No. He could do this. He could keep his head down. He could stay out of her way. He could work the opposite shift from her. He could make sure they were never alone together. He could make sure that opportunity didn’t knock again.
Because that would keep him safe.
Because he wasn’t entirely sure how he would react.
He straightened his shoulders and walked out into the corridor.
It was empty. Callie and Dan were gone.
CHAPTER NINE
EVAN WAS IMPATIENT. The computer graphics filled the wide screen on the wall, mapping the potential spread across the world, along with the corresponding timescale. It was hours and hours of hard work and dedication. Every eye in the place was fixed on the simulation. The color-coded icons were blinking at him, the red ones demanding his full attention.
He turned round and folded his arms across his chest. Violet was wearing red today too. Almost as if she was marking a claim on the piece of work she’d just created. A fitted, knee-length red dress with a black belt capturing her waist. It was an unusual color for her to wear and he was surprised by how much it suited her. Her blonde hair sat on her shoulders and she peered through matching red-rimmed glasses. It was almost as if she was trying to divert his attention...
Then it struck him—she was.
His mind drifted back to a few months ago and a blurry night with drinks after work. She’d been wearing red then too. And he’d definitely been distracted. He felt the fire burn in his belly that she might have been thinking about that while getting dressed that morning and had deliberately chosen her outfit accordingly. His own thoughts made him feel distinctly uncomfortable and, consequently, irritable.
“Where’s the stuff on Sawyer?” he snapped.
“What?” Delicate lines creased her forehead. She looked at him as if he was talking a foreign language.
“You know what,” he accused. This was all becoming more and more obvious. “I asked you to do a background check on Sawyer. Find out where he’s been and what he’s been doing. I asked you more than two days ago. Where is it?”
She waved her hand in at him irritation. “Earth to Evan. I’ve been kind of busy on the save-the-planet-from-smallpox stuff.”
He pulled his shoulders back in shock. Cheeky. Insolent. Not the way that Violet Connelly ever spoke to anyone—least of all him, her boss. She was really pushing him. And it didn’t help that every time she came into his field of vision his eyes fixed on her lips.
Lips of which he’d already had experience.
He could see some ears pricking up around them, People craning their necks above their partitions to see how he was going to react.
Did anyone here know what had happened between them?
He had to make sure there were no suspicions. He couldn’t let anyone think he would give Violet preferential treatment.
He placed a hand on her desk and leaned forward, drawing his head level with hers. Up close and personal she was a tiny little thing. His hands could probably span her waist. He could see her nibbling her bottom lip as if she was nervous. And she probably was with his big frame towering over her.
He pulled back a little and kept his voice calm. It wasn’t his job to entertain the crowds—they had enough work to be getting on with. “Dr. Connelly, I gave you a specific task to do a number of days ago. I expect you to have completed it.” He caught the glimmer in her eye. It definitely wasn’t fear. It was much more like rebellion!
“I’ve been busy.” The words were firm, even if he could see the slight tremble in her hand as she picked up a pen.
“You’re telling me that in the last two days you’ve found out nothing about Matt Sawyer? Nothing?” His voice was steadily rising now, despite his best intentions.
Was he imagining it or had she just pouted her lips at him? This woman was going to drive him crazy.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I’ve looked. But there’s nothing to find. I’ve no idea what Matt Sawyer’s been doing or where he’s been.” She raised one eyebrow at him and tilted her chin. “Why don’t you ask him?”
She was baiting him. In front of a room full of colleagues. The hairs were standing on end at the back of his neck. It was all he could do not to growl at her.
“You’ve got two hours, Violet. Two hours to find out exactly what I requested on Matt Sawyer. If you don’t deliver, I’m taking it to the director.”
He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. The pen still dangling from Violet’s fingers.
* * *
“Still nothing?”
The DPA guy shook his head as Sawyer leaned against the wall. It had been three days and they still had no word on the classification of the disease. They were still stuck in the no-man’s land of a “brick-shaped orthopox”, which told them something but pretty much told them nothing at the same time.
Sawyer had been doing his best impression of the invisible man. And it made him feel lousy.
When Callie worked days, he worked nights. When Callie was in the apartment, he was out, finding any excuse to be somewhere else. There had been a few awkward moments, a few “almost” bumps in the corridor, resulting in both of them jumping and staring at walls and floors instead of the person right before their eyes. A huge amount of avoidance tactics on his part.
