Her Hard To Resist Husband. Tina Beckett

tussled on the bed sprang to her mind. The love play had been fun. At first. Then a wave of terror had washed over her unexpectedly, and though she’d known her panic had been illogical, she’d begun to struggle in earnest.

      A frightened plea had caught in her throat, and as hard as she’d tried to say something, her voice had seemed as frozen as her senses. Ben had only realized she was no longer playing when she succeeded in freeing one of her hands and raked her nails down his face. He’d reeled backwards, while she’d lain there, her chest heaving, tears of relief spilling from her eyes. Understanding had dawned on his face and he’d gathered her into his arms, murmuring how sorry he was. From that moment forward he’d been careful to avoid anything that might make her feel trapped.

      A little too careful.

      His lovemaking had become less intense and more controlled. Only it had been a different kind of control than what they’d previously enjoyed, when Ben’s take-charge demeanor in the bedroom had been a huge turn-on. That had all changed. Tracy had mourned the loss of passion, even as she’d appreciated his reasons for keeping a little more space between them. Her inability to explain where the line between confinement and intimacy lay had driven the first wedge between them.

      That wedge had widened later, when he’d tried to limit her movements during her pregnancy, giving rise to the same sensation of being suffocated. She’d clawed at him just as hard then, the marks invisible but causing just as much damage to their marriage.

      The Ben of the present fingered the side of his face and gave her a smile. “No permanent damage done.”

      Yeah, there had been. And it seemed that one patch of bad luck had spiraled into another.

      “I always felt terrible about that,” she said.

      “I should have realized you were scared.”

      “You couldn’t have known.”

      Even her father hadn’t realized their play sessions could change without warning. There’d always been laughter, but the sound of hers had often turned shrill with overtones of panic. A gentle soul, her father would have never hurt her in a million years. It didn’t help that her older sister had been a tough-as-nails tomboy who’d feared nothing and had given as good as she’d got. Then Tracy had come along—always fearful, always more cautious. Her father had never quite known what to do with her.

      She was still fearful. Still flinched away from situations that made her feel trapped and out of control.

      And now her mom and her sister were both gone. Her mom, the victim of a menacing villain who’d stalked its prey relentlessly—turning the delicate strands of a person’s DNA into the enemy. Passed from mother to daughter. Tracy had been running from its specter ever since.

      Ben donned a fresh glove and picked up the slide he’d smacked against the table, checking it for cracks. Without glancing up at her, he said, “You look tired. I put the folding cot in the corner in case we needed to sleep in shifts. If I know you, you didn’t get much rest last night.”

      “I’m okay.” He was right. She was exhausted, but no way would she let him know how easily he could still read her. Or how the touch of concern in his voice made her heart skip a beat. “It’s just warm in here.”

      “I know. The air-conditioner in the lab is ancient, and the filter doesn’t let much of it through, anyway.”

      Even as he said it, a tiny trickle of sweat coursed down her back. “It’s fine.”

      He pushed the slide beneath the viewer of the microscope and focused on the smear. “How old are the samples?”

      “Just a couple of hours.”

      He swore softly as he continued to peer through the lens, evidently seeing something he didn’t like. He took the second slide and repeated the process, his right hand shifting a knob on the side of the instrument repeatedly. Sitting up, he dabbed at perspiration that had gathered around his eye with the sleeve of his lab coat then leaned back in for another look.

      “What is it?” She felt her own blood rushing through her ears as she awaited the verdict.

      It didn’t take long. He lifted his head and fastened his eyes on hers. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s pneumonic plague, Tracy.” Shifting his attention to the test tube in her hand, he continued, “And if you’re the one who took these samples, you’ve already been exposed.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      TRACY SAGGED AND swallowed hard, trying to process what he’d said through her own fear. “Are you sure?”

      “Here.” He moved aside so she could look at the slide.

      Putting her eye to the viewfinder, she squinted into the machine. “What am I looking for?”

      “See the little dots grouped into chains?”

      “Yes.” There were several of them.

      “That’s what we’re dealing with. I want to look at another sample and do a culture, just in case, but I’m sure. It’s Yersinia pestis, the same bacterium that causes bubonic plague. I recognize the shape.” He rolled his shoulders as if relieving an ache. “Bubonic plague normally spreads from infected rats through the bite of a flea, but if the bacteria migrate to a person’s lungs, it becomes even more deadly, spreading rapidly from person to person by way of a cough or bodily fluids. When that happens, the disease no longer needs a flea. We’ll want to put you on a strong dose of streptomycin immediately.”

      “What about you?”

      “I’ll start on them as well, but just as a precaution.” Ben dripped a staining solution on another slide. “Most of the people who work in the lab are vaccinated against the plague, including Mandy. But I assume you haven’t been.”

      “No, which means neither has … Oh, God.” She rested her head against Ben’s shoulder for a second as a wave of nausea rolled over her. “That town. I have to get back there. They’ve all been exposed. So has Pedro.”

      “Pedro?”

      “My assistant.”

      Just as he pushed the slide back under the microscope, the lock to the outer door clicked open before Tracy had a chance to figure out how to proceed.

      The guard pushed his way inside, glancing from one to the other, his eyes narrowing in on her face. She sat up straighter.

      “Problema?” he asked.

      Instead of lunch, he only held a coffee cup in his hand.

      A tug on the back of her shirt sent a warning Tracy read loud and clear, Don’t tell him anything until I’ve taken another look. The gesture surprised her, as he’d always been buddy-buddy with the military, at least from what she’d seen over the course of their marriage.

      Still holding one of the slides, he casually laid it on the table. “We need to run a few more tests before we know anything for sure.”

      “No need. Our doctors have isolated the infection and will take the appropriate containment measures.”

      Containment? What exactly did that mean?

      Her brows lifted in challenge. “What is the illness, then?” Maybe he was bluffing.

      “I’m not at liberty to say. But my commander would like to speak with Dr. Almeida over the phone.” He gave Tracy a pointed stare. “Alone.”

      A shiver went over her. Alone. Why?

      What if the government doctors had come to a different conclusion than Ben had? What if they were assuming it was something other than the plague? People could still die … still pass it on to neighboring towns. And São João dos Rios was poor. How many people would lose loved ones due to lack of information?

      Just