Page 20

Cameron

“ I think promethazine will help with your nausea,” the nurse said as she dug in a drawer. “I have rectal suppositories if you think taking a pill will make you more sick.”

I wrinkled my nose. “A pill is fine.”

“Here we go.” She pulled out a sample box of the meds and handed it to me. “There’s enough in there for about a week. If it’s not better by then, you may want to contact your personal physician.”

Taking the box, I immediately tore it open and dry-swallowed one pill, hoping it would work fast.

“Any other questions?” she asked.

“Do you think this is serious? Based on the symptoms?”

The nurse gave me a strange look, one I couldn’t quite describe. Worry? Fear? Whatever it was, it vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. She smiled at me again, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and professional.

“I can’t make a diagnosis—I’m just a nurse—and your blood will need to be run and analyzed, then a specialist will look at the results.

” She patted my arm. “I’m sure you’ll be all right.

It’s probably a bug of some sort. They have a saying in the medical field: ‘When you see hoof prints, think horse, not zebra.’”

I chuckled. “Makes sense. Do you have any idea when I’ll know the results? What are we testing me for, anyway?”

The nurse averted her eyes. “It’s a full panel. Everything you can imagine—from hepatitis and flu to tetanus and measles. Even a pregnancy test. I have the detective’s contact info. I’ll have him get a hold of you with the results.”

That sounded like a pretty significant medical privacy violation. Why would a cop call me with the results? Shouldn’t that come from a doctor?

My throbbing head and the constant roiling in my stomach made it all much less important than it normally would have been in my mind.

“Sure,” I grunted. “Fine. Thanks again.”

I tucked the box of pills into my purse and left.

It may have been the placebo effect, but my stomach felt a little better by the time I reached the automatic doors at the entrance of the hospital.

My mind whirled with more questions to ask Detective Vickers on the ride back to my office.

Eventually, I’d break him, and he’d slip up and give me something juicy to work with.

When I stepped outside, I froze. Nate stood by his bike. Ollie was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the parking lot, but his car wasn’t there.

“Where did Ollie go?” I asked warily.

As an answer, Nate held his helmet out for me, an irritated look on his face.

“Nuh-uh, no way. I’m not getting on that death trap.” I gazed at the sleek, spaceship-looking motorcycle behind him.

“Put the helmet on,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t care if you know what you’re doing. That thing looks like a damn jet engine with a seat.”

Nate chuckled. The smile softened his features, making him even more handsome.

“That’s a pretty good description, actually. You mind if I use that?”

“It’s trademarked,” I said. “Sorry . ”

“Come on,” he said, his voice a bit less harsh. “Ollie had, uh, an emergency and had to run. He asked me to give you a ride. I promise I won’t go too fast.”

My first instinct was to tell him to fuck off.

I’d get an Uber or something. Then my thoughts went back to my story.

I’d been excited to try and get some info out of Ollie, but now that was out of the question.

Perhaps Nate wasn’t as well-trained in obfuscation as his detective buddy.

If he really was helping with this case, then maybe I could drag something out of him on the trip back.

Looking at the bike again, I took a steadying breath and swallowed hard. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped forward and yanked the helmet out of Nate’s hand.

“Fine.”

He smirked at me. “Glad you came to your senses.” He nodded at the helmet. “Might be a little big for you, but all that pretty hair should make up for it.”

Unconsciously, I swept my hair behind my ear and suppressed a grin. Interesting that Nate would mention the exact thing that had led to me breaking up with Rick—my hair. Of course, it wasn’t just about my hair, but that had been the breaking point. It was nice to hear Nate compliment it.

“What kind of disease are you guys worried about?” I asked, not moving to put the helmet on. It was the scariest question I had, but I had to know.

“Lots of stuff,” Nate said.

“Like what? Humor me.”

“Can’t answer that. Ollie would be pissed.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Seriously?”

Nate grinned. “You don’t know how pissy Ollie can get. Sorry.”

“This is my life we’re talking about.”

Nate stopped and turned to look at me. His eyes were stern but not uncaring. “All I can tell you is that it’s not fatal, and it’s very unlikely you have it. This is top-secret, classified, whatever you want to call it, but that’s what this is. That’s where we have to leave it, unfortunately.”

