dropped to her stomach. "A quarantine?" she whispered. This can't be happening. Next to her, Derek muttered a
healthy oath that corresponded with the collective groan that went up throughout the lobby.
"Janine," Marie said in her ear. "What's going on?"
"The CDC just put the place under quarantine," she croaked. "I'll call you back." Then she hung up the phone
unceremoniously.
"Was that Steve?" Derek asked.
"No, my sister," she replied, distracted by the uproar.
Angry guests were on their feet, firing questions at the doctor: "For how long?" "But 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
Learning to Kill: Stories