can’t touch anyone,” she whispered.
“You can touch me all you want,” he said. From his twisted grin, she knew he was trying to joke, but his words made her tremble. She released his hands and reached up to his face, then his neck. His skin felt hot beneath his uneven stubble. His hands found their way to her waist.
“Have you never kissed anyone?” he whispered.
“Never.”
Without another word—or bothering to ask permission—he lowered his face to hers and gently kissed her lips. She felt like she’d been set on fire, her body glowing with heat.
The kiss lasted a long time. When he drew back, their eyes were locked on each other. Something had happened. She could feel a deep sense of connection with this boy, like it had been waiting there all her life, just waiting to wake up.
“We’d better keep moving,” she whispered.
“If that’s what you want.” He gazed at her for another long moment before turning toward the horse.
She touched her lips. Her hand was shaking.
As they rode on, she held tight to him, but reminded herself that she’d only just met him. She couldn’t trust him, not yet, no matter what intense feelings he brought up inside of her. He’d helped her, but she began to realize that he was also the only person in the world who could hurt her. Without the demon plague, she was defenseless against him. The thought was scary but thrilling.
The horse walked into the fairgrounds just before dawn, and they stabled him with the Wild West horses. Inside Juliana’s tent, she heaved the blankets from her cot onto the canvas floor, and they lay together. Juliana knew it wasn’t proper, but she was far too tired to find him a different spot. Fortunately, he was far too tired to try anything, if he’d intended to.
She slept with her back against him, his arm around her, and his hand just happened to lay across her breasts as he fell asleep. She smiled to herself.
Chapter Eight
Dr. Heather Reynard worked late in her office. It would cost more with the babysitter, but budget committees needed their reports. Life in academia wasn’t exactly the pastoral, leisurely life she’d imagined when she’d left the Centers for Disease Control, but there was a lot less flying into war-torn regions to live in a tent surrounded by the sick and the starving. Everything had its trade-offs.
She emailed the report to her department head, then stood and stretched, ready to jump into Atlanta traffic for the slow ride home. She’d been extremely fortunate to get a post at Emory University, not far from her home in the Virginia Highlands, even if it was only a part-time associate professorship. Her commute ranged from three minutes to half an hour, depending on the time of day and the never-ending road construction.
She glanced out the window and smiled at the sight of a boy and a girl next to each other on the grassy lawn below. Studying their biology texts while thinking about each other’s personal biology.
The door to her office opened. A man in a black suit entered without knocking, and despite the smile on his face, something about him chilled Heather. He was in his late forties or early fifties, his dark hair graying and cropped close and neat, military-style. His dark green eyes seemed to glow with a wicked mirth.
“Dr. Heather Reynard.” He looked over her crowded bookshelves and saw her Newton’s Cradle, each ball painted a bright pattern of purples, red, oranges, and greens. They were meant to represent different icosahedral viruses, like influenza and rotavirus. A gift from Dr. Schwartzman, her former boss at the CDC, on her last day there after resigning.
Her visitor raised the ball at one end and released it, letting the row of them clack back and forth.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?” Heather remained where she was, standing behind her desk.
“I believe so.” He advanced into her office, his smile as warm as winter in Siberia. “We need to talk, Dr. Reynard.”
“You know, I have an appointment right now, actually,” Heather said. “So maybe you can call our receptionist tomorrow, set up a time for a meeting.”
“Appointment?” The man held up what looked like a Blackberry phone. “No, I don’t see anything here. You made a note to pick up eggs and milk, don’t forget that.”
“You hacked my phone?” Heather glanced at the bottom desk drawer, which held her purse. “Who are you?”
“I’m the man you’ve been waiting for.”
“Excuse me?”
“Surely you’ve been expecting