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  Rebecca studied the girl. Gillian. The reason she'd been imprisoned. Even the softness of sleep couldn't hide the faint blue shadowing under the child's eyes, or conceal the pinched look of her face. Rebecca didn't know much about children, but she knew they weren't supposed to fall asleep so easily in the middle of the morning.

  Desmond looked up and met Rebecca's gaze. A wistful half-smile played upon his lips.

  "She's already forgotten she was frightened." He stroked his daughter's hair, careful not to wake her. "Life's a lot easier to deal with when you're only three."

  Rebecca didn't want to intrude on the private scene, but she had to know. "What's going on here?"

  "I apologize. Philippe didn't expect to find you here, and jumped to the wrong conclusion."

  "He thought you...and I...?" She looked away, feeling the heat flush her face. She'd pictured the same thing herself, last night, when Desmond's warm hands woke her from a sensual dream. But she'd dismissed the thought as the product of too little sleep and unusual circumstances.

  She gathered her wits.

  "That still doesn't explain why he tried to tear my shirt off. Or why he threatened me."

  "He threatened you?" Desmond's emerald eyes riveted her gaze. She could lose herself in their depths.

  "He blamed me. For what, I don't know, but I didn't want to provoke him, so I just agreed and said I was sorry. He said I wasn't sorry yet, but I would be." She frowned and shook her head, unable to express the scene still so vivid in her memory. "It wasn't his words, so much as his expression. He looked like he wanted to kill me."

  "Don't worry. Philippe's harmless. He would never hurt you. He just needs some time to cool off."

  "Oh." Despite her doubts, Desmond's words reassured her. She smiled. He'd spoken in the same soft tone he'd used to comfort Gillian, and it obviously worked just as well on her. She wouldn't mind curling up against his other shoulder. Of the two brothers, Desmond was clearly the more dangerous. But not to her. Never to her.

  "Dr. Chen is expecting you around noon. Would you like coffee or breakfast before you go?"

  "I was hoping I could stay up here." How else would she get a chance to search Desmond's room? And she really didn't want to return to the lab. She tried to look pathetic and play on his sympathies. "I don't want to go back underground."

  "You won't be alone. Either Evan or Dr. Chen will be keeping you company the whole time. And the labs are very well lit. Besides, the tests will be done much more quickly with your help."

  The threat was subtle, but Philippe's actions had sensitized her. Desmond might not let her go if she didn't cooperate. She didn't have a choice.

  "All right, I'll go. But I'd better have some coffee, first, or I'll be less than useless to him."

  Desmond put Gillian back in bed, and fetched Rebecca an earthenware mug of coffee from the kitchen. It was black and barely warm, but she drank it greedily. She'd just finished when someone knocked on the front door.

  Desmond unlocked the door, his keycard provoking a buzz-click from the scanner. She hated that noise. It grated on her nerves like the constant chiming of an elevator that stopped on every floor when she was riding all the way to the top, reminding her that other people walked freely in and out while she was trapped.

  The shaggy-browed brute she suspected of tampering with her car stood outside.

  "Evan, escort Ms. Morgan to Dr. Chen's lab. He's expecting her," Desmond said, his voice returning to the cold formality of last night. It was almost as if he didn't want the guard to know he'd been nice to her.

  "Yes, sir."

  Desmond prodded her out the door, leaving her stranded in the hall with Evan.

  "Let's go," Evan said.

  "Yeah. Sure." She glared back at the door. Every time she'd just about decided that Desmond might not be so bad after all, he started ordering her around. He could have asked politely. He didn't have to threaten her, then hurry to get rid of her before she changed her mind.

  She didn't move fast enough for Evan. He grabbed her arm and pulled her after him.

  "Hey, let go! I'm coming."

  He looked at her, then dropped her arm.

  "Come on, then."

  He set off down the stairs and into the warren of corridors they'd traversed last night, leaving her to follow. If she didn't match his pace, he'd probably drag her.

  Evan stopped before one of the featureless white doors.

