by Julie Rowe
She took it without comment, because if she said anything, it was going to be angry and unprofessional.
She scanned the notebook. The first few pages had lecture notes in a political science class focusing on international politics. About a dozen pages in, the notes became less organized and interspersed with rhetoric slogans denouncing American interference in other countries. Class notes ended at page twenty-five. From there on, the writing in the notebook was disjointed and displayed the angry rhetoric usually seen and heard from terrorists outside of the United States.
All that was, at this point, almost expected. What she didn’t expect to see were the chemical formulae and biological observations normally seen in a microbiology lab written in the margins and in the middle of unrelated sentences.
“Ma’am,” Ava said, turning the notebook toward Dr. Rodrigues and showing her a page.
“The notes indicate an experiment designed to create a drug-resistant strain to the antibiotics we’d normally use to treat a patient with bacterial meningitis.”
“Fuck me,” River breathed.
“Language,” Dr. Rodrigues warned, without looking up.
Ava turned the page and gasped.
Both River and her boss looked at her.
“What?” Dr. Rodrigues asked sharply.
“They also tried mixing methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus with meningitis bacteria in order to create a new resistant strain.” She searched the notebook for more, but found no mention of the results from either experiment. “There’s nothing here about results.” Ava flipped through the pages in hopes that she missed it the first time.
“If whoever did this was successful,” Dr. Rodrigues said in a tight tone, “we could be looking at an untreatable meningococcal disease outbreak capable of killing thousands of people.”
“We need to find the source,” River said. “We need to find their lab.”
“You need to find them. Period,” Dr. Rodrigues said. She handed River the phone. “There are a number of texts between Ethan Harris, Roger Squires, and what looks like several other students. I can’t make sense of half of it. Text speak is not one of my skills.” She looked ready to pronounce on a dead body. “Do whatever is necessary, but find them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she and River said at the same time.
“I’ll talk to Agent Dozer and fill him in on that you two are trying to hunt down Ethan Harris,” Dr. Rodrigues said. “As for the rest of them…what you share is at your discretion.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ava said.
Rodrigues frowned. “Find a quiet spot and decode that notebook and phone. Eat, while you’re at it.”
“Yeah, it’s going to take me a few minutes to untangle all these messages and decipher this book,” River said with a wince.
Ava led the way out of the hospital and back into the area the CDC had commandeered. Despite the late hour, there were lots of people around. Hospital staff, CDC personnel, police, EMS, and the National Guard. It took them a few minutes to wash, remove their respirators, and change into clean scrubs before they could go into the clean tent.
Food consisted of more MREs. Ava had eaten a lot of them in Africa during the Ebola crisis. The one she grabbed ended up being spaghetti and meatballs. Not her favorite, but not bad, either.
“I can’t believe we got blown up again,” she muttered. Her bruises had bruises, making her whole body one big ache. The moment of the explosion lighting up the night sky behind River would forever be imprinted on her retinas. For a moment, one terrifying second, she’d thought they were all dead. The pain of landing hard had almost been welcome, because it proved they were still alive.
“This kind of terrorism is ruthless,” River said, his voice matter-of-fact as he ate. “These terrorists want to hurt as many innocent people as possible. Incite as much fear as possible.” He leaned forward, ducking his head to meet her gaze. He gave her an it’ll-be-okay-princess smile. “Don’t let that fear influence you too much.”
That grin made her want to punch him. “Are you sure you’re not underestimating the danger? You went back into that building without telling me.” She shoved a forkful of food into her mouth to give herself a chance to think before she said something she might regret. “You promised to talk to me, to share your ideas and plans with me.” A promise he’d broken. She sucked in a breath and ground out, “Remember?”
He pinned her in place with a gaze sharp enough to flay muscle from bone.
And said nothing.
“Sorry,” she mumbled after several seconds, her face heating until it was uncomfortable. “Didn’t mean to yell. I just…you scared me.”
His stare didn’t lighten at all. “You’ve got to trust me to do my job. It’s not always possible for me to consult you on every decision.”
“I’m not your mother,” she snapped. “I don’t expect you to ask permission to pee. I do expect you to tell me when you’re about to do something that might kill you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are we back to traffic and risk assessment?”
She shoved her MRE to one side and planted both palms on the table so she could get right in his face and snarl at him. “I turned around, and you were gone.”
He sat back, a grin flirting with his lips, his posture relaxed. “I knew you’d argue with me about going, and I didn’t have time to convince you it was the right thing to do.”
“No,” she said, forcing herself to sit down, to not reach out with her bare hands to strangle him. “You assumed I would argue and took it upon yourself to decide to go in there, leaving me to look like a fool every time someone asked me where you’d gone.”
He frowned. “Who…?” His lips twisted, and he said something under his breath. “Fucking Homeland agents.”
“Yes, them. Thank you for cementing their opinion of me as a minor inconvenience. I’ll be lucky if I can order someone to get me a cup of coffee.”
