Listed: Volume V

This book is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013
by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce,
distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

The author
acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following
wordmarks referenced in this work of fiction: Tylenol.

Contents

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Publishing Schedule

Emily could feel the
tension coiled in Paul’s body.

She
was leaning against his side as they sat on the leather couch in Jack Martin’s
office. Her own stomach twisted with a mixture of nerves and faint hope, and
she realized Paul must feel the same. The muscles of his shoulders and abdomen
were tight, and the arm he’d wrapped around her was gripping her just a little
too hard.

It
was strangely comforting—knowing Paul was just as anxious as she was.

“I
don’t understand,” he said, sounding much more composed than she knew he felt.
“How did this information just suddenly materialize now?”

Martin
shrugged. He was a big man who was handsome in a laidback, unshaven way. Emily
liked him. “I don’t know. The report surfaced last night, which is why I called
first thing this morning. It’s a very complete report on an engineered virus
that was being developed in your father’s research facility. It fits with what
Mrs. Marino might have.”

“And
you hadn’t found it on your earlier searches?”

“No.
I had my computer guys search again, in case we missed something the first
time, and it was only then they discovered this report.”

“Why
was it missed the first time?” Paul asked.

“I
don’t know. It shouldn’t have been. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t think
it would have been missed. My people are careful.”

Emily
looked over at Paul and saw he was thinking the same thing she was.

Instead
of speculating, however, he asked, “What does that mean?”

“Two
options,” Martin replied. “One is that someone in your father’s organization is
leading us on a wild goose-chase. The report was planted so we’d waste our time
on a false lead.”

“But
why would they bother?” Emily asked. “It’s not like we were close to finding a
cure or anything. All they need to do is wait for me to die, if that’s what
they want.”

Paul’s
arm tightened around her briefly, and she knew what she’d said had bothered
him.

“You’re
right,” Martin confirmed, his brown eyes surprisingly kind for such a
no-nonsense man. “I don’t think they’d waste their time on something like that.”

“And
the second option?” Paul prompted.

“You
have a friend in your dad’s organization, pointing us in the right direction.”

Emily
glanced over and met Paul’s eyes. His expression looked strangely frozen, for
some reason. Not the reaction she’d expected.

“I
know you need some time to process all of this and think over possibilities,”
Martin continued, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got some experts who are
evaluating the report right now, so they’ll be able to tell us if it looks
genuine.
Assuming it is, all I need to know is whether you
think the information in this report is worth pursuing.”

When
Paul didn’t answer, Emily did. “There’s no reason not to pursue it, right? I
mean, if it can help the doctors figure out what this virus is, then maybe that
would help in coming up with a cure. And, if it’s not, then no harm done.” She
glanced up at Paul. “Right?”

“Right,”
he agreed, still looking a little stiff.

She
shifted on the couch. “We have nothing to lose—even if it’s just a waste of
time. And maybe you do have a friend you didn’t know about.”

“Right,”
Paul repeated. “There will still be a lot of work left to do, won’t there?
Interpreting the research results and then developing an anti-viral medication
or whatever they’d do?”

“The
report was very complete. It’s all Greek to me, of course, but my smart folks told
me right away that it looked there was enough there to development some sort of
treatment.”

Emily
felt a flare of hope, but she couldn’t really let herself believe it. Nothing
ever worked so easily, so miraculously for her.

“You’ll
look into who might be responsible for planting the report?” Paul asked Martin.

“We’re
already on it.”

Martin
stood up when they did and shook their hands as they left his office.

In
the car, Emily reached out to put a hand on Paul’s arm. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.
Of course.”

She
didn’t believe him. He’d taken this news in a very strange way. “What are you
thinking?” she asked, not wanting him to sink into silent brooding.

 He
didn’t answer immediately, but finally he admitted, “I went to visit my dad two
days ago.”

“What?”
she demanded, too sharply. She tempered her tone as she continued, “Why didn’t
you tell me?”

“You
were just getting over being sick. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I
can’t believe you would just—” She bit back her instinctive frustration over
being left out of something so important to him, since this was hardly the time
to address it. Resolving she’d get into that issue at another time, she asked
in a different tone, “How did it go?”

“About
how you would expect.”

“What
does that mean? What did he say?”

“He
said he had nothing to do with your getting the virus.”

She
thought for a minute before she responded. “Paul, what if he’s telling you the
truth?  What if this mysterious friend is him? He could have steered us to the
report we needed. All he would have to do was make a call.” When Paul made a
face, she added, “He could be trying to help you.”

“I
don’t think that’s what’s happening here. He always has an underlying agenda.”

