Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Christ!” he barked as he spun around.
As their eyes met, her hand went to the base of her throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh, yeah, no.” He took a couple of deep breaths and looked her up and down. “Going somewhere?”
She studied his face as if it were tea leaves and she knew anything about predicting the future. “I thought you were leaving.”
When he just shrugged, she nodded to the unit with its warning signs and the fingerprint-locked release on the jamb. “You thinking of taking her with you? You’re allowed, of course—we’re just going to have to get you an ice chest.”
As the venting system hummed at a deeper volume, like the compressor had kicked in, he exhaled like she annoyed him. “I told you, I’m ripping up that contract and you’re keeping Vita—”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you take some of the staff with you?”
Gus shook his head as if to clear it. “What?”
“Rhobes and you are going to need researchers familiar with Vita, and everyone here was trained by you—”
“Are you hearing anything I’m saying, or as usual, is it the C.P. Phalen show—”
“—so it’s not like you need their résumés—”
“—and to hell with everybody else—”
“—alsoIcanbeyourpatientonenow.”
She spoke that last sentence real quick because she was determined to show no emotion. But as he just stared at her, she realized she might have overplayed the velocity.
“You’re in charge,” she tacked on. “Of her. So you can give her to me. At Rhobes’s.”
The wave of exhaustion that visibly went through him seemed to take a couple of inches off his height, and as he started shaking his head again, he brought up a hand like he wanted to rub his face—before he grimaced and abruptly dropped his palm as if he remembered there was nothing but bruises there.
“Look, I’m not going through this with you again—”
“I’m not pregnant. Anymore. I lost the ba—I miscarried a couple of nights ago.” Putting her hands on her hips, she looked around at the high-tech everything and tried to draw some strength from the clinical nature of it all. “So your rate limiter is gone.”
Gus stared at her for a long moment. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. I was thoroughly checked out. An ultrasound was performed and there is no residual tissue—”
“Are you okay,” he interrupted with more volume.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
When he just continued to stare at her, she started talking about something, anything. It could have been Rhobes’s location down in Houston, or maybe transferring Vita-12b. Maybe she’d switched it up and was talking about world peace. Basic arithmetic. Who the hell knew.
“Stop,” Gus said, putting his hand out like he was on a crosswalk and his job was ensuring schoolchildren didn’t get mowed down in traffic.
“I’m fine.”
The sharp edge to her voice was directed at him. At herself. At the whole world, and the dumb luck of biology—dumb bad luck, in her case. And for godsakes, if he didn’t stop looking at her like that, she was going to have to leave. It was as if he saw all the way through her, right down to the cramping, which seemed to be ramping up like her now-empty uterus knew it was the subject of conversation… right down to her sad, pathetic, broken heart.
“I’m really sorry,” he said softly.
Cathy looked away, and holy hell, she was glad her makeup was waterproof. Blinking fiercely, she tried to find her voice so she could brush off the concern.
Finally, she said, “I’d really appreciate it if you weren’t nice to me right now. Thanks.”
TWENTY-NINE
WELL, ISN’T THIS a surprise,” came the brisk welcome. “A BOGO that shows you two worked it out.”
As Daniel stood on the front step of a little cottage just off the main rural road, he still couldn’t remember the older woman’s last name. Apparently, his chemo brain had taken things as far as it was willing to go by filing her away in the memory banks as “Candy the WSP Receptionist.” That was all he had.
Well, that and the fact that he didn’t want to rehash the last time he’d been here, and the blowup that had come with it. But that was all in the past, and hey, Candy was right. He and Lydia had worked things out. Thank God.
“I just need to ask you something,” Lydia said to the woman. “Do you mind if we come in?”
Candy, whose hair was on the pink side of “natural redhead” at the moment, backed up and indicated the way inside with a hand that had red-and-green-polished nails. “C’mon in. I got coffee, and leftover pie. That’s it ’cuz I’m going food shopping today in Plattsburgh. Daniel, how’re ya.”
The Brooklyn accent cut all the syllables up into sharp corners, and the last part was not a question that required much of a response, but rather a statement to show that she cared about how he was.