A top-secret illness? I doubted Toronto PD knew about something the rest of the world didn’t. If I had to guess, this was some way of identifying the killer they didn’t want getting out. Fine. If they didn’t want to tell me what was going on with me, I’d get some other information.

“Well, if you aren’t going to tell me that, can you tell me if you have any suspects in the case? Some leads on who you think might be the serial killer?”

“Never said the word serial killer,” Nate said, holding a finger up. “Not once did that word come out of our mouths. Come on, hop on.” He threw a leg over the bike.

A bit of desperation seeped into me. “Can’t you tell me anything ? Even if it’s about the disease? This is my fucking life, Nate. Am I going to die or something?”

He sighed, tugged some riding gloves out of his jacket pocket, and pulled them on.

Finally, he looked at me and said, “All I can say is that if you do have whatever this guy might have, then you can keep living your life until you get the results.” He looked into my eyes and added, “You’re not gonna die.

” He smirked. “Well, you are gonna die, but hopefully it’ll be when you’re a hundred years old while doing a keg stand at your birthday party. ”

That humor made me realize he hadn’t been as flirty since I came out of the hospital.

Flirty was his thing . I assumed he used his looks and broody nature to get women—and maybe even some men—off kilter to get what he wanted as a private detective.

Now, suddenly, he was acting more professional and less like a horny asshole.

That should have been a relief, but some strange part of me—a deeply buried part, perhaps—was a little disappointed. My eyes widened in horror at the thought. What if he wasn’t being flirty anymore because whatever I’d caught could be passed on in more intimate ways?

“What about sex?” I blurted, then slapped my hand to my mouth, cursing myself.

Nate’s head snapped around. Confusion flickered over his features. “Uh, excuse me?”

A horrific thought occurred to me. What if I’d given Rick some disease before I broke up with him?

Ugh, how much more awkward could a break-up be?

I don’t want to be with you anymore. And oh, by the way, I gave you some weird STD on my way out the door .

I did some quick mental math. No, we hadn’t slept together after my attack.

Seeing Nate’s confused look, I elaborated. “I just wanted to know if the disease was sexually transmitted. Like, could I pass it to someone if I, uh, you know? I have a boyfriend,” I lied, “and I need to know what to tell him.”

Nate didn’t need to know I was single. It was none of his business. Still, it was weird saying the word. My mind had already started to disentangle itself from Rick.

At the mention of a ‘boyfriend,’ Nate’s eyes grew cold, and he turned away.

I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or upset.

Maybe hearing I was with someone else made him feel like shit for flirting with me earlier.

Perhaps he had a moral code against trying to hook up with unavailable women?

That would be nice. Lots of guys had no qualms about that.

Nate might be more honorable than I’d first assumed.

Keeping his eyes averted, Nate said, “You can live your life normally. Sex is fine. Any side effects would happen later.”

“ Side effects ? What side effects?” More fear and uncertainty made my lungs constrict, and I struggled to breathe.

Nate turned to me, concern filling his eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. Calm down.”

“How the hell can I calm down? I’ve been infected with… with… whatever this shit is that you and Ollie won’t fucking tell me about.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Hey, Cameron, look at me. Look at me.”

I did as he asked. That connection, staring into those deep gray eyes, actually did steady me a bit. The panic receded.

“First of all,” Nate said, his voice low and calm, “the idea that this mugger was contagious or has a disease is just theoretical at this point. Nothing has been proven one way or another. Second, if it is what we think, then it’s not a pleasant disease, but it’s not life-threatening.

You and your loved ones can go on living as you normally did. All right?”

“Well, what are some of the side effects? Can you at least tell me that?”

“I’m not a doctor,” Nate said. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable going into all that. What you need to do is stay calm, live your life. If and when we know more, Ollie will tell you everything.”

Regardless of how little he’d actually told me, his words calmed me.

I was sure the weight of his hand on my shoulder and those eyes had a lot to do with it.

That, along with his deep voice, helped settle my heart rate and ease the anxiety bubbling within my chest. Nate was being honest with me—I could see it in his eyes.

There was nothing he was saying that he didn’t believe himself.

“The test should only take forty-eight hours, tops,” Nate added.

Two days? I supposed I could manage that. Surely I could keep from freaking out for a couple of days.