Читать книгу Her Hard To Resist Husband - Tina Beckett, Tina Beckett - Страница 9

SHE’D FORGOTTEN NOTHING.

And she’d tried to see about getting a divorce, but being overseas made everything a hundred times more complicated. Both of the Brazilian lawyers she’d contacted had said that as an American citizen, she should return to the States and start the proceedings there, as she and Ben had been married in New York. But asking him to accompany her had been out of the question. Even if he’d been willing, she wasn’t. She hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near him, too raw from everything that had transpired in the month before she’d left Teresina—and him—for ever.

Staying married probably hadn’t been the wisest move on her part but she’d thrown herself into her work afterwards, far too busy with Projeto Vida, her aid organization’s floating clinic, to set the ugly wheels in motion. Besides, a wedding ring tended to scare away any man who ventured too close. Not that there’d been many. Her caution-do-not-touch vibes must be coming through loud and clear. She’d never get married again—to anyone—so keeping her wedding ring and her license made keeping that promise a whole lot easier.

Too bad she hadn’t remembered to take the ring off before asking Ben for help.

She realized he was still waiting for a response so she lifted her chin, praying he wouldn’t notice the slight tremble. “We’re not married any more. Not by any stretch of the imagination. You made sure of that.”

“Right.” Ben turned away and gathered a few more pieces of equipment.

Her thumb instinctively rubbed back and forth across the ring, a gesture she’d found oddly comforting during some of the tougher periods of her life—like now.

Strange how most of those times had found her wearing surgical gloves.

Studying Ben as he worked, Tracy was surprised by the slight dusting of grey in his thick brown hair. She gave herself a mental shake. The man was thirty-eight, and she hadn’t set eyes on him in four years. Change was inevitable. What hadn’t changed, however, were the electric blue eyes, compliments of his American mother, or how they provided the perfect counterpoint for tanned skin, high cheekbones and a straight, autocratic nose—all legacies from his Brazilian father. Neither had he lost any of that intense focus she’d once found so intimidating.

And irresistible.

Snap out of it, Tracy.

She donned the scrubs, booties and surgical gear Ben had left out for her and moved into the glassed-in cubicle where he was busy setting up.

“Close the door, please, so I can seal it off.”

“Seal it off?” Swallowing hard, she hesitated then did as he asked.

“Just with this.” He held up a roll of clear packing tape. “Is your claustrophobia going to be a problem?”

She hoped not, but feeling trapped had always set off a rolling sense of panic that could quickly snowball if she wasn’t careful. It didn’t matter whether the confinement was physical or emotional, the fear was the same. Glancing through the door to the reception area, she noted the exit to the outside world was plainly visible even from where she stood. “As long as I know there’s a door right through there, I should be fine. The room being made of glass helps.”

“Good.”

Ben taped the edges of the door, before removing the insulated bag from the fridge and examining the labels on each tube inside. Selecting two of them, he put the rest back in cold storage.

“What do you want me to do?” Tracy asked.

“Set up some slides. We’re going to work our way from simple to complex.”

He turned one of the tubes to the side and read her label out loud. “Daniel, male, twelve years.” He paused. “Living?”

“Yes.” Her heart twisted when she thought of the preteen boy staring at her with terrified eyes. But at least he was alive. As was his younger sister Cleo. Their mother, however, hadn’t been so lucky. Hers had been one of the first bodies they’d found in the village. “Febrile. No skin lesions visible.”

“Signs of pneumonia?”

“Not yet, which is why this seemed so strange. Most of the dead had complained to relatives of coughs along with fever and malaise.”

“Liver enlargement in the dead?”

She swallowed. “No autopsies, remember? The military destroyed everything.” Her voice cracked.

Ben’s gloved hand covered hers, and even through the layers of latex the familiar warmth of his touch comforted her in a way no one else ever could. “Why don’t you get those slides ready, while I set up the centrifuge?”

Glad to have something to take her mind off the horrific scene she and Pedro had stumbled on in São João dos Rios, she pulled several clean slides from the box and spread them across the table. Then, carefully taking the cotton swab from Ben’s outstretched hand, she smeared a thin layer of material on the smooth glass surface. “What are you looking for?”

