I have to leave tomorrow!”
“Am I dying?”
Dr. Pedro held up his hands. “One at a time. We will answer your questions as soon as possible. The symptoms at this time don’t appear to be life-threatening. For obvious reasons, we don’t know how long the quarantine will last, but I estimate you’ll be detained for at least forty-eight hours.”
“Oh no,” Janine murmured, and the lobby erupted into more chaos. A few people tried to make a run for the exits, but security guards had already been posted. Her heart tripped faster when she realized she was confined to the building, and might be for some time—a claustrophobe’s nightmare.
“There is no need to panic,” the doctor continued in a raised, but soothing voice. “Believe me, ladies and gentleman, the quarantine is for your own protection and for the protection of the people outside these walls with whom you would otherwise come into contact.”
As a health professional, Janine knew her first concern should be her own welfare and the safety of those around her, but as a bride-to-be, her thoughts turned to wedding invitations, ceremony programs and honeymoon reservations, all with a big red Cancel stamped on them. She swayed and reached for something to steady herself, meeting soft cotton and solid muscle.
“Easy,” Derek said, righting her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “But my mother is going to have a stroke. We’ll have to postpone the wedding.”
One corner of his mouth slid back. “Gee, and the rest of us only have to worry about a slow, painful death from a mysterious disease.”
Remorseful, she opened her mouth to recant, but the doctor spoke again.
“Please, everyone return to your rooms immediately. If you need assistance, ask anyone who is wearing a white coat or a yellow armband. If you develop symptoms, call the front desk and leave a message, a doctor or nurse will be with you soon. Medical personnel will be canvassing the hotel room by room to ensure no potential case is overlooked. We’ll keep everyone updated as the situation progresses. We’d like to have this area cleared. After that, do not leave your room unless you are given permission by a person wearing a yellow armband.”
Now she knew what it felt like to be hit by a truck and live, Janine decided. So many emotions bombarded her, she didn’t know what to feel first—outrage that her life would have to be rescheduled, fear that she’d been exposed to a dangerous contaminant, or panic that she was expected to spend at least the next forty-eight hours in close quarters with a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who had been vocal about the fact that he didn’t want to be here at all.
A sentiment now reinforced by his brooding expression. His jaw was dark from the shadow of his beard, his eyes bloodshot and his nose irritated.
“You look terrible,” she said without thinking.
The sarcastic glance he shot her way made even her creeping panties seem comfortable by comparison. In a dismissive move, he picked up his suitcase and joined the throng moving toward the elevator and the stairs.
“I’ll be right behind you,” she said. “I’m going to leave my name with the doctors just in case they can use my help.” She was trying desperately not to think about the fact that she and Derek might be sharing a room for the rest of the night. Or the little issue of having no money, no ID, no toiletries, no makeup, no clothes, no shoes and no underwear save the costume beneath her coat.
His only acknowledgment that he’d heard her was the barest of nods. Janine frowned at his back, then turned to approach Dr. Pedro.
A crowd of guests had gathered around him, some angry, some concerned, all asking questions. The doctor spoke succinctly in a calming voice, assuring the knot of people that quarantine procedures would be distributed to every room, then asked them to clear the lobby as soon as possible. She touched the arm of a woman who appeared to be the doctor’s assistant and asked if she could have a word with the doctor about a professional matter. The woman nodded and made her way toward him.
“Ms. Murphy, our paths cross again.”
She swung around to see the general manager approaching her, a hint of a smile hiding the worry she knew lingered under his calm surface. “I trust you found room 855?”
“Um, yes.”
He looked as if he was curious about the outcome, but was too much of a gentleman to ask.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Oliver, I was hoping you would speak to the doctor on my behalf.”
“On your behalf?”
“Well, since you can verify I arrived at the resort less than an hour ago—” she splayed her hands “—I was hoping you could arrange for me to leave.”
He poked his tongue into his cheek. “Leave? If I remember correctly, when I first saw you, you were having a nose-to-nose conversation with Ben, who is now quite ill.”
She leaned forward and whispered, “I’m also extremely claustrophobic.”
A slight frown creased his forehead. “I suppose I could consult the doctor about your situation, Ms. Murphy, but what about your fiancé?”
“He, um, wasn’t in the room after all.”
He pulled a notebook from his pocket. “We have to account for all guests—I’ll make a note that the room is empty.”
She told herself she should keep her mouth shut, but Derek was ill and, therefore, probably needed to be kept under surveillance. Her medical ethics kicked in, and she sighed. “Actually, there was another gentleman in the room.”
Mr. Oliver’s blue eyes widened. “Oh?”
At that moment, the doctor walked up, nodding to Mr. Oliver, then to Janine. “My assistant said you wished to speak to me.”
She tried on her professional face, wondering how disheveled she appeared. “Dr. Pedro, my name is Janine Murphy. I’m a P.A. here in Atlanta, and I wanted to offer my services in case you find yourself short of personnel.”
He was a pleasant-looking man who seemed unruffled in the midst of the pandemonium. “It’s kind of you to offer, Ms. Murphy, but we’re fully staffed. Are you feeling well?”
She was sick to her stomach with worry, not to mention a little hungover, but she nodded. “Yes, and Mr. Oliver can verify I haven’t been at the resort very long, so if you don’t think you’ll need my help, I was wondering if you might see your way to release me from the quarantine.”
Dr. Pedro gave her a regretful smile. “Ms. Murphy, because of your medical training, you understand why I can’t release you, but if you don’t fall ill and a lot of other guests do, indeed we might need your help. I assume you have your license with you?”
Too late, she remembered she didn’t have her purse, in which she kept a card-size copy of her license. “Um, no, I’m sorry, I don’t have my license with me.”
“If you have other ID on you, my assistant can verify your credentials over the phone.”
Конец
