Toxic Game (GhostWalkers #15) - Christine Feehan Page 0,66
what’s coming. Both of you are courageous and deserve respect. On the other hand, we have to protect the public. We can’t have even a couple of drops of that virus get out. I am certain you can see my position.”
That was Joe. Apologize, but let everyone, especially Shylah, know he was right. Draden wasn’t about to allow him to make her feel small. He interrupted. “We’ve taken out a good number of the MSS, and yes, we’re wearing masks and gloves when we hunt. We’ll take as many of them down as possible for you. Our strategy is to make the village as unfriendly a place for them as possible so hopefully they’ll move out of there and the Kopassus can deal with them.”
Shylah leaned her head against his back. He could almost feel her weariness and need to have the strangers gone. It took nerves of steel to face what they were facing, and she didn’t want to waste what time they had left being chastised and fighting with command. He wanted to wrap things up, but he really needed assurance from Trap first.
On the screen, Joe glanced over his shoulder, nodded to someone off-camera and then turned back. “That can be coordinated. Right now, we’re close to you. We’ll be coming for the blood and virus and we’ll bring you food and supplies. They’re keeping everyone away, so you shouldn’t run into any civilians. When you want them to take over, let us know. The Kopassus will be on standby.”
“The MSS haven’t come this far into the interior. So far, we’ve been safe from them,” Draden reported.
“The Indonesian military will help with that. They’ve thrown up a ring around the remote lab and the ranger station. You will be able to move in and out freely, heading toward the village to do as much damage as possible to the terrorists but they won’t be able to get to you. Be careful, both of you. Don’t take chances that could spread the virus.”
“We won’t. Clear kills only,” Draden agreed.
“Are you showing any signs of infection, Draden?” Trap asked. “Symptoms can appear within two days and you received a healthy dose.”
Draden appreciated the concern on Trap’s face. The man was his best friend, but he rarely showed emotion. He nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck. “My head’s pounding. I’ve had a headache for over twenty-four hours.”
“He isn’t showing any signs,” Shylah denied, her head appearing over his shoulder again in the camera’s vision. “He hit his head really hard and clearly has a concussion, which he denies.”
Draden’s lips twitched. He tried hard to suppress his grin. She looked cute. Earnest. On-camera her freckles showed up as pure gold. He had an unexpected urge to wrap his arm around her neck, lean back and kiss the hell out of her. Pure temptation.
Trap ignored her. “Do you feel nauseated?”
Draden tried not to wince. He’d worked with Trap on social cues, but they didn’t seem to take if he wasn’t there to remind him. Trap lived in his own world, one few understood. He was a brilliant man who could be generous, but most of the time he didn’t give a damn what others thought of him. Nothing softened his hard edges but Cayenne, his wife. Even then, the GhostWalkers thought of her as a miracle, that she could live with his eccentricities. Trap had Asperger’s, but with his IQ he should have been able to learn to read others, he simply didn’t care enough to do so.
“Only when Shylah cooks for us.”
She burst out laughing, just as he knew she would.
“Don’t tell me she’s feeding you the rations Whitney’s nutritionist concocted for us,” Bellisia asked.
“Is that what it is?” Draden countered.
Both girls laughed. Joe managed to smile. Trap didn’t so much as change expression. He was all business, his mind already immersed with finding a way to keep the two of them alive.
“I need to know what the point of entry was, specifically, Draden.”
“Left thigh quadriceps, more to the side, but injected right into the muscle.”
“Was there a burning sensation? Do you have any infection at the entry site?”
“There was a burning sensation, but no infection,” Draden responded, resisting the urge to rub the spot.
“What about swelling?”
“Some, about the size of a golf ball.” He didn’t want to discuss it with the possibility of Shylah overhearing. It was very red. “I’ll photograph it for you and send. Will measure as well. It isn’t particularly large, Trap.”