled. The water whispered as it rolled forward, and then slithered back. Near their feet sea creatures scuttled for safety across the sand.

The bond between them grew. Her hand tingled with a warm glow that increased the longer Tyler held on. Her heart filled with heated syrup. Her mind spun. She felt as if she were falling from a high precipice into a bottomless abyss.

Hannah had never experienced anything to equal the sensation. Her pulse quickened. What did it mean? So many strange things had happened to her over the last few hours that she couldn’t unravel the implications.

It means nothing. It couldn’t mean anything. She could not act on this attraction. She couldn’t trust it. Even if she wasn’t on the run. Even if her life wasn’t in danger. She simply didn’t know how to please a man. She’d spent her life in a lab. She had no idea how to flirt or wear makeup. Had not a clue what turned men on. And most of all, she had no idea how to open her heart to love. And a man as special as Tyler deserved a feminine woman who could give him her all. Especially after he’d been so scarred by life.

So what was she supposed to do about this vibrant electric current running between them?

“Do you feel it?” Tyler asked, his voice a low rumble invading her ears.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“My hand’s melting into yours.”

“Flowing,” she said, articulating the word that leapt to her head.

“It’s so hot. As if you have a fever.”

“I don’t.”

“What does it mean?” Tyler asked, stopping just short of the house and drawing her into the moonlight. His eyes searched her face. “Tell me, Jane, what’s going on?”

Had he guessed that she was lying about her amnesia?

“I can’t. Not now. Not yet.”

“But soon?”

She shook her head. “It’s safer if you don’t know.”

He raised their joined hands above their heads. “We’re connected, you and I, whether we like it or not.”

Fear vaulted through Hannah. What he said was true. She felt it. He felt it. And the feeling was almost as terrifying as the knowledge that Daycon and a renegade CIA agent were planning on using her miracle drug as a deadly weapon in a foreign country.

“No,” she denied.

She could not be united with this man. She was in this alone. Only Marcus Halpren could help her. Only her ex-partner would understand what was at stake. Tyler was an innocent bystander, sucked by his big heart into something he could not comprehend. She would not allow him to wade any deeper.

With a twist, she jerked her hand from his. It felt as if her arm had wrenched from its socket.

Panic descended upon her. An anxiety so sharp in its intensity she was left breathless. Her chest refused to expand to full capacity. She yanked in small swallows of air and sweat beaded her brow.

“Jane!” he cried.

She dropped to her knees, sand filling her penny loafers. Hannah clasped her hand over her chest and tried to speak, to tell him she was all right, but the words would not come. How could she say she was fine when she obviously was not?

A roaring noise sounded in her ears. Her vision blurred and her stomach burned.

What was happening?

A reaction to Virusall?

Hannah knew the drug was volatile, unstable and had some serious side effects, but she couldn’t tell Tyler about it.

Without hesitation, he bent and scooped her into his arms. “I knew something like this was going to happen,” he muttered under his breath. “I knew that you weren’t well.”

Her chest still encompassed by an invisible band that squeezed tighter with each inhalation, Hannah leaned her head against Tyler’s shoulder. Even though she weighed only a hundred and twelve pounds, he was much stronger than she had anticipated. For a lean man, he was quite stout. He carried her as if she weighed no more than thistledown, holding her aloft as he stalked up the stairs toward the house.

If Hannah had thought holding hands with this man had been an earthshaking experience, it was nothing compared to what zinged through her body now.

Desire.

Quick and hot.

Never had she wanted any man the way she wanted this one. Suddenly, the woman who disliked being touched, who hated being kissed, could think of nothing but this man’s lips upon hers, his hands tracing a brush fire across her body.

What would he do if she were to kiss his cheek? Why was she thinking like this? She wasn’t the sort of woman who fell willy-nilly into relationships. She was cautious, practical, sensible.

Maybe she had a head injury from the accident. Or perhaps she was shell-shocked. She longed to cling to the explanation but she feared her attraction to this man was due to much more than trauma.

And yet, she had waited all her life to feel like this, had waited for someone to unlock her passion. No matter what her parents had told her, deep down inside Hannah had secretly believed in the Cinderella fable. She had hoped against hope that it was true.

Now that she felt these unfamiliar stirrings, she was terrified. This couldn’t be happening. Not at this juncture in her life. Not with so much at stake. Not with her future so uncertain. Not when she could drag him down with her.

She clung to Tyler’s neck, tossed helplessly by her emotions, more frightened of what she was feeling than the increasing tightness twisting through her chest. Were the two connected? Her emotions and her physical distress?

Tyler sat her on the porch, then reached into the pocket of his scrub pants for the key, keeping one arm curled around her waist.

The door sprang open at his touch. He reached inside, fumbling for the lights. They came on with blinding brightness. Hannah shielded her eyes with her forearm.

Picking her up again, he then hurried inside and kicked the door closed with his foot.

He was right. The house did smell musty. She crinkled her nose against the odor of mildew. Her head ached. The living room furniture was covered with sheets that made it appear like squat, silent ghosts.