“Anything. Everything.” The tense muscle in his jaw made her wonder if he already had a theory. “You’ll need to heat-set the slides as you smear them.”

He lit a small burner and showed her how to pass the slide across the flame to dry it and affix the specimen to the glass.

The sound of a throat clearing in the outer doorway made them both look up. Their guard cupped his hands over his mouth and said in a loud voice, “Your assistant has arrived safely at her home.”

Ben flashed a thumbs-up sign. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Tracy’s fingers tensed on the slide at the mention of Ben’s assistant, which was ridiculous. Yes, the woman had kissed him, but Brazilians kissed everyone—it was a kind of unspoken rule in these parts. Besides, the woman had a family. A new baby.

Her throat tightened, a sense of loss sweeping over her. Ben had wanted children so badly. So had she. When she’d fallen pregnant, they’d both been elated. Until she’d had a devastating piece of news that had set her back on her heels. She’d thrown herself into her work, angering Ben, even as she’d tried to figure out a way to tell him.

That had all changed when he’d sent the military in to force her out of a stricken village during a yellow fever outbreak. She knew he’d been trying to protect her and the baby—not from the disease itself, as she’d already been vaccinated the previous year, but from anything that had taken her out of his sight. She hadn’t need protecting, though. She’d needed to work. It had been her lifeline in a time of turmoil and confusion, and his interference had damaged her trust. She’d miscarried a week later, and the rift that had opened between them during their disagreement over the military had grown deeper, with accusations flying fast and furious on both sides.

In the end she’d opted to keep her secret to herself. Telling him would have changed nothing, not when she’d already decided to leave.

Work was still her number-one priority. Still her lifeline. And she needed to get her mind back on what she was doing.

Tracy took the long cotton swab and dipped it into another of her sample jars, laying a thin coating of the material on a second glass slide, heat-setting it, like she’d done with the first. “Do you need me to apply a stain?”

“Let’s see what we’ve got on these first.”

“There were pigs in a corral at one of the victims’ homes. Could it be leptospirosis?”

“Possibly.” He switched on the microscope’s light. “If I can’t find anything on the slides, we’ll need to do some cultures. Lepto will show up there.”

He didn’t say it, but they both knew cultures would take several days, if not longer, to grow.

Tracy sent a nervous glance towards the reception area, where the guard lounged in a white plastic chair in full view. He twirled what looked like a toothpick between his thumb and forefinger. For the moment his attention wasn’t focused on them. And he was far enough away that he shouldn’t be able to hear soft voices through the glass partition.

“That could be a problem.”

Ben turned toward her, watchful eyes moving over her face. “How so?”

“I told the military police you’d have an answer for them today.”

“You did what?” His hand clenched on the edge of the table. “Of all the irresponsible—”

“I know, I know. I didn’t have a choice. It was either that or leave São João dos Rios empty-handed.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking at her again. “You’re still hauling around that savior complex, aren’t you, Tracy? Don’t you get tired of being the one who swoops in to save the day?”

“I thought that was your role. Taking charge even when it’s not your decision to make.” She tossed her head. “Maybe if you’d stopped thinking about yourself for once …” As soon as the ugly words spurted out she gritted her teeth, staunching the flow. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes. It was.” He took the slide from her and set it down with an audible crack.

The guard was on his feet in an instant, his casual manner gone. “O que foi?”

Ben held up the slide. “Sorry. Just dropped it.” Although he said the words loudly enough for the guard to hear them, he kept his tone calm and even. Even so, the tension in his white-knuckled grip was unmistakable.

The guard rolled his eyes, his face relaxing. “I’m going to the cafeteria. Do you want something?”

How exactly did the man expect to get the food past the sealed doorway? Besides, she wouldn’t be able to eat if her life depended on it. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Same here,” said Ben.

The guard shrugged and then checked the front door. He palmed the old-fashioned key he found in the lock before reinserting it again, this time on the outside of the door.

He meant to lock them in!

“No, wait!” Tracy stood, not exactly sure how she could stop him.

“Sorry, but I have my orders. Neither of you leaves until those samples are destroyed.”

