Page 115 of Lethal Game

Con slipped into the tent and lay down behind her.

He wasn’t touching her.

Unacceptable.

She rolled over and came face to face with him. “I need you to agree to something.”

He blinked and took in a breath, but she spoke again before he could.

“When we find Akbar, before you do anything, I want to punch him in the face.”

He waited, then said, “Every time you open your mouth you surprise the shit out of me.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Is that a no?”

“You’re that frustrated?”

“I’ve never failed to figure out a problem like this before. I’m so angry I want to scream and pound the sand.” She had a clenched fist in the air before she realized what she was doing. Sophia forced herself to relax her hand and lower it. “But I’ll settle for hitting him.”

Con examined her face for another moment. “Thomas Edison was once asked how it felt to fail after ten thousand failed attempts to create a commercially viable light bulb. His response was,‘I haven’t failed. I’ve just found ten thousand ways that don’t work.’” He cupped her face and rubbed a sandy thumb over her cheek. “You only fail if you give up.” He raised one eyebrow. “Are you giving up?”

She scowled. “No.”

“Then shut it with the failure talk.” He drew her closer and kissed her, long and slow. “Now roll over and go to sleep.”

She did as he ordered and was rewarded with him spooning her from behind, his arm coming over her waist. It felt safe and sexy at the same time.

She laced her fingers through his and finally let herself drift off.

***

Sophia woke from adreamless sleep. Con was gone, the impression on the tarp floor behind her unoccupied.

She checked her watch and discovered she’d slept for a couple of hours. Not enough, but it would have to do. She stood and went to stare at her microscope and decided that since all her testing had turned up no useful results, it was time to change tactics and start testing for pathogens that didn’t necessarily fit the symptoms.

Something nagged at the back of her mind.

The midafternoon sun beat hot wings over her face and neck as she walked the short distance to the sleeping tent. Stalls stood guard between the lab and the sleeping tent. Inside Henry and Macler were talking softly. Norton appeared to be sleeping.

She crawled over to the two men with concussions, pulled out her pen light and checked their pupils. Then she went out the same way she came in.

“Hey,” Henry whispered, having followed her out. “Um, are they okay or are they dying?”

“They’re fine. I would have said something if they weren’t.”

“So, you’re a no news is good news person?”

“Yeah.” Wasn’t everyone?

“Okay.” He went back into the tent.

Sophia entered the lab and considered the symptoms of the disease: fever, hallucinations, dehydration, confusion, and seizures. All but one pointed toward the brain. Unusual viruses that affected the brain were a good place to start.

She’d begin with the least likely pathogen, and performed a test that had been used in the field in Tanzania and showed excellent accuracy.

Positive.

Not possible. The disease progression for the pathogen took weeks, not hours.

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