Living Proof, стр. 31
He wondered if he was in shock. Since her revelation last night, he had been possessed of a desire to protect her—and immediately recognized the painful irony. How could his instincts be so at odds with ethics? It was impossible to answer. Or maybe the answers were impossible to accept.
There was only one thing for him to do: push on with his job. How he felt—how amazingly alive she made him feel—was irrelevant. No one could ever know. He would continue to do the right thing, and what happened to her because of it was not his concern.
* * *
Arianna’s obvious delight at his call that morning encouraged him to stick to Dopp’s strategy. She said she was returning home after the administration of some IV drug, and then she would be resting all evening. It was the perfect segue.
“Do you need someone to help you get home?” he asked.
“Oh, thanks, but my cousin is going to help me.”
He scrambled to recover, hoping he would sound kind and not desperate: “Well, how about if I come over to your place later on and cook you dinner?”
“That’s so sweet,” she said. “Are you sick at all, though?”
“No, not at all.”
“Okay, I just can’t be exposed to any pathogens right now. And I don’t look too presentable, but what do I care, I’d love to see you.”
Yes, he thought, that wasn’t too hard.
But the speed with which she had accepted his offer undermined his anticipation. If she were hiding a lab there, wouldn’t she have hesitated before allowing him in? But maybe she had decided on the spot to show him, as a reward of sorts, since he had not abandoned her?
Leaving his apartment six hours later with a cooler of food, he sent an unspoken prayer up to God, or was it to himself? Either way, the hope was the same: Let me be ready for whatever happens tonight.
* * *
His heart did not begin to pound until he swung open the glass door of her lobby, making his imminent arrival feel real. He strode across the checkered floor to an open elevator feeling a spurt of guilt, as if he were sneaking in, and realized then how dangerous it could be for him to feel any guilt at all. I’m just doing my job, he countered. And with any luck, it will get done tonight for good.
He clipped his cell phone innocuously over the pocket of his jeans. A camera’s eye peered out from its cover, furtively set to record video of her apartment. Come Monday, Dopp was counting on this footage for proof or clues. On his wristwatch, Trent slid the knob up.
The elevator opened to a hallway with white walls and beige speckled floors. He knocked on her door.
“Coming,” she called. He heard her footsteps draw near, along with the sound of a cane hitting the floor. She unlocked the door and opened it several inches, keeping her face hidden behind it.
“Do you like blue eyes?” came her coy voice.
“Huh? Sure, why?”
“Good,” she said, and swung the door all the way open, stepping around it with a flourish. “Ta da.”
Trent gasped. The whites of her eyes had turned aqua, making her own blue irises seem diluted in comparison, like glass marbles floating in a fluorescent pool.
“What the—?”
“It’s a side effect of the drug I got,” she explained. “Pretty creepy, huh? Too bad I didn’t need it on Halloween. Instant costume!”
Trent laughed weakly. “You’re all bandaged up,” he said, taking in her covered chin, elbows, and knees. She was leaning on a cane, wearing pajama shorts and a tank top. “How are you doing?”
“Good, now that you’re here. Come in, let me show you my place.”
His heart sped up. “Great.”
“Thanks for doing this,” she said, taking the cooler from him. “You don’t have to make anything fancy. I’m not even hungry yet.”
“No problem.”
He followed her to the kitchen, glancing around the apartment. On the right, there was a small living room with a black leather sofa, a low glass table, a bookshelf, and a television. There was no room for a lab here, he thought with disappointment. His gaze lingered in the room, as if he needed only to look a little harder. Covering most of the living room floor was a white fur area rug. He stared at it, suddenly transfixed by a bizarre image of lying naked across it, feeling it tickle his bare back.
“Do you like it?” Arianna asked, seeing him looking at the rug. He whipped his head back to her, feeling sheepish. She was opening the refrigerator to put away the cooler, and he peeked inside to look for glass test tubes. The only contents of her fridge were butter, milk, a lettuce head, and a few apples.
“Nice place,” he muttered.
She smiled and led him out of the kitchen to the sofa, hobbling with the cane. He didn’t ask if she needed help, sensing her hard-nosed independence. Instead, he hung behind her, unsure if he should walk in front of her at a normal pace, pretending to ignore her disability, or allow her to keep the lead.
“Race you to the couch,” she announced. He laughed genuinely, recognizing the woman he remembered.
“Last one there has to cook dinner,” he responded, darting in front of her. Then, taking what he knew was a risk, he turned back around with a devilish grin. “Slowpoke.”
She snorted as he plopped onto the couch. “You’re lucky I can’t kick you right now.” A few steps later, she laid the cane down and gingerly sat back next to him. He put his left arm around her, making sure his wristwatch skimmed her shoulder.
“And I’m lucky you were free to see me tonight.”
“I think getting stitches and intravenous drugs does a pretty good job of clearing one’s schedule.”
“True,” he said, stroking her hair, “but you’re always so busy. It’s pretty admirable how you keep that schedule up.”
“You