Page 38 of Smoky Lake

“Don’t you worry. I have much deeper and darker secrets than that.” She shot Gil a teasing glance. “Is Sam around? I need to talk to him too.”

“Sam took a group on an overflight of Korch Glacier. He’ll be back in an hour or so. Want him to call you?”

“Yes, and tell him it’s important.”

“A tiger?” Gil asked when she’d ended the call. His gaze dipped down to her hip again, and again that intense spark flared inside her. The way he looked at her…she’d never experienced anything quite like it. He made her feel…unsettled. Wild. Like anything was possible.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

“You shouldn’t put your calls on speaker,” he countered.

She sniffed. “You should mind your business.”

“You should show me your tiger tattoo.”

“You should be so lucky.”

He laughed, then grabbed his bag and carried it into one of the bedrooms—the smaller one. Gil was a man used to putting other people first, she thought. Another big difference with John. Not that she was comparing.

She heard the sound of a shower running. Fantasy images of his fit body naked under streams of water flooded her mind. She didn’t fight them; she was too tired for that. Instead she closed her eyes and indulged herself. Did Gil have any ink himself? She bet he did. Or maybe that wasn’t allowed in his line of work. He probably had to hide that powerful body under a plain dark suit and sunglasses.

A low moan might have escaped her lips, but no one would ever know about that.

When he came back into the living room area, he’d changed into a clean pair of khaki pants and a t-shirt with a picture of a skier on it, and the words Ski the Volcano.

She didn’t ski. Nor had she ever spent time on a volcano.

Her giddiness faded. Face it—she and Gil were from different universes. His life was all action and adventure. She, on the other hand, was sacked out on the couch after one night of such things. The fact that she felt so connected to him must be just a fluke.

Back to the serious stuff. She swung her legs around and sat upright on the couch. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Me too.”

“What?”

“That tiger,” he said bluntly.

Heat flashed between them, bright and dizzying, incinerating those doubts she’d just experienced. This connection was real. Her body knew it, even if her mind wanted to argue.

“Tigers are very meaningful for me. I got the tattoo on my injured hip when I turned sixteen. It helped me through a very tough time.”

“What time?”

“High school.” She smiled ruefully. “The whole thing. Anyway.” She took in a long breath and dragged her focus back to their situation. “As I was saying, I’ve been thinking about the symptoms that Dr. Christianson listed.”

He reeled them off, exactly as she remembered them. “Fever, chills, headache, fatigue.” He had a good memory, and he’d been paying attention.

“What’s missing from that list?”

When he didn’t answer, she said, “Hallucinations, delusions. Nothing that resembles what Victor has been demonstrating in his notes and so forth.”

He scratched at the scruff on his jaw. She wondered if he’d forgotten to bring his razor along. She wasn’t mad about it, since he looked even more striking with all that dark growth framing his features. “That’s a good point. Maybe Victor doesn’t have the virus after all.”

“I caught a glimpse of their collection log. I didn’t see his name. But it might not be the only log.”

He settled into the armchair across from her and stretched out his long legs. “They haven’t found Victor. They found us in a random cabin in the forest, but not him. I wonder?—”

Even though he broke off, she knew what he meant to say. “Do you think he might be…dead?”

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