He was beginning to find it almost comedic. The number of times he’d heard her voice behind a door he had been about to open, only to swerve and end up in a place he really didn’t want to be, having conversations with people he barely knew.
On the other hand, yesterday he’d found himself in the children’s playroom, leading the Portuguese soccer team on a quest for worldwide domination against the children in the US soccer team. It had been game controllers at dawn. But he’d had to let them win, even though he’d suspected they were playing dirty.
There were five kids, aside from Ben and Jack, in the containment facility, of varying ages and nationalities. None seem to have had any side-effects from the vaccine. And the minor ailments that had brought them into the E.R. in the first place had all been resolved. It was amazing what the threat of an infectious disease could do.
But spending time with the children had been fun. They were treating everything like a vacation. They could watch want they wanted on cable, play a mountain of console games and pretty much eat whatever they liked. He’d made a mental note that the children’s playroom was now going to be his number-one place to go to avoid Callie.
Today had been torture. The trouble with a containment facility was that no matter how hard you tried to find somewhere else to sleep there really wasn’t anywhere else to go so he had to stick to the apartment he’d been allocated.
The aroma of coffee had drifted under his door around lunchtime. He was supposed to be sleeping, but he’d only dozed on and off for a few hours. The temptation to get out of bed with his nose leading him directly to the coffee pot had been huge, but then he’d heard her voice. Callie was obviously in the kitchen, grabbing a bite to eat. And the last thing he wanted to do in his sleep-deprived state was run into her.
She was already destroying the few hours’ sleep he was actually getting by invading his dreams. Sometimes happy, sometimes angry, but always in state of undress. Funny, that. It was taking him back to his teenage years.
And that probably wasn’t a place he wanted to go. Violet had enough blackmail material on his misspent youth to last a lifetime.
The trouble with avoiding Callie was being out of the loop of information. She was the focal point around here—all paths led to Callie and if he wasn’t communicating with her, he didn’t always know exactly what was going on.
He had been sure that the DPA would have had a more definitive diagnosis by now. Frank Palmer would be working flat out. It didn’t matter that he knew it could take up to seven days.
He wanted to know now.
One of the nurses came and touched his shoulder. “Can you take a look at Mrs. Keating, Ben and Jack’s mum? She’s not feeling too good.”
His stomach plummeted. It was the one thing they had all been waiting for—someone else to show signs of infection. He picked up Jill Keating’s notes and started walking across the corridor. The thick bundle was packed full of assessments and observation notes. For a woman with no significant disease history it was surprising how quickly notes filled up in an isolation facility.
“What’s she complaining of?” he asked the nurse.
There was another person that was having trouble looking at him.
But for an entirely different reason. The nurse’s eyes would be full of unspoken worries and unanswered questions. Things that nobody wanted to say out loud right now.
Everyone was dreading someone showing signs of infection. It would give them all the confirmation of the infectious disease without the laboratory diagnosis.
“She has a low-grade temperature and a headache. Her pulse is fine and her blood pressure only slightly raised. But she’s vomited twice.”
Mrs. Keating was lying in bed in the darkened room. It had taken her more than forty-eight hours to finally leave the room that her children were in and have some rest. The woman was probably exhausted and that could explain the headache and the slight rise in blood pressure. But the temperature and vomiting?
He pulled on the protective clothing, regulation mask and gloves and pushed open the door. “Hi, Jill. It’s Dr. Sawyer. Want to tell me how you’re doing?”
She averted her eyes straight away as the light from the corridor spilled into the room. It sent an instant chill down his spine. “Wake Callie,” he whispered over his shoulder to the nurse.
He spent the next twenty minutes examining Jill. She was definitely exhausted. And despite being surrounded by food and drink she was showing clinical signs of dehydration. The black circles under her eyes were huge and she vomited into a sick bowl again during his examination.
Callie was standing at the window in the corridor, looking anxiously through the glass. He’d signaled to her to wait outside.
She moved to the door as he came back outside and waited impatiently while he discarded his protective clothing.
“Well? What do you think?”
He started scribbling some notes on Jill’s prescription chart. “I’m sorry that I woke you, Callie.”