  "This is Dr. Chen's lab. I'll come back for you this evening." He slid his keycard through the scanner. The scanner buzzed and the door clicked open. She stepped into a different lab from the one she'd been in yesterday.

  "You came! I was afraid you'd changed your mind." Dr. Chen rushed over to greet her, his voice raised over the constant hum of fans.

  He was the first person in this madhouse who seemed happy to see her, and she warmed to him despite her resentment. It wasn't his fault his boss was an autocratic jerk.

  "I'm here. But what can I do?"

  "I need a lab assistant to do all the tests as fast as Mr. Lacroix wants them, but all the assistants are already assigned to projects. I could preempt one, but then I'd have to explain why my research was more important. In detail."

  He shook his head, obviously distressed at the thought of disclosing enough information for other researchers to capitalize on his work. It made sense that he got along well with Desmond. They were both paranoid about secrecy.

  Dr. Chen held out a package from a vending machine, interrupting her thoughts. "Twinkie?"

  "Uh, no thanks." His trash basket overflowed with empty Twinkie wrappers that fluttered in the constant breeze of the fans. No wonder he was so jumpy. He must be on a perpetual sugar high.

  "Take one. Keep your blood sugar up. You'll need the energy."

  She sighed. "Can't you use the blood samples you took yesterday?"

  "No, no. They're busy replicating, okay?" He gestured at rows of petri dishes sitting inside a Plexiglas box, filled with yellow goo that gleamed beneath a heat lamp. "It'll be another day before there's enough to test. No, I need your help here."

  She looked at the Plexiglas enclosed desk top he pointed at. A series of test tubes, their insides coated with a clear substance, stood beside a brightly colored machine reminiscent of a carnival thrill ride.

  "What goes in those?"

  "I need another blood sample, okay? I have something else I need to test. As long as you're here." He pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

  "But I don't want to— "

  "Just a little. You'll hardly feel it. Okay?"

  He advanced on her with a needle.

  She swallowed and nodded. Needles weren't so bad. And if she didn't do it, she wouldn't get out.

  He sat her in a chair and drew a vial of blood from her arm. It stung a bit, but didn't hurt. She pressed the cotton pad he gave her to her arm, and watched with interest as he carried the vial to the sealed area, opened an access hatch, and popped the vial inside the sterile area.

  Peeling off his gloves, he sat down. He pushed his hands through a pair of gloves attached to openings in the Plexiglas, and poured the contents of the vial into one of the pretreated test tubes. Rebecca stood up and came over, observing over his shoulder. The process intrigued her.

  He added a clear liquid to the tube and capped it, then dropped it into the machine. He switched the machine on, and it twisted and whirled the hapless vial. Just looking at it spinning about made her queasy. Dr. Chen grinned.

  "Okay! It's going good now!"

  "What are you doing?"

  "Breaking up the blood." He turned off the machine and peered at the vial, adjusted something and turned it on again. It spun faster. "I'm only interested in the white blood cells. The T-cells, leukocytes and neukocytes."

  Rebecca watched Dr. Chen, glad of something to help her avoid looking at the whirling blood.

  Keeping her gaze fixed on him, she said, "T-cells are part of the immune system. I remember that from a story I did on AIDS. A
nd leukocytes are involved in Leukemia, although I forget if it's too many or not enough of them. But what are neukocytes?"

  Dr. Chen stiffened, then turned away so that she couldn't see his face.

  "If you're going to help me, you need to put on some gloves. There's extras in the top drawer."

  Chapter 5

  BY THE END of the afternoon, Rebecca had her story. Using a combination of fawning interest and indirect questioning, she'd weaseled a wealth of information out of the brilliant but naive Dr. Chen. She'd get an official confirmation, or official "no comment," before she submitted it, but she had all the facts she needed.

  Chen and his colleagues had discovered a new kind of white blood cell that revolutionized the way the body's immune system worked. A better understanding of the mechanics of this cell might be the breakthrough needed in the fight against AIDS and previously incurable cancers.

  This scoop would be her ticket to the big time. She couldn't wait to write it up.

