Degrees of Wrong (21 page)

Was the man breathing?

“Nicoli,” I half-yelled. I also kicked his chair and pounded my fist on the desk.

He startled awake, turning only his head, opening only the eye closest to me. “Huh?”

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen, I’ve come across another French entry. Think you could translate it for me really quick?”

He yawned enormously and pulled his feet from the desk. He scooted his chair closer, yawned again. “Where is it?”

I pointed to the screen. He leaned in, squinting tired eyes at the intrusive brightness. Interest registered on his face, his attention captured as he read.

He looked at me. “It’s his wife writing. The French doctor’s wife.”

I gasped. “
What’s
the date of the entry?”

“October 14th.”

My hand flew to my mouth to stifle an unidentifiable emotion. She hadn’t died. She’d been exposed to the virus, had laid in the bed with her sick child, cared for her infected husband—and lived.

“Read it to me, please.” My nerves wavered.

He cleared his throat. He read, all traces of sleep eradicated from his tone, his voice steady with concentration as he translated:

“‘October 14th. I know now that I am being punished for all I’ve done. It has been almost a month since my beautiful little Belle and my darling Anton has passed. Our strong Philippe held on for two weeks, fighting it so bravely. I tried to comfort him, to support him, but in the end, I think he was just tired of fighting it. He wouldn’t go until I promised I would be all right. I lied to him, my brave, brave boy, and let him go in peace. I wouldn’t let them take him right away. I stayed with him for the full day. I couldn’t let them take him.

“‘It has been nearly an unbearable month since my Anton’s last journal entry, and even now, I can still feel his hands on it. I tried, my darling. I tried to go with you. But my sins must be too great. As punishment, I have to endure without you. My entire life is entombed together as a family on the other side of the city, and I hate the air in my own lungs. I hate the beat of my heart, I hate the sun for rising and I hate everyone for going about their days as if life on this earth is exactly the same as it used to be a month ago. I hate the birds, and the blue sky, and the light breeze that sweeps through the city. I hate food and water and everything else that keeps me alive. Every day that my eyes open, I want to rip them from their sockets. I know, Anton, I know. I know you wouldn’t want to see me this way, and for you, I will be strong. But I hate it.

“‘An agent from the WHO came by yesterday asking about this journal. I told him I couldn’t find it. I’m not sure how he even knows about it. He said it may hold information key to fighting the virus. I told him if it did, wouldn’t you have used it already to save your family? To save yourself? Oh, Anton, my Anton. I will give it to him. I know you would want me to. Just not yet. Reading it is like looking into your mind, like talking to you again. No, I can’t give it to them yet. But I will, my darling. I will.’”

A single tear escaped down my face, and Nicoli caught it with the crook of his finger.

“I felt exactly the same way,” I said, hoarse. “But she lost so much more than I did.”

He was quiet, regarding me with a helpless expression. I laughed at him softly. “I bet you wish you would have stayed in bed.”

He shook his head. “I was just— I was wondering if you still felt that way. Like her.”

“No.” Before I could squelch the thought, I realized the man sitting next to me regarding me with eyes full of concern had much to do with my answer. I also realized how dangerous that pattern of thinking could be. The only person who stood to lose anything in this new game of his was me, and I needed to remember that.

“That’s good.”

“Well.” I cleared my throat of emotion. “It looks like we need to contact Geoffrey again.”

“Okay. Who’s Geoffrey?”

Was he still sleeping, after all? “Geoffrey. You know, the man we just had a conference with, who told me I was dead, and that I could spend his money on shoes?”

“You mean Ralph.”

“Yes, Ralph. Geoffrey is his real name.”

“No, it isn’t. His name is Ralph. I don’t know who Geoffrey is.”

I crossed my arms. I didn’t make up the name. Blue Eyes had called him Geoffrey. He’d responded to Geoffrey, hadn’t he? Now I couldn’t remember. I made a silent resolution to ask my kidnapper his name, once and for all.

“Well, anyway, we need to contact him. We need to find this woman,” I said.

“What are your thoughts on this?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s borderline miraculous that her son survived two full weeks after infection. I’ve never seen that. That she was alive and well to write that journal entry… That’s even more significant.”

“Have you ever seen anyone survive the virus?”

“No. But—it may not be that she
survived
it.”

“How so? We have two corroborating entries which state she was exposed.” He inclined his head toward the screen. “And she’s obviously not dead.”

“It may be—it just
may
be—that she never contracted it in the first place. The fact that she thinks she’s being punished, that she watched her family die…it makes me think she never even got sick. She feels remorse, guilt, about not suffering with them.”

He tilted his head. “Have you ever seen anything like
that
before? Exposure without contraction?”

“Never.” It just didn’t happen.

“I’ll go call Ralph. Will you be okay while I’m gone?” he asked, standing up, stretching fully. I gave a hurried nod and looked away, pretending to busy myself with printing the page. Well, I
was
printing it, but my attention was divided—and unequally at that.

He glanced at the clock as he handed my blanket back to me. “He should be awake by now.” He grinned as he strode out of the room, and in a way that suggested Ralph might still be sleeping.

Within the hour, I was seated at the table again, in conference with a hologram and, sadly, a fully dressed captain.

“You needed to speak with me, Dr. Morgan?” Ralph/Geoffrey asked. His hands encompassed a large coffee cup which resembled a small bucket more than a mug.

“Yes. I hope Captain Marek didn’t wake you.” I was surprised the man slept at all.

He smiled. “Of course not, Dr. Morgan.” I wasn’t sure if he lied for my benefit, or for Nicoli’s.

