Dedication
To Becca, my fighter. As I wrote this, you were eleven like Bethany. You courageously faced blood draws, weekly injections, and more as we sought a diagnosis and fix for inflammation in your body. While I praise God it wasn’t cancer, the search for answers was exhausting. There were tears, more from me than from you. You have so much grit and resilience, have from your earliest days. I love to watch you worship God with passion. I cannot wait to see how God writes your story.
To Heather and Dr. Jodi. These women allowed me into their stories, Heather as the mother of a son who has battled leukemia multiple times through multiple transplants and CAR T-cell therapies, and Dr. Jodi as the one who explained the science to me, and in the process showed me her passion and calling to treat these very hard cases. I’m grateful and indebted to both of you.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
A Note from the Author
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Acclaim for Cara Putman
Other Books by Cara Putman
Copyright
Prologue
Northern Virginia
Saturday, January 23
The phone felt warm against her cheek. Caroline Bragg ran a hand along the edge of the clothes hanging in her closet and inhaled, then slowly released her breath.
“What should I wear?”
“Other than a little black dress?” On the other end of the line, Jaime Nichols shushed her mewing cat. “Rhett misses you and says send tuna.”
Caroline’s nose wrinkled as if she could smell the foul fish. She’d fed the cat during her weeks of crashing on Jaime’s couch. “I miss him too. Seriously though, what do I do?”
“Brandon’s been your friend for years. Pick something comfortable yet feminine.” Jaime’s tone was no-nonsense. “You’re the southern belle. Anything you pick will be perfect.”
It should have been that easy, but it wasn’t. Not this time. “Easier said than done. My closet is filled with work clothes.” And a few frothy dresses that were better for garden parties than for January. She sighed. “This is important, Jaime. I don’t want to blow this chance.”
Caroline had thought close friendship was all she and Brandon Lancaster would share, but now he was asking her to be something more. Tonight they’d define that “something” over dinner.
“Grab that dress you wore to Emilie’s bridal shower. The cream one with wine-colored swirls.”
Caroline nodded even though Jaime couldn’t see. “That’s perfect. Thanks.” She ended the call, and her hand trembled as she pulled out the flowing dress that had a cream background splashed with large cranberry paisley and flowers. Paired with boots and a leather jacket it would hit the right note of fun and flirty. Had she really just thought those words related to a dinner with Brandon? And when had Jaime become her fashion guru? Two unexpected but welcome evolutions in her life.
Brandon was a big teddy bear of a man, unless you’d faced him on the football field in his days as a defensive linebacker for the Colts. When Caroline first met him, he was a rookie who’d just bought acres outside of DC for his off-season retreat. She’d watched as women threw themselves at him, but as the evening wore on he ended up next to her sharing sweet tea and jokes. As the kid from the wrong side of town fighting her way through the first year of law school, she hadn’t expected to see him again. Then their paths intersected a few months later. The intersections became more frequent in the off-seasons, when he asked her advice on his postfootball dreams, which involved creating a foster home for hard-to-place sibling groups.
His teddy bear side emerged when he interacted with the kids who lived at Almost Home, the group foster home he’d founded to keep sibling groups together until they found permanent placements. But tonight was for Brandon and Caroline, just the two of them. No friends serving as buffers. No kids seeking his attention or a hug from her, though she cherished those moments when little arms wrapped around her waist or sticky cheeks pressed against hers.
Tonight she wanted to help Brandon forget all the challenges that came with serving an at-risk population and help him imagine what could be.
And maybe she’d let herself believe this was real. That her quiet, long-held dream really could come true: a man like Brandon could love her.
A soft smile tipped her lips as she slipped on the dress and touched up her makeup. She glanced at her watch then pressed a hand against her stomach to settle the butterflies. Where was he?
As if in answer the doorbell rang. She hurried across her small living area to the door and after she opened it took a minute to appreciate the sight of his navy suit softened by a forest-green hoodie poking out the top of the jacket.
He tugged the jacket down and quirked his head to the side. “What?”
“You look good, Lancaster.”
His eyes began to smolder. “So do you, Caroline.” He offered her his arm. His smile edged on tentative before becoming one that could melt knees across America. “Let’s grab some food.”
An hour later, after a pleasant drive to Ashburn, a small community outside the DC metro area, they sat across from each other in a red-velvet booth at Clyde’s of Willow Creek Farm. Caroline’s eyes darted around the space as she tried to take in every detail. It was DC-staple Old Ebbitt’s meets rural horse ranch. Some of the dining rooms were designed with heavy beams that made her think of a barn, while others had heavy leather chairs pulled against four-top tables, and large paintings of birds lined the walls. Dimmed lights made the varied spaces intimate, and Persian rugs dotting the hardwood floors muted the sounds of the chairs.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s nice.” She smiled at him. “Quite the place for dinner.” Her gaze traveled to the old horseless carriages suspended from the ceiling. “Do you think they’ll crash onto us?”