  Evan returned for Rebecca at six o'clock, and she rushed him out of the lab before Dr. Chen had a chance to let slip how much he'd told her. Fortunately, Evan was his usual brusque and untalkative self as he led her back to Desmond's apartment. She didn't want to be distracted before she could write everything down.

  Evan knocked on Desmond's door, interrupting a medley of shouts and laughter inside. Desmond answered the door after a minute, his daughter giggling and kicking as he held her upside down in one arm.

  Gillian wriggled loose, and he grabbed her before she could fall. She laughed as he set her down.

  "Do it again, Daddy. Do it again."

  "Not now, sweetheart. Play time is over. We've got company."

  Gillian stopped fidgeting and peeked around her father's leg at them. Rebecca didn't know whether or not to be insulted when Gillian ignored her and Evan, and lifted her arms to Desmond.

  "Up, Daddy. I want up."

  He picked her up and tried to introduce her to Rebecca, but she was more interested in flipping his collar up and down.

  "Gillian, this is...Gillian? Are you listening?...This is Rebecca. She'll be staying with us...Gillian? Oh, never mind." He turned to them and smiled. "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Rebecca, why don't you wash up? And I'll see you the same time tomorrow, Evan."

  Evan nodded and closed the door as Rebecca stepped inside.

  "Dinner?" she asked. "You cook?"

  "Hardly," he said with a laugh. She followed him into a kitchen decorated entirely in brick, natural oak and gleaming copper. The homey atmosphere coaxed a smile from her, until Desmond set Gillian on the counter in front of a blacked-out window. Then Rebecca recalled the lengths to which Desmond had already gone for his daughter's sake. He wanted her here because he thought she could save Gillian. He'd be furious if he found out Rebecca planned to expose their research.

  His muttered, "Damn!" gave her a guilty start, as she thought for a moment she'd somehow given herself away. But his attention was focused on Gillian. Then he turned to Rebecca.

  "I should have asked Evan to stay," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know what I was thinking of. Can you give me a hand? It's time for her shot."

  Gillian started squirming and trying to get free. "No, Daddy! No shot! No!"

  He let out his breath in an exasperated sigh. "Can you hold her?"

  Not quite sure what else to do, Rebecca stepped up to the wriggling girl and placed her hands above Desmond's. The brief contact touched off a tingling charge up her arms, then she had to focus all of her attention on Gillian.

  "No! No shot! I had Daddy medicine today! I don't need a shot! No-o-o!" Gillian flailed her heels and fists. When that didn't work, she tried to bite Rebecca.

  "Gillian! No! Little girls do not bite people." Desmond grabbed his daughter and pulled her off the counter. Gripping her tightly, he turned to Rebecca. "I'd better hold her. Can you get the medicine from the refrigerator? It's in the cold cut drawer."

  Trying to ignore Gillian's screaming, Rebecca opened the refrigerator. Tiny glass bottles filled two-thirds of the drawer, lined up in neat rows like little soldiers. She took out one of the little bottles. The glass chilled her fingers.

  Suddenly her story became more than just a collection of facts. It was the story of one little girl's fight against a killer she couldn't hope to understand, a disease so new it didn't even have a name yet.

  Shaken by the revelation, Rebecca turned back and placed the medicine on the counter. Desmond had somehow managed to get a needle ready while wrestling with his daughter. He nodded to Rebecca.

  "Will you take her again?"

  Rebecca grabbed hold of the squirming child, too numb to care about the kick to her thigh. Operating on sheer instinct, Rebecca managed to tuck all of Gillian's arms and legs close to her body and pin her there. Gillian wriggled, and screamed louder.

  "No! I hate you! You want to hurt me! My Mommy would never hurt me! I want my Mommy!"

  Desmond's hands were steady as he pierced the bottle's rubber seal and filled the needle with fluid. He cleared the air out of the needle, spurting drops of medicine across the counter, and turned back to Gillian. Feeling illogically guilty for Gillian's suffering herself, Rebecca was amazed that he could remain so impassive. And then she saw his eyes.