“I came across a journal entry tonight—er, this morning—which may be of interest to our cause. It was written by a woman, the wife of a French doctor. Her husband and younger child contracted the virus and died within the usual forty-eight hours. Her son contracted it and survived for two weeks. A month after the doctor wrote his last entry on his deathbed, she wrote an entry of her own. Hers doesn’t specify, but either she didn’t contract the virus after prolonged exposure, or she survived it.”

Ralph frowned.

“I transmitted that page back to you, sir,” Nicoli interjected. “Did you receive it?”

Ralph held up a page for us to see, though I couldn’t make out the writing. We allowed him a moment to read it. In the interim, I decided it was high time I learned French.

“How did we miss this?” he said, more to himself than to us. “We created an entire department at the WHO devoted to this virus alone.”

Although impressed with that unprecedented effort, I ignored his self-directed question. “I need you to find that woman. I need to know if she’s still alive. If she ever got sick at all. I’d like blood samples from her as well, if she’s willing. I need an autopsy report and the samples for her son, confirming that he actually had the virus and held it at bay for two weeks. I want the same for her daughter and husband.”

Taken out of context, and to a stranger, this may seem like a demanding, unrealistic request. Given everything I knew about Ralph, though, I’d be surprised if he didn’t already have her stuffed in a closet somewhere, waiting until such time as she was useful.

Ralph sat straighter and took a swig of coffee. “It doesn’t matter if she’s willing.”

My eyes widened, hoping she wasn’t really stuffed in a closet somewhere. Then I realized his meaning. “No. Be
nice
. Why wouldn’t she willingly give you a sample of her blood? She watched her family die from it. You don’t think she’d be willing to help us out?”

He was having none of it. He shrugged like a chastised child.

“No tazing,” I told him forcefully. “I already told you, it does more damage than good.” I rubbed my neck unconsciously and muttered, “I hate being tazed.”

Nicoli jerked his head toward me and back to Ralph. His jaw tensed and flexed with his anger, and his entire body sat rigid in the chair. “You
tazed
her?” he asked Ralph in a low, menacing whisper.

“It was necessary, Nicoli. We didn’t think she would come willingly.”

Nicoli pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. I could tell he fought for control as he inhaled, exhaled. Ralph, to his good credit, appeared nervous as he waited for Nicoli to gain composure, although of what a hologram would need to fear, I had no idea. Still, as
I
was flesh and bones beside him, I decided that just this once, talking out of turn might be ill-advised.

I watched in amazement for the several moments it took for his jaw to relax, for his fists to un-ball. I watched Ralph’s reaction too and saw his apprehension visibly ease as Nicoli opened his eyes. These men knew each other far better than I imagined.

“We will, of course, discuss this later,” Nicoli said coldly.

“If you wish.”

“How soon can you get what Dr. Morgan requires?” Nicoli asked, still making a calculated effort to remain calm.

“We’ll work on it immediately. There’s no telling where the woman is. From the looks of this entry, she may have finished the job herself. If she’s alive though, we’ll find her. You needn’t worry.”

I hadn’t thought of that. For her sake—and my own selfish reasons—I prayed she was still alive, that she suffered the loss, that she endured. And I hoped I could give her something in return for it. I turned to Nicoli. “Can the files be sent to the beach house? I don’t feel I can really take a break from it. Not with people dying every single day that I delay.”

He nodded. “The beach house is secure. I’ll have the files transferred before we leave this morning.”

“Good,” Ralph said. “Do you require anything else, Dr. Morgan?”

I began to shake my head that I did not but remembered that I did. “Yes, actually. Is your name Ralph, or is it Geoffrey?” I tried to stifle the accusation in my voice.

He grinned. “I told you the first day we met that it was Ralph. You told me that it couldn’t be, that Ralph was ‘slang for regurgitation’ if I recall correctly.”

Nicoli chuckled beside me.

“Well, it is,” I muttered, defensive. “But what about that blue-eyed soldier?
He
called you Geoffrey,” I insisted.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And you had just informed me that you’d given him morphine for his injury.”

I pouted, feeling a little like I do when I enter the last lap in a race with Nicoli—irritated and foolish. “But I corrected you, and you—”

“I said you were observant, Dr. Morgan, which you are. But I didn’t tell you that my name was Geoffrey.”

I retraced the conversation and found it had unfolded just as he described. I hoped my cheeks appeared youthfully rosy instead of caked red with embarrassment.

Ralph turned to Nicoli. “Make sure you keep an eye out for her.”

The corner of Nicoli’s mouth curved. “Of course, sir. We’ll be practically inseparable.”

The entire bottom half of my body went into the kick, and I was rewarded with a satisfying grunt of pain. Nicoli grinned outright despite his wounded calf, and Ralph arched a brow at me.

“Is there a problem, Nicoli?” he asked, still directing his glare at me. Unashamed, I lifted my chin, raising my best this-is-none-of-your-business brow. I also prepared to have the I-don’t-have-superiors talk with him.

“Nothing that I can’t handle, sir,” Nicoli said. “Nothing that wouldn’t be my
pleasure
to handle, sir,” he added, almost laughing. I growled at him softly.

Ralph cleared his throat. “I see.” He paused. “Dr. Morgan? Is there…? Would you like to address anything with me at this time?”

I took that to mean,
Are you being harassed or are you the one harassing? And do I need to intervene?

Nicoli turned to me, his gaze boring into mine as I considered the wisest way to answer that question—the spoken and unspoken. I saw the challenge in those stunning dark eyes of his. But there was something else, something I’d never seen there before, something I wouldn’t have missed. Nicoli Marek was pleading with me. Not to end the game. And because only I stood to lose anything, it was my decision—mine alone—to end it or not, right now.

I felt a sense of premature defeat. It was bad enough for a man to have physical advantages over a woman, such as brute strength and agile speed. But for him to be able to overpower her with his eyes—it threw the entire universe out of balance with the injustice of it.