“If they do, I’ll protect you.” He waggled his eyebrows as he made a small flexing gesture—not quite small enough, as one of the waitstaff sidestepped to avoid getting knocked by the movement.
The woman smiled at him as she slipped past, somehow managing to keep the steaming plates from sliding off her tray.
Caroline reached across the table and took his hand. “Relax, big guy. It’s just me.” She fought a grin as he stared at her.
“Did you just call me the Hulk?”
Leave it to Brandon to notice the oblique Marvel reference. While not a typical romance, the interactions between Black Widow and Bruce Banner had always tugged at her. The Hulk might be scary and angry, but Bruce was soft and s
weet. Much like the man sitting across the table from her. She shrugged lightly. “Maybe.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Caroline, there’s nothing normal about this, and I’m glad.” His grip tightened on her hand. “You’ve meant a lot to me for years, but I want to take this deeper. I’m not one to play around.” He paused, and she nodded. “I waited until I was sure this”—he gestured between them—“is what I want for the rest of my life.”
Her heart skipped a beat as she let his words sink into her heart. She’d had a front-row seat to his life for years. He was a reliable man who didn’t play the field. Instead, he opted to go solo rather than give any woman false hope he was interested in her. It was one reason Caroline’s stomach had been tied in knots of anticipation and trepidation all day. She didn’t want to get this wrong. Not when so much rested on what happened next.
No, she wanted to build forever with this man she’d loved from a distance for years.
Now was their time.
Chapter 1
Tuesday, April 20
Caroline shifted in the high-backed chair. The massive conference room table made her feel more petite than usual. Quentin Jackson, the man propelling Praecursoria through its rapid growth, vibrated with energy as he studied her.
“We are on the cusp of amazing developments and a transition from the lab to trials. We have a few CAR T-cell therapies in early stages now with more in our pipeline.”
She racked her mind for the importance of T cells, and he gave a hearty laugh.
“Don’t worry if the science overwhelms you. We’ll have you up to speed in no time. All you need to know right now is that T cells are one of the two cells that make up white blood cells. The treatments we’re working on could be the difference between life and death for young cancer patients. We need your legal expertise and quick mind to synthesize the science with the map to market.”
“I’ve overseen several court trials related to patents, which should help with that process.” It had been an unforeseen aspect of her days clerking for Judge Loren. She swallowed against the lump in her throat that still welled up when she thought about his untimely death from pneumonia. A month ago she couldn’t imagine interviewing for a job somewhere else, even if a part of her knew that she should stretch her wings.
“When can you start? Today?”
She felt rooted to the chair. Everything was moving so fast. Could she really transition her experience managing clerks for a judge into managing patents and contracts for a start-up? While Praecursoria had been around for a decade as a cancer research lab, about eighteen months ago Quentin sold off its lucrative genetic testing branch to focus exclusively on the development of cutting-edge CAR T-cell therapies. Starting over that way was a bold if risky move.
She lifted her chin and forced a smile that didn’t waver. “If that’s what you need. First we have a few details to work out.”
He laughed. “I like the way you tackle issues head-on. That will be key in this role. I know how to steer the ship, and my chief scientist can navigate the research, but you’ll keep us on the legal straight and narrow.” He tapped his pen against the legal pad in front of him. Then he picked up her résumé and named a salary that pressed her against the chair. “There will be performance bonuses tied to the successful conclusion of trials. We want to look into stock options as well. That will be one of your assignments in conjunction with HR.” He slapped his hands on the table and she jumped. “My enthusiasm gets away from me sometimes.” He shrugged but never wavered as he examined her. “Let’s start with a field trip. The best way for you to understand why we’re doing this work and research is to show you.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, after a drive from Tysons Corner to Falls Church, she was chasing Quentin down the halls of Inova Children’s Hospital. If they could figure out how to bottle his energy, the company would be a huge success.
“Follow me.” Quentin swiped a card in the reader next to the door to the pediatric oncology wing. He held it open for her and she brushed past him, then waited for him to lead the way. He glanced over his shoulder as he strode down the vibrant purple and teal hall. “I want you to meet someone who brings the importance of our work into focus.”
“How do you have a keycard?” It seemed like a huge liability for the hospital, but maybe she needed to remove her risk-management hat. She didn’t work for the hospital but for Praecursoria.
He didn’t slow as he approached the nurses’ station. “It gives me limited access when I’m meeting with the trial team. I called ahead while you took a break.”