  He'd heard every word his daughter said. Every accusation, every complaint. His face could have been carved from marble, it was so still, but his eyes shone brightly with unshed tears.

  He took Gillian's arm and buried the tip of the needle in it. She shrieked, and started to cry. He held her arm steady, depressing the plunger with constant pressure. When the needle was empty, he pulled it free and tossed it into a red plastic canister on the counter, where it crunched against other needles.

  Lifting his daughter from Rebecca's arms, he cuddled her close, crooning soft, soothing endearments into her hair while her sobbing subsided. She sniffed and hiccuped, then looked up at him, tears staining her face.

  "Hurt, Daddy."

  He closed his eyes and whispered, "I know. I know."

  Not wanting to intrude on them any further, Rebecca tiptoed quietly out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

  The big white couch looked inviting, and she sat down with a sigh. She hadn't expected that. Sure, Desmond had said Gillian was sick, but aside from being too thin, she looked like such a happy, healthy little kid. All that medicine. She must need shots once or twice a day, at least.

  Then she remembered Gillian's mention of "Daddy medicine." Gillian must have inherited at least part of her condition from Desmond. Were some of those bottles for him? Was he so skillful at injecting medicine because he had to administer it to himself?

  She hadn't realized the importance of Dr. Chen's words this afternoon, but their meaning was all too clear now. He'd only been working on his current project for three years— since Gillian was born. Before that, he'd been working on a similar, but different, project. Many of the other researchers had also switched focus at that time.

  Desmond had taken them off finding solutions for his illness, and set them to solving his daughter's.

  Rebecca stared at the wall. She'd spent her whole adult life believing that people always put themselves first. But Desmond was risking everything for his daughter.

  Pain sliced through Rebecca's chest, and she struggled to breathe. Since she'd learned of her mother's betrayal, she hadn't trusted anyone. She hadn't believed she could. Now here was proof positive that Desmond Lacroix was a man who would put his own life on the line for someone he loved.

  She hadn't realized how much she needed to believe people like that still existed. More importantly, she discovered that she wanted to be a person like that. She didn't want to be like her mother, destroying someone else's chance for happiness because of petty selfishness.

  Desmond came out of the kitchen, his daughter asleep against his shoulder, and walked over to the couch.

  "She cried herself to sleep," he said softly. "She doesn'
t have the stamina for a prolonged fight."

  Rebecca looked into his eyes, waiting until he realized she had an important pronouncement to make.

  "I'll help you. However long it takes."

  It was the first time she'd ever seen a smile spread all the way to his eyes. "Thank you," he said, and put his free hand on her shoulder.

  Golden warmth ran through her, spreading out in waves from his touch. She tilted her head to look at him. His eyes shone a deep green, warm and welcoming. Did he feel the sparks between them, too? If he wasn't holding his daughter, would he kiss her?

  He opened his mouth to say something more, and the kitchen timer pinged. He smiled again, the wry smile more familiar to her.

  "Dinner's ready."

  She followed him back into the kitchen. No signs remained of the recent struggle. He woke Gillian up and strapped her into a booster seat, then pulled out a chair for Rebecca.

  Gillian tugged lethargically at her napkin, pulling it out from under her rubberized silverware to cover her plate. Ignoring his daughter's silent protest, Desmond removed a casserole dish from the oven. He set it on the table and lifted the cover, releasing a cloud of steam that was fragrant with the scent of beef and onions. Rebecca's stomach growled.

  "That smells terrific. I thought you said you didn't cook."

  "I don't," he answered, dishing out servings for the two adults. "But Mrs. Waters is a wonderful cook."

  Rebecca nodded, lifting a forkful of the ground beef, onion and rice mixture to her mouth. The meat was a little rarer than she liked, but still delicious.

  Gillian watched them eat for a minute before sweeping her napkin off of her plate, and demanding to be served. Desmond put a small helping on her plate and she attacked it with her blunt-ended fork, using her left hand, the arm that hadn't gotten the shot.