High-Stakes Affair (13 page)

Which meant they needed to get people in for treatment the second the symptoms hit—without causing mass hysteria.

“How much can we get?” she asked.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Not nearly enough. We’ll need to triage, do a ring vaccination of the family members of people who have been exposed, and health workers, of course.

“There’s also an experimental vaccine for Lassa fever,” he went on. “That’s another type of hemorrhagic fever. They developed it in Canada and the United States to protect lab workers. I can try to get hold of that, too, but there’s no guarantee it will work on this.”

She heard the fear in his voice, the dread.

“But either way, I need authorization. This is a major health threat—Biosafety Level Four. We need equipment—pressurized suits, a quarantine facility with air-locked chambers, with showers and decontamination rooms....”

And the only one who could provide it was the king. Only he could order the quarantine. Only he could mobilize the forces to contain the outbreak. Only he could close the casino, the schools, and order the health authorities to take charge.

“I’ll make sure this happens.”

“I don’t have to tell you how urgent this is,” Dr. Sanz said, his voice trembling. “I’ve contacted the World Health Organization, but I don’t have authority to act alone.”

Neither did she.

She stood. “Do what you can to get those vaccines. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve talked to my father.”

She disconnected the phone. Silence hung in the room. Her pulse hammering, her hands shaking, she punched in the number of her father’s private line.

No answer.

She tried his office line, with the same results.

Feeling frantic, she tried to think. “I need to talk to him directly. I’ll never get through on the phone.” And by this time in the afternoon, he was usually drunk.

“How are we going to do that?” Dante asked.

Good question.
“I don’t know what Tristan’s told the guards. But the way they’ve shot at us so far, I have to assume the worst. So there’s no way we can enter the castle and approach the king without them stopping us first.”

But there had to be a way.

Clutching her head, she tried to think. “What time is it?”

“Six o’clock.”

She tried to remember her father’s schedule. “There’s a state dinner tonight at the castle. It starts at nine. If we can sneak inside without alerting the guards, I can get us into the dinner to talk to him.”

Dante pocketed his phone. “I’ll get us inside.”

“We have to hurry.”

“I know a shortcut through Reino Antiguo. An old smuggling path the separatists use.”

“Good.” She shook her head at the irony. The separatists’ illegal activities might help them save País Vell. “But I want to stop at Jaime Trevino’s house on the way.”

“Why?”

“His widow was hiding something. I can’t help but think it has something to do with this disease. And if it helps us stop it…”

Dante nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”

She started toward the door, but another wave of dizziness blasted through her, and she stopped.

“You sure you’re all right?” Dante asked, sounding far away.

Her arm burned. A horrendous pain flayed her skull. And the fear she’d suppressed all day came crashing back.

She couldn’t tell Dante the truth. He’d try to stop her if he knew. And her people needed her to be strong. “I told you, I’m fine.”

But as they headed out the door, reality settled in on her like a crushing stone. This wasn’t a cold. It wasn’t even the flu. She’d caught the Ebola-chimera virus.

And the forty-eight-hour window of hope—her only chance to get that treatment that might enable her to survive—was about to run out.

Chapter 12

B
y the time they arrived in Jaime Trevino’s village two hours later, panic gripped Paloma so badly she wanted to scream. Terrifying images kept pinging around like frenzied fireflies in her mind—Gomez’s grotesque rash, the nightmarish pools of blood covering his bathroom floor, Morel’s puffed skin and severed tongue. Was that what lay in store for her—a death so horrific that even thinking about it made her feel crazed?

Dante pulled the stolen car up to the curb in front of Trevino’s apartment and parked. Forcing herself into action, she pushed open the door and jumped out. She wasn’t a martyr. Not even close. The idea of dying from Ebola filled her with such mind-numbing horror, she could hardly breathe. Every instinct she possessed clamored at her to run shrieking to the nearest hospital and beg them to save her life.

But sick or scared or not, she had a duty to the citizens of País Vell. It was up to her to protect them. Only she could talk to her father and save them from falling victim to this hellish disease.

And for once in her useless life, she had to do something right.

Her eyes burning, her legs wobbling badly, she preceded Dante to the apartment door. Night had fallen over the mountains, adding to the chill, and she shivered in the frosty air.

Dante leaned on the doorbell, then turned his scrutiny to her. Hoping the shadows hid the extent of her misery, she struggled to look composed. She couldn’t tell Dante she had the disease. He would freak out and insist on rushing her to Dr. Sanz for treatment—and she didn’t have time. She had to reach her father and convince him to put that quarantine in place—or more innocent people would die.

Including Dante?

Her lungs closed up, the terrible fear she’d suppressed for hours threatening to erupt. They’d kissed. They’d made love! What if he’d caught the disease from her? She’d never forgive herself if she caused him harm.