“Then
who else would have done it? The timing of this is just too perfect. Maybe he
really is trying to—”

“I
don’t think so.”

“You
don’t think it’s even
possible
that you might be wrong about him?” When
she saw his face, she hurried on, “Not in anything he
did
, but in how he
feels about you.”

“If
he wanted to help me, he could have just told me directly about the virus and
where to find the report.”

“But
maybe he thinks someone in his organization is responsible for giving me the
virus. If that’s the case, then he’d have to be careful about what he gives
away. Paul, I don’t know. There could be any number of reasons why he’d do it
underhanded this way. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit he was wrong. I’m not
saying it’s a sure thing, but maybe we can hope.”

She
let out a shaky breath when he didn’t answer. “If the report is from him, then
maybe what’s in it is real. Don’t you think that’s worth hoping for?”

“Of
course it is.” His tone had changed, and so had the expression on his face.

He
didn’t believe her about his father—she could see that—but that didn’t mean the
report was a fake. He was going to let himself hope for that, at least.

Emily
had lived the last few months knowing she was going to die—shaping everything
she did, felt, and said around that irrevocable fact. She wasn’t sure how to
even process the hope that she might live, and she had no idea what it meant
for her relationship with Paul.

One
thing she knew, however—something she’d never dreamed would be possible when
she accepted his ring two months ago.

Paul
wanted
her to live. He wanted it deeply, with all of the fierce
intensity of his nature.

She
could feel it in his body, hear it in his voice, see it in his face.

“It’s
better than no hope at all,” she added.

He
reached out and pulled her against him in the backseat of the car. “It’s much
better than no hope, baby.”

Emily
sighed hoarsely and buried her face briefly in Paul’s shirt, breathing in the
warm, expensive scent of him and loving the way he called her “baby.”

It
a few panicked pangs through her heart, however. At first, she’d thought the
endearment just slipped out during sex or when she was really sick. She’d
assumed it was just one of those things guys said.

But
Paul called her "baby" all the time now, and it seemed to signify
that he
meant
it.

He
shouldn’t—he just shouldn’t—mean it.

***

In just a week, Dr.
Franklin had a treatment he wanted her to try, based on the information found
in the report.

It
was a long-shot. Just a preliminary attempt—an established treatment for
another virus that had similarities to the one described in the report. Even if
it didn’t work, the treatment shouldn’t have any significant negative
side-effects, so he thought they might as well try it right away.

Emily
went to the hospital and was hooked up to an IV for several hours, and she and
Paul went back the next day so they could check the results.

Evidently,
the treatment hadn’t worked the way he’d hoped. She could see it in Dr.
Franklin’s face before he actually said the words.

They
would keep trying, he said. The report had given them a number of invaluable
leads. There would be another treatment to try soon.

It
was still early.

But
she and Paul were quiet as they headed back to the car. When they climbed in
the backseat, Emily wasn’t sure what to say. She felt kind of crushed, even
though she knew it was ridiculous to feel that way. So she also felt annoyed
and impatient with herself for giving into such an irrational despair.

She
darted a look over to Paul. He stared out the window blankly as the driver
pulled away from the curb. His expression was composed but she knew—she
knew
—he
was crushed like she was.

For
some crazy reason, it helped. It gave her a purpose, something to do. She
didn’t want Paul to feel sad or bleak or despairing. Not because of her. She
couldn’t stand for him to feel that way.

“This
is silly,” she said, smiling at him—just a little wobbly—when he turned to look
at her in faint surprise. “We shouldn’t be acting like this is the end of the
world. Dr. Franklin is right. There’s no reason why their first attempt would
work. We’re going to be total wrecks if we’re like this after every treatment
for the next several weeks.”

Paul
actually gave a huff of amusement. “Speak for yourself. I make a point to
never
be a wreck.”

She
giggled at his irony. “Good to know.” She reached over and curved a hand around
the back of his head, pulling his face down toward hers. She kissed him lightly
on the mouth.  Marveled that she was entitled to do so. “Let’s not get
depressed yet. Okay?”

Paul’s
lips seemed to cling to hers, and he twined his fingers through her loose hair
as he deepened the kiss. When their lips parted, he leaned his forehead against
hers and murmured, “Okay.”

Emily’s
chest overflowed with something like sweetness, but then it was followed by
those pangs of panic again. She’d felt this way before—like when they were
making love under the stars on Prince Edward Island and Paul had seemed so
incredibly overwhelmed by the experience.

Part
of her craved the deep feeling, the neediness she sometimes sensed from him, but
part of her absolutely hated it.

It
wasn’t what their marriage was supposed to be about. It would mean they should
never have gotten married at all.