Her throat began to squeeze shut. “How significantly?” she choked out.

“It went from 11,200 down to 1,100 in two days.” He hurried to add: “The patient has no symptoms. But we have not seen this before in the treatment groups. I do not know whether we should continue with—”

“Stop the damn drug!” Horton barked into the receiver. “For God’s sake, don’t let him have another dose!”

“Please, Dr. Horton.” Zapatero said defensively. “I am merely turning to you for advice.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Zapatero,” Horton said, unable to keep the quaver from her voice. “We’ve seen this in a few lab animals. Oraloxin can occasionally cause bone marrow suppression, even—” She stopped herself before saying bone marrow failure.

“Is this suppression reversible?” Zapatero asked, his earlier Mediterranean warmth replaced by suspicion.

“I think so,” she said uncertainly. “But it is vital to avoid further exposure to the drug.”

“I see,” he said coolly. “Is this reason to stop the study?”

“Yours is the first human case I have heard of.” Horton was going to caution against overreacting, when she realized that she no longer cared whether he stopped the trial. “But I would leave the decision to you, Dr. Zapatero.”

“I see,” Zapatero said curtly. “I will bring this forward to our research committee for further consideration. I will apprise you of the committee’s decision.”

Hanging up, a cold emptiness filled her. She had a vivid and comforting image of drifting off in the front seat of her car, the motor running and Grieg playing in the background. She dropped her head into her arms on the desk.

“El?”

She lifted her head up to see Neil Ryland standing across from her. Her friend’s deep green eyes peered down at her with worry. “El, what’s going on?”

Horton shrugged. “Just daydreaming about warming up my car for an hour or two extra in my garage.”

“That’s not even funny, Ellen!” Then his expression softened. “You’re kidding, right?”

She waved her hand in apology, dismissing the idea. “Of course. I’m sorry, Neil. Awful joke.” She smiled weakly. “I was just thinking about Viktor.”

“I know.” Ryland broke into a downcast grin. “We were like the three misfit musketeers.” His smile withered. “I miss the guy more than I ever would have guessed.”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “Neil, what I meant was that Viktor was right all along.”

Ryland cocked his head skeptically. “About?”

“The risks of Oraloxin.” Then she told him about the patient in the Spanish study.

Ryland’s eyes widened and the color drained from his cheeks. He fell into the seat across from her. “Oh, crap,” he murmured.

“Another day, another disaster,” she said.

A troubled frown glued to his lips, Ryland stared at her desk.

“Neil, I think it’s over.”

He kept his eyes fixed on the desk. “What about MRGAS?” he asked in a monotone.

She shook her head and shrugged.