Listed: Volume IV (12 page)

They
were almost home when Emily whispered brokenly, as she writhed with what looked
like pain, “Paul, I’m scared. How did it get so bad so fast?”

“I
don’t know. I don’t know.” He wiped her face once more, although the washcloth
was no longer very cool. Then he exhaled in relief when the driver pulled into
their private parking deck. “We’re home now. You’ll feel better when we can get
your medicine.”

He
desperately hoped she’d feel better. He would never tell her so, but he was
scared too. The worse her fevers became, the fewer days she would have before
the virus consumed her completely.

She
had to stay alive for long enough for them to find a cure.

He
carried her up to the apartment and then into her bedroom, where he gently laid
her down in bed. She was completely out of it now, mumbling disconnected
thoughts, almost delirious although not violently so. He managed to get her to
swallow her pills without choking her.

Paul
was so tense and anxious he could barely breathe as he carefully took her
clothes off and put on instead a tank top and boxer shorts, like she always
wore when she had fevers. It wasn’t easy, since she kept tossing restlessly, in
obvious physical discomfort.

He
wiped her face with another cool cloth, praying for the pills to take effect
soon so she would feel better. When he saw her loose hair sticking to her face,
he went into the bathroom and grabbed two elastic hairbands. Then he returned
and gathered her messy hair into two ponytails as neatly as he could, being
sure not to pull any stray hairs in a way that would hurt her.

There
wasn’t anything else he could do but sit by her bed and keep wiping her face.
She was mumbling under her breath still, and he could occasionally recognize a
word. She said, “Paul,” more than once. And he thought he picked out the words
“volcano” and "stars." But nothing she said made any real sense.

After
several minutes, she started to shiver, so he put the washcloth up immediately
and pulled the bedcovers up over her body. It took a minute, but eventually her
shivering stopped.

Finally,
the medication started to work, and the pained tension in her body relaxed just
a little. She seemed to fall asleep for real. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep—it never
was when she had a fever—but at least she wasn’t tossing around with her face
twisting in pain.

Paul
was able to breathe again, but he didn’t move from his chair. Ruth came in with
a fresh bottle of water for Emily and a cup of hot tea for him he hadn’t
requested. He drank it automatically, even though it was sweeter than he would
prefer.

Amy
should be here soon, but Paul wasn't planning to leave.

His
eyes never left Emily’s pale face. She looked incredibly young in the two
ponytails, vulnerable and so small. But her left hand was fisted in her
bedcovers, and he could see his rings glinting on her finger there.

She
was his wife, and she was strongest, bravest person he’d ever known. But she
was also his to take care of, and there was very little he could do to help
her.

There
was one more thing, though.

One
thing he’d vowed never to do. One thing with almost no chance of working.

The
only thing left for him now.

He
used to think he was strong—that there were certain things in his life on which
he would never waver—but he wasn’t strong enough.

He
loved her. Far more than he’d ever loved himself.

He
would rip himself apart, from the inside out, if it would give her another day
to live.

***

Paul felt like he might
be sick.

It
wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t anger or resentment as he’d always understood it. It
was closer to the bleak acceptance of being stripped of all defenses and
willingly led to slaughter.

He
was sitting in the visiting room of a federal detention center, waiting for his
father to be escorted out to talk to him. Emily’s fever had finally broken the
day before—lasting just over forty-eight hours this time—but she was still weak
and exhausted.

He
hadn’t told her he was coming here today because he didn’t want her to worry
about him.

Besides,
Paul knew this was an act of final desperation that would almost certainly
prove to be futile.

Then
he saw his father—craggy face, gray hair, utterly self-contained expression—as he
approached the table and sat down across from his son.

He
didn’t greet Paul, but that was to be expected. Empty words gave too much away.
That was a lesson his father had taught him very young.

When
Paul didn’t speak, his father finally arched his eyebrows in amused arrogance. “This
is
your
meeting. We can spend it in silence if you’d like.”