Disinfectant couldn’t hide the scents of fear and desperation that hung in the air like a heavy perfume. She felt like a voyeur as they walked past rooms where people and machines gathered around small beds. “What did you want to show me?”
“The doctor I want you to meet is a pioneer. She had a research fellowship at the old Praecursoria during her summer between undergrad and medical school.” Quentin’s steps quickened as if he couldn’t wait to see what would happen in the next minutes. “Word is she’s having success with our trial therapies, but I like to check for myself.” He slowed as he glanced at the room numbers. “I like to be hands-on. If she’s having the success I’ve heard, she can help us expand testing to additional research facilities. And that gets us closer to the next stage of FDA approval.”
“What are you hoping I’ll learn?”
The man turned his charismatic grin on her. There was a reason he was on the city’s top-ten list of eligible bachelors, but she wasn’t interested. “To be an effective part of my leadership team, you need to understand the impact of the work we’re doing. That’ll light the passion you need for the long hours and fiscal uncertainty. Also, at times you’ll need to answer questions related to the process.”
An average-sized woman with stylish spiky blonde hair exited a room, and he threw his arms wide. “There she is. Anna.”
The woman turned, a hand on her pregnant stomach and a flit of a smile on her face, but a weary slump bowed her shoulders. “Quentin.” She accepted his hug, then moved her hands into her lab coat’s pockets. “Did I know you were coming today?”
“I set it up with your assistant.”
The woman nodded. “That would explain it. Haven’t connected with her yet because of an emergent patient.”
Caroline sensed a tension in the woman and turned on the southern charm she was known for. “We can come back.” Quentin started to speak, but Caroline placed a hand on his arm. “We’ve all had times where plans change. Nothing is life-or-death about why we are here.”
The woman studied her with a hazel gaze, then her posture relaxed. “I like you. I’m Dr. Anna Johnson.” She pulled her hand from her pocket and extended it to Caroline.
She shook the woman’s hand. “Caroline Bragg, the new counsel for Praecursoria as of two hours ago, give or take.”
Now the woman grinned. “If the trials continue the way they are now, you’ll be very busy. We should do lunch so I can answer any questions you have about the protocol.” She focused on Quentin. “What do you need today?”
“I want to give Caroline a quick introduction to the real work.” He glanced up and down the hallway.
Dr. Johnson started down the hall. “You can come along.”
The wing was typically wide, allowing for gurneys and wheelchairs to pass, but the walls were painted brilliant colors rather than the standard sterile white. Rooms hopscotched down each side past the central station that housed several nurses and a bank of monitors.
As she walked, Dr. Johnson turned to Caroline. “You know Praecursoria is developing CAR T-cell therapies.”
“Yes, but I don't understand what that means yet.”
“The short answer is we’re engineering a patient’s own cells to be ninja fighters that take out specific cancer-carrying cells like leukemia. They become little superhero cells. I’d like to introduce you to a young lady who may be a candida
te for the trial. But first I need something to drink.” Dr. Johnson led them down another corridor to a break room. The woman stepped in front of a vending machine loaded with various waters and sodas. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine.” Caroline held up the bottle of water she carried.
Quentin pulled out a credit card. “I’ll get yours.”
“No, you won’t. You know the rules.” She batted his hand to the side, then swiped her badge in front of the reader. A moment later a bottle of water clunked to the bottom of the machine, and she crouched to pull it out.
“How are the trial participants doing?” Quentin asked.
“As well as can be expected.” She uncapped the lid and took a long drink. “You won’t have results overnight. This is going to be a process—and a long one—but everything I’m seeing from the first patient is positive. We should start looking for additional participants.”
“Give me something concrete. A story I can take to funders.” Quentin’s smile barely wavered, but Caroline sensed an edge of desperation in his tone. “It’s not inexpensive.”
“It never is.” Anna headed to the door. “Let me show you something.”
* * *
Brandon hovered over the bed, longing to do something. Bethany Anderson was eleven and leukemia was ravaging her body. She’d already had two failed bone marrow transplants, and he hoped she would qualify for a new treatment option that was in its earliest stages of development. It was Bethany’s last resort.
Her eyelids fluttered, and suddenly he was pinned in place by large blue eyes.
“Hey, Bethany.”
She licked her lips and tried to sit up a little. “You came back.”
“Yep. I promise I’ll keep coming back too.” Not because it was his job, though the state of Virginia had entrusted the care of her and her little brother, Gabriel, to Almost Home while the caseworker looked for a permanent placement. No, he’d do it because he was the kids’ protector. Normally he felt up to the task, but here on the pediatric oncology floor, he doubted his ability to make a difference for this little girl.
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