Since Graham Kilburn’s call the day before, the black veil shrouding Ellen’s world had begun to lift. She’d even slept through most of the previous night. Inadvertently, Kilburn had offered Ellen the one thing her life had lacked during the past few weeks: hope.

Still, convincing Luc Martineau to release Oraloxin to Kilburn had taxed her powers of persuasion to the limit. Her boss initially balked at the suggestion, but he finally agreed to a compassionate release, “providing Dr. Kilburn abides by all the terms we set.”

As she neared the deli, Horton felt a bubbling disquiet in her gut. Today was not just a lunchtime get-together of friendly colleagues. Victor Leschuk had phoned her at home early in the morning and specifically asked to meet. Judging by his stiff, formal tone, she suspected he’d chosen the spot as an opportunity to get away from other eyes and ears at SeptoMed. Her suspicions were fueled when she arrived at the diner and discovered that even though the place was two-thirds empty Leschuk had chosen the most discreet spot in the far corner of the restaurant.

She had just sat down beside Leschuk, when Neil Ryland sauntered in. With exaggerated vigilance, he glanced around the room before sidling up to the table. “Spring has come early to Vienna. Maybe the birds will follow soon?” he said in the style of film-spy gibberish.

Leschuk closed his eyes and sighed.

“What’s with all the secrecy, Viktor?” Ryland said as he threw his jacket over the back of the chair.

Leschuk scratched his neck, appearing uncomfortable. “Why don’t we order lunch first?”

“You’ve made me a little too curious to eat.” Ryland patted the thickness at his waist. “And that is saying plenty.”

“Me too,” Horton said. She tried to catch Leschuk’s eyes, but he held them fixed on the table in front of him.

“Coffees then, at least,” he said as their waitress stopped at their table. With short black hair and a wraparound blue tattoo on her forearm, her faraway eyes showed no recognition of them even though she had served them a number of times before.

After the server took their order and walked away, Leschuk shifted in his seat. “They say this weather will hold through the weekend,” he said.

“Is that what you wanted to tell to us?” Ryland asked with a mischievous smile.

“No,” Leschuk grunted, as if Ryland were serious. “It’s just—.” He shrugged self-consciously. “It will be good fishing weather.”

“Are you taking the boat out?” Horton asked.

Leschuk nodded. “We’re going to Struble Lake tomorrow. I’ve heard the trout have been biting all spring.”

Horton nodded politely. She knew that aside from work, fishing was Leschuk’s passion. But she had never fished in her life, and she never planned to. She had dodged all of Leschuk’s previous invitations to join him and Oksana.