She started to argue further, but Ben touched her shoulder. “Don’t,” he said in a low voice.

Holding her tongue, she watched helplessly as the door swung shut, a menacing snick of the lock telling her the guard had indeed imprisoned them inside the room. A familiar sting of panic went up her spine. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if we’re trapped?”

Stripping off one of his gloves, he reached into his pocket. “I have a spare. I know you don’t like being confined.”

Sagging in relief, she managed a shaky laugh. “You learned that the hard way, didn’t you?”

The vivid image of Ben playfully pinning her hands above her head while they’d tussled on the bed sprang to her mind. The love play had been fun. At first. Then a wave of terror had washed over her unexpectedly, and though she’d known her panic had been illogical, she’d begun to struggle in earnest.

A frightened plea had caught in her throat, and as hard as she’d tried to say something, her voice had seemed as frozen as her senses. Ben had only realized she was no longer playing when she succeeded in freeing one of her hands and raked her nails down his face. He’d reeled backwards, while she’d lain there, her chest heaving, tears of relief spilling from her eyes. Understanding had dawned on his face and he’d gathered her into his arms, murmuring how sorry he was. From that moment forward he’d been careful to avoid anything that might make her feel trapped.

A little too careful.

His lovemaking had become less intense and more controlled. Only it had been a different kind of control than what they’d previously enjoyed, when Ben’s take-charge demeanor in the bedroom had been a huge turn-on. That had all changed. Tracy had mourned the loss of passion, even as she’d appreciated his reasons for keeping a little more space between them. Her inability to explain where the line between confinement and intimacy lay had driven the first wedge between them.

That wedge had widened later, when he’d tried to limit her movements during her pregnancy, giving rise to the same sensation of being suffocated. She’d clawed at him just as hard then, the marks invisible but causing just as much damage to their marriage.

The Ben of the present fingered the side of his face and gave her a smile. “No permanent damage done.”

Yeah, there had been. And it seemed that one patch of bad luck had spiraled into another.

“I always felt terrible about that,” she said.

“I should have realized you were scared.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

Even her father hadn’t realized their play sessions could change without warning. There’d always been laughter, but the sound of hers had often turned shrill with overtones of panic. A gentle soul, her father would have never hurt her in a million years. It didn’t help that her older sister had been a tough-as-nails tomboy who’d feared nothing and had given as good as she’d got. Then Tracy had come along—always fearful, always more cautious. Her father had never quite known what to do with her.

She was still fearful. Still flinched away from situations that made her feel trapped and out of control.

And now her mom and her sister were both gone. Her mom, the victim of a menacing villain who’d stalked its prey relentlessly—turning the delicate strands of a person’s DNA into the enemy. Passed from mother to daughter. Tracy had been running from its specter ever since.

Ben donned a fresh glove and picked up the slide he’d smacked against the table, checking it for cracks. Without glancing up at her, he said, “You look tired. I put the folding cot in the corner in case we needed to sleep in shifts. If I know you, you didn’t get much rest last night.”

“I’m okay.” He was right. She was exhausted, but no way would she let him know how easily he could still read her. Or how the touch of concern in his voice made her heart skip a beat. “It’s just warm in here.”

“I know. The air-conditioner in the lab is ancient, and the filter doesn’t let much of it through, anyway.”

Even as he said it, a tiny trickle of sweat coursed down her back. “It’s fine.”

He pushed the slide beneath the viewer of the microscope and focused on the smear. “How old are the samples?”

“Just a couple of hours.”

He swore softly as he continued to peer through the lens, evidently seeing something he didn’t like. He took the second slide and repeated the process, his right hand shifting a knob on the side of the instrument repeatedly. Sitting up, he dabbed at perspiration that had gathered around his eye with the sleeve of his lab coat then leaned back in for another look.

“What is it?” She felt her own blood rushing through her ears as she awaited the verdict.

It didn’t take long. He lifted his head and fastened his eyes on hers. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s pneumonic plague, Tracy.” Shifting his attention to the test tube in her hand, he continued, “And if you’re the one who took these samples, you’ve already been exposed.”