Dad was the first to laugh. And then Mom, still crying, joined in. Soon Haley was laughing around the snorkel too. That sent her into another coughing spasm. But she didn’t care.

She knew she was going home.

42 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

42

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Still in a fog, Horton walked into her office just after seven A.M. She hadn’t slept after her early-morning altercation with Martineau. In her urgency to flee his penthouse suite, she’d spilled the contents of her purse on his living room floor. He never even glanced her way when she knelt down a few feet from him to collect the items. Heading home in a cab, she tried to resist the combined assault of nerves and alcohol on her stomach. But it was no use. Mortified, she asked the driver to pull over to the curb where she threw up repeatedly. Once inside her house, she downed three sleeping pills with another glass of wine. They didn’t help her sleep; they didn’t even quell the tremor in her hands.

Now she sat at her desk, holding her throbbing head in her tremulous hands and wondering why she had even bothered to come in to work. What could she hope to accomplish? Thanks to her rift with Luc, she might even have to clear out her desk by day’s end.

The phone rang, making her jump. Vaguely intrigued by the call display that read SPAIN, she reached for the receiver.

“Ah, Dr. Horton. I am honored,” the man said in a rich Spanish accent. “I am Dr. Emanuel Zapatero telephoning from the Hospital General de la Valle d’Hebron. I am the—”

“Of course, Dr. Zapatero,” Horton cut in. “You’re the principal investigator with the Spanish Oraloxin MRSA trial.”

“Exactly so!” he said, sounding pleased.

“How can I help you, Dr. Zapatero?”

“Dr. Horton, let me congratulate you on this marvelous drug,” Zapatero said, his musical accent echoing slightly on the line. “While our data has not been collated, it is clear to me already that Oraloxin will prove as good or better than the intravenous medications.”

Weeks ago, his praise would have lifted her spirits. Now it served only to heighten her guard. She doubted Zapatero would call to congratulate her before their data had even been compiled. “There’s something else, isn’t there, Dr. Zapatero?”

He cleared his throat. “A matter of a question, really,” he said, sounding suddenly less certain of his English. “I am hoping you have seen enough to know if it is even of significance.”

“If what is of significance?” she asked.

“A patient from the Oraloxin group. A middle-aged man with MRSA infection of the leg. You understand,” Zapatero said. “His infection was treated beautifully. But yesterday, on the fourth day of treatment, his white blood cell count …”

Horton’s stomach tightened. “What happened to the white count?”

“It fell.” His voice lowered to a hush. “Significantly.”