Carefully, he deposited her on the sofa, and then disappeared into another part of the house. He returned seconds later with a small black medical bag. He popped an old-fashioned glass thermometer under her tongue and strapped a blood-pressure cuff around her right arm. Hannah peered up at him. His eyes were so filled with concern she experienced an unexpected urge to cry. She was not given to displays of emotion and she fought against the tears.

His bare arm brushed her hand and she lost her breath. She stared at him, unable to look away. He compelled her in a way nothing, beyond her work, ever had.

The green of his scrub suit contrasted nicely with his tanned complexion and straight white teeth. Most people looked blah and shapeless in scrubs, but Tyler Fresno looked astonishing. The cotton scrub top lightly grazed his chest, coyly hinting at the streamlined muscles lurking under the material. Even though he was slim, the man was built like the Rock of Gibraltar.

She felt herself blush. The heat burned her cheeks. What was this? She never blushed. She’d been trained to be passionless, clinical, in control of her emotions.

Disassociate. Disconnect. Disengage. But her favorite mental chant failed to stop the alien sensations from tumbling over her.

His prying fingers were strong yet tender as he examined her. He raised her scrub top, exposing her chest, slipped a stethoscope into his ears and placed the cold bell against her rib cage, his warm hand skimming over her skin. She closed her eyes and battled the hot yearning sensation that surged through her. She ached for him to drop that stethoscope and cup her breasts in his palms.

Why? She had never hungered for anyone’s touch.

Tyler told her to take several deep breaths and then cough. Avoiding his eyes, she did as he asked.

He took her blood pressure, then removed the thermometer from her mouth and held it up to the light. “Temp and BP are normal,” he proclaimed, his relief unmistakable. “Your breath sounds are clear. How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“That’s good.” He lowered her scrub top and patted her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t know what happened back there on the beach. Or why I collapsed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he soothed. “You’ve had a rough day. I think it’s past time that you got some sleep. Give me a few minutes and I’ll put sheets on the bed in the guest room.”

Hannah nodded. She was so touched by his kind heart she couldn’t speak. A few minutes later, he returned to lead her upstairs and into the guest bedroom.

The room contained a canopied bed, a white wicker chair and a full-length mirror. There was a dressing table with a round-faced clock sitting on it and a small a.m./f.m. radio. Plain white curtains hung at the windows and several pastoral photographs of the beach adorned the walls. It was an understated but elegant room. Had his late wife decorated it?

Her own domestic genes were nonexistent. She’d been a scientist for so long she had no idea how to simply be a woman.

“You can wear one of my T-shirts,” Tyler said, tugging her from her disturbing reverie and handing her a white cotton T-shirt.

She thanked him and when he left the room a forlorn emptiness overcame her. She pressed his cotton shirt to her nose and breathed deeply. It smelled nice and she was surprised to discover the scent comforted her. She took off the borrowed hospital scrubs and pulled the T-shirt over her head. It came to her knees, hugging her in a cloth embrace. Startled, she realized she had never worn a man’s garment before.

Hannah tried to sleep but her mind whirled. She closed her eyes and willed her disturbed thoughts away. She dozed for a while, but then the nightmares came. Vivid ugly dreams in which she relived the car crash again and again. Above it all, she kept seeing Lionel Daycon’s cruel twisted face laughing at her.

At five o’clock, she jerked awake to the sound of rain hitting the window. Her chest tightness returned along with her labored breathing. She had an awful premonition that something terrible had happened to Marcus. She had to speak to him. Now. He should be home at this hour. It was 4:00 a.m. in New Mexico and although she would probably wake him, she didn’t care. She had to know he was safe, plus, she was desperate to get his opinion about the bizarre things that had been happening to her.

Easing out of bed, she tiptoed downstairs, running her hand along the wall to guide her. In the strange house, she was lost and found herself stumbling through the living room before realizing she didn’t know where the telephone was located.

Her pulse rate increased. She padded through another room and skipped her fingers along the wall searching for the light plate. Eventually, she found it and flicked the switch, bathing the kitchen in a fluorescent gleam.

It was a nice kitchen. Open, airy, done in blues and yellows, with a wide picture window that looked out over the ocean. She paused a few moments to get her bearings. Cocking her head she listened for sounds of movement upstairs and prayed she hadn’t awakened Tyler. She didn’t want him involved in this.

A phone was mounted on the wall over the bar. Relief poured through her, and she grasped for the receiver. Sitting down on a bar stool, she punched in the number of her telephone calling card with trembling fingers.

An automated voice came on the line telling her the calling card number was no longer valid. Certain that she had punched the number in wrong, Hannah hung up and tried again.

The same monotone recording greeted her ears.

Damn! Daycon Laboratories issued her calling card and Daycon had probably canceled it the minute she’d left Austin. He had not been idle in the hours she was infirm. She wondered if he could somehow trace her through the card. Terrified at the prospect, she slammed down the phone. She regretted the company phone card, corporate bank account and car they’d leased for her.