But he didn’t have the symptoms yet. And as long as he got that antidote forty-eight hours from the onset, he would survive.

Still, she had to be careful. She didn’t dare risk infecting Dante—or anyone else. By rights she should be quarantined, not running around the country exposing others to the disease. But until she reached her father and stopped her dangerous brother, she didn’t have much choice.

Señora Trevino opened the door right then, and Paloma realized instantly that something was wrong. The widow’s eyes looked dull. Blood splattered her arms and dress. Her lips were pinched; her expression blank, as if she’d suffered a traumatic event.

“What happened?” Paloma asked.

The widow’s numb eyes landed on her, but she didn’t speak.

“Señora Trevino,” Dante said, pulling her gaze to him. “It’s me again. Dante Quevedo. Please tell us what happened.”

The widow blinked, as if shaking herself out of a daze. And then her face crumpled and contorted with anguish, her eyes filling with tears.

“Mi hija,”
she sobbed. Her daughter. “She has it! The disease. She won’t stop bleeding.
Dios mío.
I can’t make it stop.”

Oh, God. Not the child, too.
Paloma closed her eyes and hugged her arms, an awful tightness constricting her throat. “Call an ambulance,” she told Dante, who pulled out his phone.

“Señora.” Hating to press, but knowing they had no choice with other lives at risk, Paloma made her voice stern. “You have to help us stop this. We need to know what happened to your husband, what you didn’t tell us before.”

The widow’s eyes turned wild, fear edging out her grief. She started to slam the door shut, but Paloma lunged forward and wedged her foot inside.

“You have to tell us,” she insisted, even firmer now. “We have to stop this disease before anyone else gets sick. Please, for your daughter’s sake. You won’t get into trouble, I swear.”

“I’ll protect you,” Dante assured her, closing the phone. “I just called for an ambulance for your daughter. We’ll do everything we can to save her. Now you need to tell us the truth.”

The widow seemed to shrink. She twisted her hands and bowed her head. And Paloma experienced a pang of regret. Her family had caused this distrust. This woman wouldn’t believe the princess, a member of the family who’d oppressed her people for years. But she
did
respect El Fantasma—a man who’d dedicated his life to helping the poor. A man who fought for justice, who tried to make a difference in the world. A man who epitomized everything a
real
nobleman should be.

“Jaime didn’t mean to do it,” the widow whispered, her eyes pleading with Dante’s. “It was an accident.”

“We know that,” Paloma said, gentling her voice. “Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise. Now please tell us the rest.”

The woman met her gaze. Her shoulders slumped even more. “He dropped the crate. He was in a hurry because he’d been late for work, and he…he didn’t balance the load on the forklift right. The crate fell off, and the medicines inside it broke. He cleaned it up, but he had to hide the evidence. He knew they’d fire him if they found out.”

Paloma frowned. “Just for dropping a crate?”

“He was on probation,” the woman confessed. “He’d been late so many times. Our daughter was ill. And he couldn’t afford to lose his job. There’s no other place to work.”

“What was in the crate?” Paloma asked.

The woman paled.

“Please.” Paloma kept her voice firm. “The truth, señora. We need to stop this disease.”

The woman shrank even more. Then she let out a reedy sigh. “The crate contained the flu vaccine.”

Dante rocketed down the mountain like a demon shot from hell, jolting through ruts and potholes, blasting through low-hanging branches and careening around harrowing curves. The prince’s diabolical scheme shocked even him. The flu vaccines were spreading the disease. They contained a genetically engineered virus—the deadliest type of Ebola grafted on to a lethal strain of influenza. Either one could kill, but together…

He shuddered. It could destroy the country, the continent, hell, the entire world, eliminating billions of people in weeks.

He glanced at Paloma. She sat beside him in the passenger seat, frantically trying to reach Dr. Sanz on the phone.

“Damn it,” she swore. “We’ve lost the signal. First he had his phone turned off, and now this.”

A branch scraped the roof of the car, and Dante jerked his gaze back to the trail. The old smugglers’ route was half tractor trail, half cow path, barely wide enough for a vehicle to get through. And with no guardrails, no guarantee that the trail hadn’t washed out, he had to stay alert.

“We can call when we reach the castle,” he said, his teeth clacking as they bounced through another rut.

“We won’t need to then. There’ll be reporters at the dinner. If I can get to them before Tristan spots us, I can have them spread the word. It’s just…I’d hoped to do this quietly so people wouldn’t panic.” She grimaced. “I think we’re past that point now, though.”

“Yeah.” Every second counted with the disaster they had on their hands.

The tires drummed on the hard-packed dirt. The headlights swept the narrow trail, illuminating the steep mountain slopes plunging away on every side. Dante swerved around a curve, barely managing to keep the car on the narrow trail. But he didn’t dare slow. The castle was still miles away.