Lying
in bed awake all last night, Paul had plotted out a carefully nuanced strategy
for this conversation, but now he couldn’t remember any of it. He blurted out, “Emily
is dying.”

“That’s
not news to me. I was at the trial too.”

Paul
hated the smug unconcern on his father’s face, although he knew it was put on
for show as much as anything else. “I think the virus has the source in your
research facility. I know you were working on biological weapons there. We have
concrete proof.”

“If
you have evidence, then why do you need me?”

“You
know why. She’s eighteen. She’s innocent. And she’s dying. You’re already going
to be in prison for life. You might as well just tell us what we need to know.”

Vincent
Marino’s eyebrows rose even higher. “You think I had something to do with her
illness?”

“I
know you did.”

“Then
what do you want from me? If I’m that man—the man you think I am—then what
could you possibly want from me now?”

What
Paul wanted from his father he would never get. He’d resigned himself to that
truth years ago. Everyone had heard him say it out loud in the courtroom, so
there was no mystery about it. No puzzle for his father to solve.

Instead,
this was just a battle to him. A duel. A game of strategy.

Paul
was too emotionally invested in this particular issue to ever come out ahead of
his father in strategy, so he didn’t even try. “I want you to give us the
information and research you have on the virus so we can find a cure.”

“If
I did what you think, I’m surprised you’re even asking me such a thing.”

“I
have nothing left to lose. I admit it. But your hand is played. You have
nothing to win.”

“There’s
always something to win. I know I taught you
that
…if nothing else.”

“I
love her,” Paul admitted, the words ripped out of him without warning.

“I
know that. It was more than obvious from watching you with her in the
courtroom.”

Paul
swallowed hard. “She’s going to die.”

“We
all have our trials. What matters is what we do with them.”

This
conversation had played out exactly as Paul had known it would. He wasn’t even
angry.  The faint hope had been doomed from the start. “So you won’t help?”

“I
can’t
help. I’m not the monster you think I am. I didn’t do this.”  The
words were almost convincing.

“I
don’t believe you.”

His
father shrugged. “You’re still young, and you still live your life looking for
dragons to slay. It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes the world is just
brutal. For no particular reason. Without anybody to blame.”

Paul
stared blindly and couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

It
felt like his father had just signed Emily’s death warrant.

When
Paul was thirteen and his parents were headed for divorce, he’d been both devastated
and furious one night at seeing his mother cry.

His
father had told him to toughen up.

Not
long ago, Paul had believed himself to be tough.

He
stood up. So abruptly his chair tipped backwards and hit the floor with a loud
clatter.

His
father smiled faintly. “I guess this is goodbye then. Give my best to your
pretty wife.”

Despite
everything else, those last words managed to hurt Paul.

He
turned to leave. He wasn’t going to say anything more. He wouldn’t give his father
the satisfaction of seeing him made even more vulnerable.

Paul
only made it a couple of steps before he stopped and glanced back. “Why does it
always have to be a war between us?”

Something
changed on his father’s face. Not any sort of softening, but he looked older
than he should have. And so, so tired.

Then
Vincent Marino asked a final question, one that needed no answer. “When is life
anything else?”

Listed
is completed
and will be published in six volumes on the following schedule. Each volume is
roughly 28,000-35,000 words (around 90-120 pages). Beginning in Volume III, it
will include adult sex scenes.

Volume I:   February 8, 2013 (with free promotion
days)

Volume II:  February 15, 2013 (with free promotion
days)

Volume III: February 22, 2013 (with free promotion
days)

Volume IV: March 1, 2013

Volume V:  March 8, 2013

Volume VI: March 15, 2013

About
the Author

Noelle handwrote her
first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she
hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and
currently resides in Virginia, where she teaches English, reads any book she
can get her hands on, and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.

She
loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of
her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and
focus on writing contemporary romances. For more information, please check out
her website: noelle-adams.com