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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.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_ef3916ed-a77d-5135-83df-f6ba3fe83bac)
TRACY SAGGED AND swallowed hard, trying to process what he’d said through her own fear. “Are you sure?”
“Here.” He moved aside so she could look at the slide.
Putting her eye to the viewfinder, she squinted into the machine. “What am I looking for?”
“See the little dots grouped into chains?”
“Yes.” There were several of them.
“That’s what we’re dealing with. I want to look at another sample and do a culture, just in case, but I’m sure. It’s Yersinia pestis, the same bacterium that causes bubonic plague. I recognize the shape.” He rolled his shoulders as if relieving an ache. “Bubonic plague normally spreads from infected rats through the bite of a flea, but if the bacteria migrate to a person’s lungs, it becomes even more deadly, spreading rapidly from person to person by way of a cough or bodily fluids. When that happens, the disease no longer needs a flea. We’ll want to put you on a strong dose of streptomycin immediately.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll start on them as well, but just as a precaution.” Ben dripped a staining solution on another slide. “Most of the people who work in the lab are vaccinated against the plague, including Mandy. But I assume you haven’t been.”
“No, which means neither has … Oh, God.” She rested her head against Ben’s shoulder for a second as a wave of nausea rolled over her. “That town. I have to get back there. They’ve all been exposed. So has Pedro.”
“Pedro?”
“My assistant.”
Just as he pushed the slide back under the microscope, the lock to the outer door clicked open before Tracy had a chance to figure out how to proceed.
The guard pushed his way inside, glancing from one to the other, his eyes narrowing in on her face. She sat up straighter.
“Problema?” he asked.
Instead of lunch, he only held a coffee cup in his hand.
A tug on the back of her shirt sent a warning Tracy read loud and clear, Don’t tell him anything until I’ve taken another look. The gesture surprised her, as he’d always been buddy-buddy with the military, at least from what she’d seen over the course of their marriage.
Still holding one of the slides, he casually laid it on the table. “We need to run a few more tests before we know anything for sure.”
“No need. Our doctors have isolated the infection and will take the appropriate containment measures.”
Containment? What exactly did that mean?
Her brows lifted in challenge. “What is the illness, then?” Maybe he was bluffing.
“I’m not at liberty to say. But my commander would like to speak with Dr. Almeida over the phone.” He gave Tracy a pointed stare. “Alone.”
A shiver went over her. Alone. Why?
What if the government doctors had come to a different conclusion than Ben had? What if they were assuming it was something other than the plague? People could still die … still pass it on to neighboring towns. And São João dos Rios was poor. How many people would lose loved ones due to lack of information?
Just like she had. She knew the pain of that firsthand.
She’d lost her mother. Her grandmother. Her sister—although Vickie’s illness hadn’t been related to a genetic defect. The most devastating loss of all, however, had been her unborn child. Ben’s baby.
All had died far too young. And Tracy had decided she wasn’t going to waste a second of her time on earth waiting around for what-ifs. Movement, in her eyes, equaled life. So she’d lived that life with a ferocity that others couldn’t begin to understand.
Including Ben.
Genetic code might not be written in stone, but its deadly possibility loomed in front of her, as did a decision she might someday choose to make. But until then she was determined to make a difference in the lives of those around her.
Or maybe you’re simply running away.
Like she had with Ben? No, their break-up had been for entirely different reasons.
