nerves turned him into an incoherent mess.
That’s where Candy found him.
Candy had been at the lecture, too. Her brother was dying of AIDS and she’d read about the Nevada group in one of the physician’s magazines she subscribed to. She came to the hotel to talk them into taking her brother on for the next trial. She knew she could persuade them–she was as rigorously convincing as any trial lawyer could ever hope to be. Plus, she was really, really cute. She had found that being cute helped out quite a bit in life. Born into rough circumstances, she’d learned to use what she had to get what she needed, and right now, her brother needed a miracle. He needed Lazarus.
She entered the dark bar, expecting to find members of the group there–doctors were hard drinkers, she’d found–but it was empty save for one young Indian man. She’d just wait, then. They were most likely at Capitol Grille or The Palm…surely they’d stop in here for a nightcap after dinner.
She sat halfway down the bar, keeping one eye on the lobby and one on the young Indian man. She ordered a club soda. She waited.
The young man was talking to himself, quietly but vehemently. One hand was fisted and he hit himself in the chest several times, as if to punctuate what he was saying. Candy thought she saw a gleam of frustrated tears in his warm brown eyes.
Just like that, she liked him.
The bartender’s face showed annoyance and Candy knew he was on the verge of asking the man to leave. She went to where he sat and put out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Candy,” she said. She’d always found it was best to get that out of the way up front…to acknowledge her ridiculous name and put it right out there, without apology.
He looked up in surprise and then touched the tips of her fingers with his–it was the barest, most hesitant handshake she’d ever encountered.
“How are you?” he said but she knew it was perfunctory. His voice was soft, his accent exotic and to her, beautiful. She slid onto the stool next to him.
“I’m okay,” she said. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“I am Doctor Sami Rafiq; it is a pleasure to meet you, miss, uh, Candy.”
“Doctor? Are you here from Nevada by any chance?” She hadn’t recognized his name from the study or the lecture, but these things tended to involve a lot of people. “Are you working on Lazarus?”
It was like a secret code, the way it lit his features. He shook his head and almost tumbled back off his stool. She steadied him with one hand. “You know about Lazarus?” he said, astonished.
She nodded, completely unperturbed by his tone; she’d been underestimated plenty of times before. “You’re here for that, too, then?” she asked.
He nodded and nearly fumbled his almost empty drink. The bartender whisked away the glass without offering him a refill.
“What is your interest in it?” he said, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
They each revealed their reasons for wanting to talk to the Lazarus scientists. Sami, simultaneously bolstered and befuddled by whiskey, admitted his conflicting feelings and Candy told him about the struggles she’d had with her brother. Before they knew it, that day had become the next.
The Lazarus scientists never showed up. Or, they had never left their rooms in the first place. Either way, it amounted to the same thing: neither Candy nor Sami got what they came for. But they did leave with something they hadn’t expected: each other’s numbers and hearts.
~ ~ ~
Sami watched discreetly from the corner of his eye as Candy left the railing. Hiding their relationship had been necessary before everything happened. Sami’s parents would have been disappointed in his choice of an anglo mate and Candy’s family and friends would have taken every opportunity to ask why she wanted to date a terrorist.
As far as either of them knew, those people were all gone now. Or sailing in some armada of their own somewhere. Why did they keep