Oh, no, what if Daycon had frozen her checking account, as well? A sharp pain rippled through Hannah’s chest, then disappeared.

Don’t panic, calm down, think. What next?

She couldn’t risk dialing direct and having Marcus’s phone number appear on Tyler’s telephone bill. She would call collect. Hannah dialed again and gave her name to an automated operator. Nervously she drummed her fingers on the counter.

“Hello,” a sleepy male replied.

Relief shot through her, and she unclenched her fists. Marcus was safe.

“Hannah?” he said once the call had been patched through. “Is that you?”

“Listen Marcus, listen to me very carefully—you’re in grave danger.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something very strange is happening,” she whispered. “It’s about Virusall.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The drug is amazing. Much more effective than we guessed. It eradicates every virus I’ve tested it on. HIV, Ebola, hepatitis, influenza, even the common cold.”

“You’re kidding! That’s world-changing news.”

“I know, but wait, here’s the bad part. There are serious side effects. Everyone with type O blood that took the drug during the clinical trials eventually had psychotic breaks. They all became extremely violent.”

“But only people with type O blood?”

“As far as we know. The effects seem permanent.”

“My God, Hannah, that’s catastrophic.”

“It gets worse.”

“How much worse can it get?”

“I went to Daycon with my findings.”

“That unscrupulous bastard.” There was no love lost between Marcus and Daycon. “What did he do? Try and doctor the clinical trials?”

“He’s more unscrupulous than you ever dreamed.”

“Tell me.”

“I found out he was attempting to sell Virusall to overseas terrorists. He wants to create made-to-order assassins.” She gripped the receiver hard.

“Did you call the police?”

“I couldn’t.” She lowered her voice. Paranoia had her thinking Tyler’s phone was tapped, even though she knew it wasn’t possible. “He has a rogue CIA agent making the contacts for him.”

“Hannah!”

“I knew I had to destroy the drug but I also knew I had to find an antidote for those poor test subjects. I packed up a few samples, e-mailed an encrypted version of the formula to you and then I torched Daycon Laboratories to the ground. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. The fire was all over the news.”

“I don’t even have a television up here, Hannah, and I haven’t checked my e-mail in a few days.”

“That’s why you’re in danger. If Daycon even suspects I sent you the formula…” She let her words trail off. “You’ve got to download it, put it in a safe place and then eradicate that e-mail.”

“I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, where are you?”

The tender note of concern in his voice almost had her losing her control. She had to stay calm and not give herself away. While Tyler’s phone probably wasn’t bugged, Marcus’s definitely could be.

“I’m safe for now. It’s better if you don’t know where I am, but I’ll be headed in your direction as soon as I can.”

“You sound odd. Is there something else you’re not telling me?” he coaxed. Her old friend knew her too well. She was trying to be brave, but it was so tempting to let down her guard just a bit with someone she trusted.

“Daycon’s men found me.” She gulped, then briefly told him about the accident.

“My God, Hannah, are you okay?”

“Marcus, I’m really scared. Some very bizarre things have been happening to my body.” Gingerly, she reached down to rub the leg that had been fractured and then traced her fingers over the right-upper quadrant of her abdomen. “And I think it was because the vials of Virusall broke during the accident and burned my skin.”

“The drug is toxic?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly? Talk to me. I want to help.”

Deciding to tell him everything, Hannah took a deep breath and related her suspicions that absorbing Virusall through her skin had cured her injuries.

“That’s amazing,” he said.

“But how would it be possible?”

“You said the drug was very unstable and that it did have miraculous healing properties.”

“We’re talking spontaneous regeneration here, Marcus. It’s the stuff of science fiction. And nothing of this magnitude occurred during the clinical trials.”

“Did any of the test subjects have AB negative blood like you do?”

“No, but would my blood type actually make that big a difference?”

“Look what Virusall did to the people with type O.”

“I can’t believe it’s simply the drug and my blood type responsible for my healing. There’s got to be something more.”

Marcus’s tone dropped an octave. “I know what it is.”

Her heart thundered. She couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation. The discussion flew in the face of rational scientific evidence, but she could not deny what was happening to her.

“What?” she whispered, bracing herself for his theory.

“Remember when we were experimenting with radioisotopes last summer?” he said. “And there was a radiation leak at the lab? Daycon hadn’t installed the proper safety ventilation and we both got sick.”

“But he assured us the exposure was minimal. We were even tested for chromosomal changes and we came up clean.”

“And you believed him? You’ve already learned how ruthless he is. The man would lie about anything to serve his own nefarious purposes.”

Hannah sucked in air as the reality of the situation hit her. Inexplicable as it seemed, with the triple combination of her rare blood type, the topical absorption of Virusall and her recent exposure to radiation, she’d become her own human guinea pig. While the womanly part of her was horrified at the realization, the clinician in her recognized what an amazing opportunity she’d been given.

“But, Marcus, what does it all mean?” she cried.

And that was when the line went dead.