That surprised a bark of laughter out of him, but his humor didn’t last. Maybe there was something hopeless in the expression on her face or in the bleak tone of her voice that even she could hear. Whatever the reason, he mumbled, “Fuck.” And rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out to offer his hand, palm up, on the table. “I’m sorry, Mouse. Can we agree to trust each other?”
She stared at his hand. He had no idea how hard this was for her.
She blew out a breath, then met his gaze. “You think a handshake is going to change how you do things when the situation goes sideways? When you make another one of your executive decisions?”
“It will, if we agree not to make a decision that will get either of us killed.”
“What if we can’t talk?”
“That’s where the trust part comes in.” He wiggled his fingers.
Could she trust him? He’d backed her up with all of the Homeland agents. Despite his flirting, he treated her like a professional when anyone else was around.
She slowly put hers in his.
His hold was gentle, but firm. “My job is to support you. I can’t do that if you don’t trust me. I know it’s hard, but if I disappear, it’s because I’ve identified a danger, and I have an opportunity to remove that danger. I’m not going to do anything just to piss you off. Unlike several of our Homeland agent friends, I don’t have another agenda. My only concern is making it safe for you to do your job.”
She looked away. He made it sound so rational, so easy to let him put himself in harm’s way, when all she wanted to do was…what? Keep him safe? No one in this entire city was safe. Her head might understand that, but her gut was tight with terror and something more she didn’t want to think too closely about. “What if I need you…for something, and you’re not around because you’ve gone off on a one-man mission?”
He ducked his head until he caught her gaze. “I can’t promise shit won’t go down, but I do promise to be available for anything you need from me, if at all possible.” He grinned at her, a boyish, teas
ing smile. “And I am available for anything you need from me.”
It was a lot harder to pretend his words didn’t affect her than it should have been. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand out of his grasp. “Stop it.”
He chuckled and picked up the cell phone again.
A distant roar, followed by repeated pops, jerked Ava’s head up. Explosions. Gunfire.
“Oh no,” Ava whispered. She glanced at River, but aside from stiffness in his shoulders, he seemed engrossed in reading text messages. “Will this change anything for us?”
“Not really.” He did look up then, his gaze on her face. “I’ve seen this kind of tactic used before.”
“Tactic?”
“Continually hammer a dug-in or fortified enemy with multiple attacks at random locations. This creates an environment of confusion and pulls your enemy’s focus away from what’s really important.”
“Blowing up another building is just a distraction?”
“There’s likely more than one reason to do it, but distraction would be at the top of the list. Their goal is probably to pull resources away from dealing with the outbreak and the sites that have already been bombed.”
Ava couldn’t imagine the mindset it would take to conceive of such a ruthless strategy.
River didn’t sound surprised or even concerned. Like this kind of tactic was to be expected. How many times had he faced this scenario in order for him to recognize it with no dismay? How burned out, how tired, how emotionally battered did a man have to get to live in that kind of hell inside his head? Her whole body ached at the thought, at the realization.
River had been that beaten and damaged. And yet, he still managed to tease her every chance he got.
A squawk of amplified white noise crested over the area, then a firm male voice said, “Please remain where you are. If you try to leave hospital property, you will be detained. Water and food will be distributed by members of the National Guard.”
The message repeated.
Activity outside the clean tent had River pocketing the cell phone and standing up. A moment later, Agent Dozer walked in.
“What’s going on?” Ava asked him.
Dozer held up his hand, continuing toward them as he talked. “A bomb went off outside the mayor’s office. Ten dead, others injured. We’re locking everyone down until a sweep of public buildings can be done. We’re hanging onto control of the population by a thread as it is.”
“What can we do to help?” River asked.
Ava couldn’t stop from glancing at him. He said we.
“Stay here and out of trouble, until told differently.”
Now wait just a minute, they could help. “But—” she began.
“You’re not the only people with orders to rest. We need you ready to investigate the pathogen,” Dozer said before she could finish. “Stay out of trouble,” he said, stressing each word. “Until I or Dr. Rodrigues says otherwise.” He glanced around, his gaze pausing on the cots. “Get some sleep. You might not have a chance to get any later.” He turned to go, then paused and tossed one more sentence over his shoulder. “And stay together. I don’t want to have to hunt to find you.” He was gone.
So, now they were stuck here, ineffective and impotent.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost two o’clock,” River answered, after looking at his watch. “A good time to crash.”
Only a half-dozen cots. That wasn’t going to be enough. There would be others arriving soon, looking for a place to rest.
“It’s about to get busy in here.” River’s voice sounded about as excited about the incoming crowd as someone suffering from agoraphobia.
“Let’s go see Henry. He might have room for another couple of cots in the tent next to his lab.”
She led the way out of the clean room as a line of CDC people came in. Yup, way too many people in that small space.
Henry was working in his lab, but said they were welcome to use his cot. Then he informed them that there weren’t any more to be had. The hospital had taken the majority of them to accommodate the increasing number of patients, family, and staff working the emergency.
