This time he put the tape recorder back on the seat. He inched his way along the freeway as his thoughts turned to Pulitzer prizes and big damn paychecks. All he had to do was stay alive. Shouldn’t be all that hard. He was a public figure. People would ask too many questions. He’d live, and those Omicron bastards would go down in flames. In fact, he’d be the one to light the first match.
SETH WAITED UNTIL Harper was done in the kitchen before he made his ham-and-cheese sandwich. Not only did he not want her to see how much trouble he had with the knife, with the mayonnaise, with every goddamn thing in the kitchen, but being anywhere near her was getting more and more difficult.
It wasn’t just his dreams anymore. The woman haunted him in the daytime now, too. Even when she was in the next room, in the same room, his thoughts went places they had no business going.
He’d tried to talk himself out of it. He had a million reasons not to want her, but his body wouldn’t listen. He didn’t even have the excuse that she was the only woman around. Not anymore. It was even conceivable that the other doctor, Karen, was interested in him. Probably for the novelty of sleeping with a cripple. But what did he care? He should go for it. Ask her out. It wasn’t natural for a man to go this long without sex. No wonder he was going insane.
He got two pieces of whole-wheat out of the bag, then did up the twist tie with his teeth. The mayo jar went under his left arm to hold it steady while he unscrewed the cap. Then he had to put the cap down, take the jar in his right hand and put that down. Get the knife, shove the bread up next to the plate so it would stay steady, then spread each side slowly and carefully. Once that was done, he went through the whole under-the-arm procedure again just to close the damn thing.
It all took too long and felt too awkward, and he didn’t see how he could go through the rest of his life like this.
To add injury to insult, his hand hurt like hell. The left one. He knew it wasn’t there, but still, it hurt. A lot. All he wanted to do was rub it, right in the center of his palm. If he could do that, it would be fine—the cramp, if that’s what it was, would be gone and he would stop thinking about it—but there was no hand to rub. It was just a pain that followed him around like a shadow. Oh, sometimes it itched in addition to the ache, and that was even worse. Harper said it would get better as time went on. Which was fine except every single day felt like it went on forever, so when, exactly, were things going to improve?
It probably would have been okay if it was the only pain he couldn’t assuage. But there was this other thing, this hormonal thing that was probably a result of the amputation, although no one talked about it. It had to be some kind of chemical misfire that made him want her like this. As if he couldn’t breathe until he was inside her. As if she was the magic that would take his pain away.
He opened the pack of honey-baked ham with his teeth, then slipped out a few slices. Good thing he had teeth or he’d have been up the creek. Now if he could only figure out a convenient way to unzip his fly….
“I’m having some ice cream. Oh, you’re not done.”
He spun around, and the plastic bag of ham went flying out of his mouth. It hit the floor and slid, half the ham spilling on the linoleum as it went. Instantly he was so angry he could barely see, his eyes blurred behind a veil of red mist.
The only thing that penetrated was her laughter.
His fist curled into a ball so tight he could feel his short fingernails cut into his palm. His heart beat fast, pounding against his ribs. And Harper thought it was hilarious.
He wanted to hurt her. To grab her by her shoulders and shake her. She had no right. No business. She was a doctor, for God’s sake. She should know. But she didn’t. She didn’t understand, and that wasn’t fair because it was all her fault. She’d stolen his hand, taken it from him when he was too weak to stop her. Bitch. She’d ripped him apart, and her laughter sounded like a Klaxon in the quiet old house, bouncing off the high ceiling and the big plate-glass windows. Christ, he was so angry he couldn’t see. And he was getting hard at her laughter. What the hell was happening to him?
“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. But, really, it was perfect.”
He needed to get out, to go down to his basement, but she was standing in the way. He didn’t dare touch her. He wasn’t sure what he would do—hurt her or kiss her or…
“Come on, Seth. Where’s your sense of humor? Even you have to see that was funny.”
He saw no such thing. Not when she was in her robe. The material tight against her breasts, curved into her waist. The hollow at the base of her neck pale and delicate. He could imagine the smell of her, the clean womanly scent that made him ache every time she came close.
She walked toward him and he stiffened, panic constricting his throat. He had to get out, to leave before it got even worse, but he couldn’t pass her. So he turned away, forced himself to walk to the front door. Then he was outside and the cold wind slapped him in the face.
He went down the six stairs to the crumbling walkway and the torn sidewalk. He went left, no reason. He walked on unsteady legs and kept walking until he got his feet under him and then he walked until the thickness in his pants went away. But the ache, the wound where he wanted her like air, wouldn’t leave him. Not for blocks or miles.
HARPER GAVE UP WAITING for him an hour after he’d stormed out. She’d been a moron, which wasn’t like her. Of course he’d been humiliated by the whole thing. He hated it when she walked in on him making his sandwich. Hated her to see him struggle. And she’d laughed.
It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he didn’t come back at all. He’d probably rather sleep in a cardboard box than face her again.
She left the front window and headed to the kitchen, where she put her old kettle on the stove. What she really wanted was a good stiff drink, but she’d settle for tea. If she didn’t have to work tomorrow…But she did. And so did Seth, so wherever he was, he needed to get his act together before seven.
This was not working out the way she’d hoped. She had to smile at the understatement. When she thought about how he’d looked at her…she wasn’t sure if he’d wanted to kill her or take her to bed.
It was that look of his, the one that had confused her for months, only about a hundred times stronger.
What was it with him? She got out her tea collection and went for the chamomile. That and the nice clover honey would at least cut the chill from her bones.
He hadn’t even grabbed his coat. So he was out there without his prosthetic, wearing nothing more than a T-shirt and jeans. If he had the brains God gave a post, he’d at least find himself a nice, warm bar.
She waited until the kettle sang, then poured herself a mug, which she took over to the kitchen table. Curling her leg underneath her, she sipped the hot tea, then pulled the phone close. It took her a minute to remember the number, but it was there, memorized out of necessity. She dialed, and after five rings Kate answered.
“Hi,” Harper said, wishing there was another way. “Do you think you could take Seth for a while?”
NATE WATCHED TAMARA as she peered over her half-glasses, reading test results from her latest run on the antidote. He supposed he could have brought Kate with him again on this supply run, but selfishly he wanted to spend time with Tam alone.
She was close, damn close. She’d managed to take most of the notes from the lab in Serbia when they’d escaped and use them to recreate the serum, but what she hadn’t gotten was a method of dispensing the antidote that would work effectively. Right now the only way to be safe was to have the serum injected, but that wouldn’t work if the gas were let loose in the center of a big factory or over an entire village. So she continued to work, alone, in the underground lab that was too cold and too impersonal to be anything but a prison.
“Come