I tried to signal to Declan with my eyes that this line of questioning was a nonstarter, but my expression must have come across wrong, because Declan’s brow wrinkled. He put a hand up to the screen as if to touch my forehead. “You feeling okay?”

Hastily, I deflected. “Yeah, great, I’m great, Rorie’s great, where are you? On your way?”

“I’m not going,” said Rorie, swinging a leg over her bike.

“What was that?” asked Declan.

“Nothing,” I said, leveling a murderous glance in the direction of Rorie’s back as she glided in circles. Beau wandered back over to his tree root. “I’m failing parenthood.”

“Right, okay,” said Declan, a response that clued me in to the fact that his attention to the conversation was possibly not at tip-top level. “Listen, something has come up.”

“Oh?” I said. A shock of Declan’s dark hair fell across one eye, and he thrust up an impatient hand to brush it back. Like Beau, he seemed to be thrumming with an undercurrent of concealed excitement. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t—I don’t want to say yet. We’re about to start the final analysis of the first in vivo trials of the new drug. Can you fend for yourselves for a bit longer?”

“Of course. Take whatever time you need. I don’t head to Barcelona to meet the girls until tomorrow.”

He touched two fingers to his lips and then moved them toward the phone camera. “I can’t wait to see you guys, Kiki.”

“This sounds like something good.”

“It could be,” he said. “It could be very good.”

4

The Nerd Version of the Green Berets

KIRA

SEVILLE, SPAIN

I motioned to the children to get on their bikes. Beau stood, excitement shining from every pore, and brushed his hands on his pants. “Best day ever,” he crowed. “I’m going to the Alhambra! And I saw an ant!”

Rorie circled up, cruising to a stop beside him. “That’s cool, B,” she said, her hand alighting on his small shoulder. “Was there something special about the ant?”

“It carried a leaf much bigger than it! Into a tree hole!”

I swung a leg over my bike and set off. The children followed, Beau still chattering about the heroic endeavors of the ant. We’d scarcely left the park when my phone rang again. Beau stopped his bicycle and held out his hand.

“Can I answer?”

I glanced at the screen and shook my head at Beau. The phone call came from a cell phone with an Atlanta area code, from a number I knew well.

“Kira Marchand,” I said.

“Kiki!” The voice on the other end, despite whatever circumstances had prompted the call, could not repress a certain delighted undertone. I loved this voice, at once deep and suave and full of humor. It was my mentor, boss, and close friend, Dr. Waliedine Katz, calling from the CDC.