His single cot sat inside a small tent set up next to the lab-in-a-box. It was probably meant to sleep three or four people, so the cot looked forlorn at the rear of the structure.
“I’ll sleep on the ground,” River said, lying down in front of the cot as if it were a foregone conclusion. He closed his eyes, his body as stiff as a board.
Ava frowned. Something wasn’t right with her partner. “Are you okay?”
He snorted. “Fine. Get some sleep, Ava, while you can.”
He didn’t sound okay. He sounded tense, stressed, and a second away from exploding, not sleeping.
Her sense of wrongness only grew, but she didn’t have a specific complaint, just a feeling.
She got on the cot, drew the thin blanket over herself, and closed her eyes.
For a while, she floated, not quite asleep, not really awake, until something woke her completely. According to her watch, only an hour had passed. What woke her?
She glanced at River and realized after a second that he was tense. Too tense to be asleep.
“Hey,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed, opened his eyes, and looked at her. “I’m…” He hesitated so long she wasn’t sure he was going to finish. Finally, he said, “I can’t sleep. Shit is keeping me up.”
“Mental shit?”
“Yeah.”
That she understood. So, what would make him feel better?
She glanced at him again, his face in shadow. Something told her he didn’t share this kind of thing lightly.
When was the last time he’d hugged anyone? Lowered his guard and relaxed with someone he trusted? He claimed to trust her. Maybe it was time she called him on it.
“Get in.” She heard herself say it, but couldn’t quite believe it had come out of her mouth. What did she think she was doing? She couldn’t fix him. She couldn’t even fix herself.
“What?” He sounded even more incredulous.
“Don’t argue with me…” He should, he really should. “Just get in.” She lifted the edge of the blanket. This was a bad idea. Unfortunately, it was the only one she had.
After a couple of seconds, he rolled to his feet and slid under the blanket and onto the cot. Now they were pressed together, chest to chest.
“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice almost subvocal.
She almost laughed at his verbal repetition of her thoughts.
“Shut up.” She wiggled a little, until she could get one arm around his waist, then buried her nose in the crook of his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”
The last thing she remembered was his sigh ruffling her hair.
Why was it so hot?
Ava tried to push the blanket off, but it was too heavy. It was also warm and smelled like… She opened her eyes to find herself on her back, River covering her with his body. He had one leg between hers and one arm under her head. The other was draped over her waist, but his hand… A breath stuttered out of her. His hand was curved around her breast. He wasn’t doing anything, it was just resting there, but it was distracting. Arousing.
No wonder she was hot.
Desire moved through her body, waking parts of her that had been asleep for a long time. She was tired, so tired of being alone. She’d missed this, the feeling of strong arms around her.
She hadn’t felt this way since…stop it. Live in the moment. Be in the moment.
The last two times Adam had come home on leave, he’d been the same as ever, but she’d still felt alone, disconnected from him. When she’d tried to find out what was wrong, he’d shook his head and told her all he needed was her love and support.
She’d given him that, but had felt even more alone.
Her body softened around the thigh between hers, pressed against her sex. She wanted to rub herself all over him, have his hands all
over her. It had been so long since she felt anything but grief and hurt. River made her feel cherished.
She wanted.
He mumbled something and shifted, coming over her a little more, his hand shaping her breast. It felt so good she arched her back, shoving her breast into his hold as the long, hot, and hard length of him pressed into her belly.
Pleasure rushed through her arteries like champagne bubbles.
She’d lost Adam to a dangerous situation he thought he had under control. Control on the battlefield was a mirage. A fact he knew, but had forgotten. At least, that’s what she thought had happened, why he’d put himself into the danger that killed him.
River was proving to be…not different, but he was willing to talk about how he made decisions, negotiate how he made them in the future. She hadn’t expected it when she found out he was in the military.
He made her feel like an equal partner.
She hadn’t expected that, either.
His body threw off a lot of heat. He surrounded her, the hard planes of him, his scent, and she wanted more, wanted to forget the pain of the past year and the shock of getting nearly blown up twice. She wanted to feel pleasure again.
His erection was impressive. She rolled her hips, stroked him with her body and was rewarded with his hand massaging her breast a little.
Her breath caught at the surge of pleasure his touch set off, then stalled as guilt stabbed her with an icy pick.
What did she think she was doing? This was sexual assault. He wasn’t awake to give consent.
Hovering between her conscience and desire, the decision to pull away disappeared as he moved. He ground his hips against hers, then moaned, and his mouth was on hers, his tongue licking and stroking. The thigh between hers rose and rubbed against her, short-circuiting her brain.
Wait. What was she going to ask him? Something important?
She pulled her mouth away from his. “River?”
He kissed his way down her neck. “Yeah?”
Okay, he seemed awake. Now what? Should she just come right out and ask him to give her an orgasm?
He paused. Everything paused. “You want to stop?”