“Why would he do this?” Paloma asked, sounding incredulous. “What is he trying to prove?”

Dante knew she was referring to her brother. “You have no idea?”

“I can’t even conceive of it. It’s barbaric.”

He couldn’t argue that.

“And I feel so guilty,” she continued, her anguish clear in her voice. “I told Dr. Sanz to get the word out about the vaccines. If I hadn’t done that…”

“You had no way of knowing. No one did. It’s not your fault.”

“I guess.” Her voice sounded small.

“We’ll get the word out tonight. That’s all we can do right now.”

“I know. It’s just…” She coughed into her sleeve, and he shot her a sideways glance.

Fear whispered through him, the same nagging suspicion that had been lurking in his mind all day. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. I told you that it’s just a cold.”

Was it really? Apprehension trickling through him, he returned his gaze to the road. She had a headache, a fever. She was dizzy and would hardly eat. Her skin was flushed, her eyes glazed and increasingly bloodshot. And now that cough…

His stomach fell away. He immediately slammed on the brakes.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Why are you stopping? We have to get to the castle.”

“You have the virus.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“The hell you don’t. Damn it, Paloma. You heard the doctor. You’ve only got forty-eight hours to get that antidote.” He frantically counted back. They were nearly out of time! “We have to get you to Dr. Sanz.”

“We can’t. We don’t even know where he is right now. Please, Dante. Keep driving. We need to go.”

He tightened his grip on the wheel, wild terror filling his cells, making it hard to think. Everything inside him urged him to turn around.

But Paloma was right. They were nearly to the castle. It would take too long to drive back. The fastest course of action was to sneak into that castle and demand help.

Because if anything happened to Paloma…

Ice running through his veins, he released the brake. Then he gunned the accelerator, sending the car careening down the path. He couldn’t lose her. No matter what else happened, he had to save her life. Maybe they couldn’t be together after this. Maybe once this ordeal was over, she’d never speak to him again. Hell, now that she knew he was El Fantasma, she might even toss him in jail.

But no matter what else happened, he refused to let her die.

Determined not to fail her, he flattened the gas pedal to the floorboard and crashed through a sprawling bush. But then a new worry popped into his mind. “You can’t climb with your injured arm,” he said. “I’ll have to go in alone.”

“You can’t. You’ll never get to my father without me.” She paused. “Climb up what?”

“The garderobe chute.”

“The medieval toilet? That’s your plan?” She stared at him. “But…that’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve done it before.”

“When?”

“Nineteen years ago.”

The car’s tires drummed on the dirt. The beams from the headlights caught the glowing eyes of a fox as it slunk into the shrubs. He maneuvered the car through a series of switchbacks, his fingers biting into the wheel. They were nearly there. Just another mile to go…

“That’s when my mother’s sapphire brooch went missing,” she finally said. “El Fantasma’s first heist.”

“Yeah.”

Paloma fell silent. They finally hit a straight stretch, and Dante floored the accelerator again. The car shuddered as it flew down the trail.

And with every passing minute, his anguish grew.
Damn it!

Why hadn’t she told him how sick she was? Why hadn’t she asked for help? He glanced at her shadowed profile, and the truth kicked him straight in the throat. Why
would
she ask for help? What would be the point? For years her family had used her, manipulated her to suit their needs. Even the citizens of País Vell had reviled her, blaming her for things that weren’t her fault. So why would she think they’d care?

And while no one had worried about her, she’d spent her entire life protecting them. She’d defended her father, her brother. She’d jeopardized her reputation—even risking arrest—for a noble cause. Now instead of getting the medical help she needed, she would sacrifice herself to save her people, no matter what it took.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

Emotions swirling inside him, he glared at the headlights’ beams. Her family might not care about her, but he did. And he refused to fail her now.

“Dante?”

Forcing his mind back to her question, he shot her another glance. He’d never revealed his secrets. He’d never admitted being El Fantasma, not even to his sister. But Paloma had more integrity than anyone he’d ever met. And she deserved to know the truth.

“I went through the garderobe chute, like I said. I was working as an apprentice at the time, part of the renovation crew.”

Her frown deepened. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Weren’t you too young to work?”

“I’d dropped out of school after my mother died. I’d wanted to become an architect, but that wasn’t going to happen, so I apprenticed as a stonemason instead.”

“I’m sorry,” Paloma said, sounding subdued.

He shrugged. It had crushed him at the time. “Life happens, and I had a sister to support. So I lied about my age. I’d been an apprentice for about a year when we got that job.”

“So you were working on the castle?”

“Yeah, repointing stones on the north side, the area around the garderobe chute. I was the only one who wasn’t claustrophobic, so they had me do anything that required crawling up the chute.” He glanced at her, barely able to make out her face in the dashboard’s light.