“Dr. Hayes? Are you Dr. Hayes?”
Cecilia spun around on her toe, pretending for a moment that she was Brittany doing a gymnastic move. Such are the things her brain did when it was exhausted.
“Sorry,” she said as she finished her spin, smiling as she…
Whoa.
Big guy. Big black guy with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen and a jagged scar that cut across his jaw. It was an old one, probably happened years ago and had never been stitched properly. Poor guy. A good plastic surgeon could have made it nearly invisible. Instead, it was one of the first things anyone saw when they looked at his face. But even with the scar, she had to admit he looked pretty sexy. It wasn’t just his muscles and cut body, but also because his expression seemed warm and open. Like he was a big, soft place for her whole being to rest.
She blinked, startled by her own thoughts. Must be the exhaustion. Meanwhile, she smiled as she dropped down onto her heels and walked toward him. “Dr. Hayes isn’t here. He had to go back to DC.” Or more accurately, he’d fled when he realized he was as clueless as the rest of them. She hadn’t thought the man was a coward, but two hours before the quarantine, he declared he had “important business” in DC and hopped on the last flight out of Detroit.
Cowardly wuss.
“Can I help you?”
The man gave her a weary smile as he gestured to her name on the lab coat. “Dr. Lu? Are you with the CDC?”
“Yup. Started with them right out of school.” Then she abruptly jumped to his side. “You’re bleeding!” His forearm had dark red spots in the shape of an animal bite. Most of it had sealed over, but some of the punctures were jagged and still bleeding sluggishly.
She grabbed his wrist with her right hand, turning the wound toward the light. Wow. He had big hands and it was impossible not to notice the strength in his wrist and forearm. Attraction stirred inside her, and she covered her embarrassment by yanking gloves out of a nearby box.
“Let’s get you down to the ER. Did you know the animal that bit you?” There had been scores of reports of pets going crazy. Docile lapdogs suddenly becoming vicious terrors. Old cats that barely moved from their spot in the sun abruptly tearing around and howling. The CDC didn’t have reliable statistics on it, not with the human problem their main focus. But Cecilia had heard enough stories just from the hospital staff to guess that the two were related.
She wanted to see if she could isolate the same bizarre enzyme in afflicted pets as she’d discovered in her patients, but she wasn’t a veterinarian. She’d already sent the request up the chain of command, but it would take some time. Plus asking the police to bring in any “crazy pets” that they found was like asking guys in a war zone to stop fighting for their lives to play with the wildlife. It was frustrating because she could take the samples herself. You didn’t need to be a veterinarian to pull blood and saliva, but she didn’t have the credentials or the resources to get the pets in the first place.
“Um, yeah,” the man answered. “It’s okay. I was an army medic. Already treated it.”
She rolled his wrist to look at the underside of the bite. “That’s a really big bite. Was this dog a pet?” She looked up, her mind scrambling with hope. Was this her clue? “Was it unusual for him to react like this? I mean, if he was a pet, did he suddenly get wild? Do you know where he is? Can you take me to him?”
Her questions came out rapid fire, her mind already sorting through research possibilities. She steadfastly ignored the fact that the last thing she should do is wander off after dog saliva samples. But it wasn’t like she was making progress here.
“Yeah, I can,” the man said. “And this was definitely weird.”
She snorted. “That’s what they call us. The Weird Ward.” Then she sobered as she realized that was probably an inappropriate comment. They were the CDC, after all. They were supposed to inspire confidence and scientific know-how. “I mean…um…” She flushed. “Look, let’s get you down to the ER to get those wounds cleaned up.” She wanted to take samples of his blood and swab the wounds even though he’d already doused it with antiseptic. You never knew what interesting stuff could survive an alcohol swipe. And she wanted to stay with him. He was the first warm, comfortable person she’d been around in a very long time. Everyone else was either a patient, panicked family, or another uptight scientist like herself, completely absorbed in fighting a possible pandemic. “Give me the address of the dog. I’ll have the cops pick it up.”
“Cops are spread too thin, and nobody gets close to my dog without me.”
She pounced on his words. “So this was your dog? Your pet? He doesn’t bite people normally, does he?”
“Of course not.” He turned and used his free hand to grab her elbow and started leading her out of the lab. “I can take you to him, no problem.”
She laughed as she fell in step with him. “I’m not equipped to handle a dog. Certainly not an angry one.”
“It’ll be fine. He’s my?—”
“First things first. Let’s get you to the ER. What’s your name? I’m Dr. Lu, but you can call me Cecilia.”
“Hank Coleman,” he said, extending his good hand to shake hers. His palm was huge, easily dwarfing hers, but it surrounded her in a pleasing warmth. As did his eyes. Light brown in a dark face. The edges crinkled when he smiled at her, and though everything about him felt sexy, what she most noticed was how he felt calm. As if everything inside him was quiet when every part of her was edgy, ragged, and way too caffeinated. She liked that about him, and she felt herself settle into his rhythms as they walked.
“Nice to meet you, Hank,” she said, her words coming out a little breathless. “Tell me more about your dog. What breed? How old is he? How long have you had him?”
They walked together to the elevator as she peppered him with questions. He answered easily, frowning when he couldn’t remember the creature’s exact age and had no clue about the breed. The dog was a mutt, he said, with the sweetest temperament until this morning.
They stepped into the elevator and she waited for him to continue. He was just talking about his dog, but she loved the cadence of his deep voice. She could stand there listening to it for hours just to hear the rich timber of it. But he’d apparently run out of words and stood there, looking awkward.
“Tell me more about when he bit you. Did you notice anything different? Like was he foaming at the mouth or barking strangely?”
“Um, nothing like that. He was angry. Wouldn’t stop barking.” His words stumbled to a halt and she frowned. Most patients couldn’t stop talking about their attack. They usually rambled in a disorganized way, often focusing on all the wrong details. But Hank, here, seemed to be a man of very few words. That made him intriguing to her—and sexy as hell—so she focused even more on the details of his face, his body, and his words.
