seen.
“Remove your protective gear,” he ordered, tearing his mask and goggles all the way off. There would be no hiding, no movement—not in this shambling outfit. He stripped away the latex gloves, hesitating for only a moment while he concentrated on maintaining the human appearance of his skin and nails.
Rikki and Eddie stared at him, unmoving. There was some light pushing through the trees from the burning airfield, but once they began walking it would be dark in the jungle. Only Amiri would be able to see, though Eddie, he thought, might have a penlight in his pocket.
“The disease,” said the young man, tentative. “I thought…”
Amiri slowed his movements, glancing from his friend to Rikki, whose gaze was lost in shadows. He wished he could see her eyes; even so, he could not look away from her. His hands stilled. “There is more happening here than just a disease. Or am I wrong, Doctor Kinn?”
She stood very quiet, a far cry from the quivering fury he had spied on the burning airfield. Her silence was profound.
“Doctor Kinn,” he said again, more gently.
“No,” she said softly. “You’re not wrong. But there’s still a risk.”
Amiri settled his jaw. “We have already been compromised. Even Eddie, with his torn suit. So we all die now or die later. I know what I choose.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “But why do I think you always choose the hard way?”
Amiri smiled grimly, tearing off the rest of his suit. “Because for me, Doctor Kinn, the alternative has never existed.”
Chapter Six
When Rikki was twelve years old, she’d found herself— in the span of one night—homeless on the street, with no money, no family, and no way up or out by any means other than what she could do for herself. Her father was in prison, and all the money saved from his days of trucking had been spent on a fat little lawyer who had done so little to help his client, he might as well have wiped his ass with Frank Kinn’s freedom and flushed it down the toilet.
Twenty years later, Rikki felt like a kid again. It was not a good sensation.
The sky began to lighten not long after their escape. Slivers of it turned lavender, then peach, gasps of starlight fading. Birds screamed, lost in the dense canopy; monkeys howled. Rikki hardly noticed. Her legs burned, her throat hurt. A headache was building at the back of her skull. Adrenaline had faded. It was hard to breathe. She wanted to vomit.
Rikki did not blame Ebola, or any other disease. She refused to think about it. Or about the fact that she was a hunted woman. Not even the gun still held slick in her hand could compensate for that. Nor could the men who had saved her life.
Strangers. Mysteries. Amiri walked in front. He had taken off his shirt and tucked it into the back of his loose drawstring scrubs. His back was lean as a whip, his shoulders broad and sinewy, and though his skin was dark as rain-soaked earth, there were golden undertones that even in the forest twilight seemed to gleam in his sweat and in the play of shadows rippling against his hard muscles. He was tireless, quick.
But looking at him made Rikki’s head hurt even worse. She glanced over her shoulder, desperate for a distraction. Eddie was behind her. She had barely gotten a look at the young man since escaping the camp. There was finally enough light to see the dark hair, the lean pale face. He was younger than she expected; young, with old eyes. Familiar, too. Startlingly so, which did nothing for her headache.
“Ma’am,” he said quietly, catching her gaze.
“Hey,” she replied, hoarse. Eddie reminded her of someone. Her brother. Dead at seven, but with that same dark unruly hair. Those soulful eyes. Uncanny, how much it seemed like him, if only older. The young man could have been family.
No, she told herself, turning away sharply. No, don’t go there. Don’t you dare.
But staring in the other direction was no help, either. Amiri was there.
Eddie wore a
“Remove your protective gear,” he ordered, tearing his mask and goggles all the way off. There would be no hiding, no movement—not in this shambling outfit. He stripped away the latex gloves, hesitating for only a moment while he concentrated on maintaining the human appearance of his skin and nails.
Rikki and Eddie stared at him, unmoving. There was some light pushing through the trees from the burning airfield, but once they began walking it would be dark in the jungle. Only Amiri would be able to see, though Eddie, he thought, might have a penlight in his pocket.
“The disease,” said the young man, tentative. “I thought…”
Amiri slowed his movements, glancing from his friend to Rikki, whose gaze was lost in shadows. He wished he could see her eyes; even so, he could not look away from her. His hands stilled. “There is more happening here than just a disease. Or am I wrong, Doctor Kinn?”
She stood very quiet, a far cry from the quivering fury he had spied on the burning airfield. Her silence was profound.
“Doctor Kinn,” he said again, more gently.
“No,” she said softly. “You’re not wrong. But there’s still a risk.”
Amiri settled his jaw. “We have already been compromised. Even Eddie, with his torn suit. So we all die now or die later. I know what I choose.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “But why do I think you always choose the hard way?”
Amiri smiled grimly, tearing off the rest of his suit. “Because for me, Doctor Kinn, the alternative has never existed.”
Chapter Six
When Rikki was twelve years old, she’d found herself— in the span of one night—homeless on the street, with no money, no family, and no way up or out by any means other than what she could do for herself. Her father was in prison, and all the money saved from his days of trucking had been spent on a fat little lawyer who had done so little to help his client, he might as well have wiped his ass with Frank Kinn’s freedom and flushed it down the toilet.
Twenty years later, Rikki felt like a kid again. It was not a good sensation.
The sky began to lighten not long after their escape. Slivers of it turned lavender, then peach, gasps of starlight fading. Birds screamed, lost in the dense canopy; monkeys howled. Rikki hardly noticed. Her legs burned, her throat hurt. A headache was building at the back of her skull. Adrenaline had faded. It was hard to breathe. She wanted to vomit.
Rikki did not blame Ebola, or any other disease. She refused to think about it. Or about the fact that she was a hunted woman. Not even the gun still held slick in her hand could compensate for that. Nor could the men who had saved her life.
Strangers. Mysteries. Amiri walked in front. He had taken off his shirt and tucked it into the back of his loose drawstring scrubs. His back was lean as a whip, his shoulders broad and sinewy, and though his skin was dark as rain-soaked earth, there were golden undertones that even in the forest twilight seemed to gleam in his sweat and in the play of shadows rippling against his hard muscles. He was tireless, quick.
But looking at him made Rikki’s head hurt even worse. She glanced over her shoulder, desperate for a distraction. Eddie was behind her. She had barely gotten a look at the young man since escaping the camp. There was finally enough light to see the dark hair, the lean pale face. He was younger than she expected; young, with old eyes. Familiar, too. Startlingly so, which did nothing for her headache.
“Ma’am,” he said quietly, catching her gaze.
“Hey,” she replied, hoarse. Eddie reminded her of someone. Her brother. Dead at seven, but with that same dark unruly hair. Those soulful eyes. Uncanny, how much it seemed like him, if only older. The young man could have been family.
No, she told herself, turning away sharply. No, don’t go there. Don’t you dare.
But staring in the other direction was no help, either. Amiri was there.
Eddie wore a
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