Oh my God, Trent thought.
Nodding, he pulled out his cell phone and ignored the three missed calls on the display. Then he called his father’s cell phone. He knew his dad hardly used the slim device, which stayed in his car’s glove compartment. The elder Mr. Rowe preferred the old-fashioned bulkiness of land phones, which were easier for him to hold on his shoulder.
The cell rang five times, predictably, before voice mail picked up, and his father’s voice instructed him to leave a message. Trent shrugged apologetically at Dopp as he spoke:
“Hey, it’s me. Just wondering how your day’s going. Hope you’re doing okay. Give me a call when you get this. Bye.”
He looked up at Dopp. “No answer. Hopefully she’ll call soon.”
“I didn’t think she would pick up,” Dopp muttered. “Are you seeing her tonight?”
“I was supposed to.”
“Well, find out the truth. And if you don’t, there will be consequences. We have the upper hand now, and I intend to use it before it’s too late.”
“How?”
“I have an idea of my own. But I may not have to go that far if you can make things easy for us. I’ll be in touch tonight. If you don’t have her voice on record saying where she was going and why, then you can expect consequences.”
“But what if she won’t tell me?”
“Then I guess you’re pretty useless on this case.”
Trent tightened his lips and did not answer.
“We have to do whatever it takes,” Dopp said, reaching up to hold the back of his flushed neck. “This isn’t about you, and it’s not even just about her.”
Trent nodded, ironically sympathizing with his boss’s strength of convictions. Their motivation was the same: to stop something each saw as evil, because it was a threat to life. On one level, Trent wished that his onetime mentor could see him for who he really was—not an inept agent, but an equally fervent adversary. He hoped they were well matched.
* * *
Sam rushed to Arianna’s apartment giddily. When his taxi pulled up to her building, he tossed the driver two twenties for a ten-dollar ride, and then bounded inside. He waved to the doorman as he ran across the tiled floor into the elevator. The mirrored panels inside showed him the dopey grin on his lips, and he chuckled, hardly noticing his five-day growth of silvery stubble. The anticipation of seeing Arianna’s face carried him on light feet to her door.
When she opened it, he was thrilled to see her sunken cheeks flushed, her smile wide. In her rosy skin and bright eyes, it was as if the life left in her was already proclaiming its comeback.
“Hi,” he said, grinning and stepping inside.
“Sam.” The rogue dimple in her chin appeared when she said his name, and she reached out to him with both arms from the captivity of her wheelchair.
He bent down and hugged her, relishing their three seconds of physical closeness. He was acutely aware of the sweet smell of her hair, her warm cheek against his own, her deep exhale. When he pulled away and stood up, she held on to his hands. In her eyes shone unspeakable gratitude.
“Is this how religious people feel toward saints?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Are you saying you’re going to worship me?”
“Something like that. Would you like a shrine?”
“Sure, I’ll take it.”
She beamed up at him. “I can’t believe you did it. I mean, I can—but still…”
“I know.…” He trailed off, stymied by tightness in his throat.
“As soon as that idiot leaves tonight, we can go back for my skin cells.”
“Good.” He grew focused, creasing his brow. “If I can use them tonight to create a hybrid embryo, then we have to wait five days before we can take out the stem cells. That’s next Wednesday night. Then it takes thirty-six hours for the cells to properly differentiate, so that puts us at Friday morning. But we need the equipment in your clinic to do the transfer, and it will take some hours for the cells to proliferate. So we ought to aim for next Friday night, once the bastard inspector leaves for the weekend.”
“A whole week from now!”
“Yes. That’s the soonest possible.”
She squeezed his hands. “I can wait. I’ll be okay.”
He nodded.
“It’s kind of like a starving person about to sit down to a feast,” she said with a smile. “As long as you know it will happen, you can force your body to hold out.”
“Your will is a powerful thing,” Sam agreed. “And I mean your will, not just any old one.”
“Thank you!” She grinned, wriggling her shoulders as if to a beat. “I wish we could dance right now.”
“With me?” he teased. “I don’t believe it.”
“You’ll do.”
“What happened to—” Trent, he almost said, but then decided to bypass that topic. “—to me being a stiff old man?”
“No way you’re as stiff as me!”
They both laughed, and in that moment, Sam wanted nothing more than to tell her he loved her. The realization of this desire shocked him—he never planned to confess. And yet, the way she looked adoringly at him and his newfound hero’s confidence were combining in potent, unforeseen ways. She has to know, he thought with sudden certainty. I ought to tell her right now, before I lose the courage.…
It was a freedom from inhibition he had never felt, entirely unlike the predictable and transient pleasure that drew him to alcohol. This was like reaching for the highest rung in the ladder of temptation: the highest risk promised the highest return.
She was squeezing his hands again and moving her upper body to her own rhythm, pretending to share a victory dance. He laughed as he scuffed his shoe against her wheelchair in attempt to keep up the beat.
No, he did not dare to ask any more of this moment. But, he thought, she still deserves to know, and before the spinal cord transfer. No one knew for sure how risky the procedure was, even if the DNA in the cells was
