laughed, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Do you really have to ask?”
“I just did.”
Grabbing her left hand, he held it up, forcing her eyes to the outline of the plain gold band visible beneath her latex glove. “For the same reason you’re wearing this.” He stared into her face. “Have you forgotten, Mrs. Almeida? You may not go by your married name any more, but in the eyes of the law … we’re still husband and wife.”
SHE’D FORGOTTEN NOTHING.
And she’d tried to see about getting a divorce, but being overseas made everything a hundred times more complicated. Both of the Brazilian lawyers she’d contacted had said that as an American citizen, she should return to the States and start the proceedings there, as she and Ben had been married in New York. But asking him to accompany her had been out of the question. Even if he’d been willing, she wasn’t. She hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near him, too raw from everything that had transpired in the month before she’d left Teresina—and him—for ever.
Staying married probably hadn’t been the wisest move on her part but she’d thrown herself into her work afterwards, far too busy with Projeto Vida, her aid organization’s floating clinic, to set the ugly wheels in motion. Besides, a wedding ring tended to scare away any man who ventured too close. Not that there’d been many. Her caution-do-not-touch vibes must be coming through loud and clear. She’d never get married again—to anyone—so keeping her wedding ring and her license made keeping that promise a whole lot easier.
Too bad she hadn’t remembered to take the ring off before asking Ben for help.
She realized he was still waiting for a response so she lifted her chin, praying he wouldn’t notice the slight tremble. “We’re not married any more. Not by any stretch of the imagination. You made sure of that.”
“Right.” Ben turned away and gathered a few more pieces of equipment.
Her thumb instinctively rubbed back and forth across the ring, a gesture she’d found oddly comforting during some of the tougher periods of her life—like now.
Strange how most of those times had found her wearing surgical gloves.
Studying Ben as he worked, Tracy was surprised by the slight dusting of grey in his thick brown hair. She gave herself a mental shake. The man was thirty-eight, and she hadn’t set eyes on him in four years. Change was inevitable. What hadn’t changed, however, were the electric blue eyes, compliments of his American mother, or how they provided the perfect counterpoint for tanned skin, high cheekbones and a straight, autocratic nose—all legacies from his Brazilian father. Neither had he lost any of that intense focus she’d once found so intimidating.
And irresistible.
Snap out of it, Tracy.
She donned the scrubs, booties and surgical gear Ben had left out for her and moved into the glassed-in cubicle where he was busy setting up.
“Close the door, please, so I can seal it off.”
“Seal it off?” Swallowing hard, she hesitated then did as he asked.
“Just with this.” He held up a roll of clear packing tape. “Is your claustrophobia going to be a problem?”
She hoped not, but feeling trapped had always set off a rolling sense of panic that could quickly snowball if she wasn’t careful. It didn’t matter whether the confinement was physical or emotional, the fear was the same. Glancing through the door to the reception area, she noted the exit to the outside world was plainly visible even from where she stood. “As long as I know there’s a door right through there, I should be fine. The room being made of glass helps.”
“Good.”
Ben taped the edges of the door, before removing the insulated bag from the fridge and examining the labels on each tube inside. Selecting two of them, he put the rest back in cold storage.
“What do you want me to do?” Tracy asked.
“Set up some slides. We’re going to work our way from simple to complex.”
He turned one of the tubes to the side and read her label out loud. “Daniel, male, twelve years.” He paused. “Living?”
“Yes.” Her heart twisted when she thought of the preteen boy staring at her with terrified eyes. But at least he was alive. As was his younger sister Cleo. Their mother, however, hadn’t been so lucky. Hers had been one of the first bodies they’d found in the village. “Febrile. No skin lesions visible.”
“Signs of pneumonia?”
“Not yet, which is why this seemed so strange. Most of the dead had complained to relatives of coughs along with fever and malaise.”
“Liver enlargement in the dead?”
She swallowed. “No autopsies, remember? The military destroyed everything.” Her voice cracked.
Ben’s gloved hand covered hers, and even through the layers of latex the familiar warmth of his touch comforted her in a way no one else ever could. “Why don’t you get those slides ready, while I set up the centrifuge?”
Glad to have something to take her mind off the horrific scene she and Pedro had stumbled on in São João dos Rios, she pulled several clean slides from the box and spread them across the table. Then, carefully taking the cotton swab from Ben’s outstretched hand, she smeared a thin layer of material on the smooth glass surface. “What are you looking for?”
“Anything. Everything.” The tense muscle in his jaw made her wonder if he already had a theory. “You’ll need to heat-set the slides as you smear them.”
He lit a small burner and showed her how to pass the slide across the flame to dry it and affix the specimen to the glass.
The sound of a throat clearing in the outer doorway made them both look up. Their guard cupped his hands over his mouth and said in a loud voice, “Your assistant has arrived safely at her home.”
Ben flashed a thumbs-up sign. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Tracy’s fingers tensed on the slide at the mention of Ben’s assistant, which was ridiculous. Yes, the woman had kissed him, but Brazilians kissed everyone—it was a kind of unspoken rule in these parts. Besides, the woman had a family. A new baby.
Her throat tightened, a sense of loss sweeping over her. Ben had wanted children so badly. So had she. When she’d fallen pregnant, they’d both been elated. Until she’d had a devastating piece of news that had set her back on her heels. She’d thrown herself into her work, angering Ben, even as she’d tried to figure out a way to tell him.
That had all changed when he’d sent the military in to force her out of a stricken village during a yellow fever outbreak. She knew he’d been trying to protect her and the baby—not from the disease itself, as she’d already been vaccinated the previous year, but from anything that had taken her out of his sight. She hadn’t need protecting, though. She’d needed to work. It had been her lifeline
