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.After about ten minutes of weaving through the maze of streets, she said, “This is it—this is the neighborhood.Turn right here, at this light.”He did as she requested, turning onto a quiet, residential side street.“Just down this way—there’s someplace they won’t know about.” She pointed at a tidy moss-green house on the left.“Ted Westerson.Best teacher I ever had.One of the best in the entire field of virology.Anyway, he’s in Costa Rica right now, and he gave me his keys so I could water his orchids.No one will think to look for us there.We can get some dry clothes and figure out what to do next.”Peter continued in the direction she was pointing, heading for the cottage-style house.He was cold and exhausted, and worn down to nothing.What he really wanted to do was kick this woman and her apocalyptic chaos to the curb, and then run for his life.Yet he couldn’t.If he refused to help her, and some crazy bastard got his hands on the vial, there wouldn’t be anywhere left to run.Besides, she was shivering, and it looked way better on her than it did on him.It wouldn’t hurt to go in and get some dry clothes.Just for a minute.Inside, the green house was pin neat and sparsely furnished with older but well-maintained furniture.On the far side of the long, narrow living room was a large glassed-in porch populated by orchids.Peter went over to examine them, while Doctor Lachaux excused herself to change out of her still-damp clothes, which looked pretty nasty.“I’ll see if I can find something big enough for you to wear, too,” she said.Peter frowned as she left the room, wondering just how familiar the good doctor was with the house… and its occupant.Not that it’s any of my business, he mused.Yet as he stood there in the fading evening light, the feeling of unease wouldn’t let go.When she came back into the living room she was holding a large towel.She wore a bathrobe that didn’t even come down to her knees, and was much too short in the sleeves.She tossed the towel to Peter.“I knew Ted was a smaller guy,” she said.“But I had no idea how small until I tried on his clothes.” She smiled and held up her arms, twisting her exposed wrists.The bottom of the robe rose hazardously, as well.“If his stuff is too small for me, there’s no way anything will fit you.”Peter used the towel to dry his hair.“That’s okay,” he said, plucking at the damp shirt.It was stained with grit and other souvenirs of their activities.“I’ll dry out eventually.”“Come on,” she said, shooting him a look.“Don’t just sit there all damp and miserable.Wrap that towel around yourself and give me your clothes.I’ll put them in the drier with mine.” She turned away from him.“I won’t look.”He just stood there for a moment, watching her not watching him and feeling weirdly self-conscious.Finally, he gave in, and started unbuttoning his shirt.“I suppose it would be ironic to catch cold, what with the deadly mutagenic retrovirus and all,” he said, pulling the vibrator out of his waistband and setting it on a small Asian end table before unbuckling his belt.“There’s got to be some kind of quota.You know, one disease per customer?”“You aren’t any more likely to contract acute viral nasopharyngitis if you’re cold and wet than you would be if you were warm and dry,” she replied.“Either a viable, contagious strain of rhinovirus is already present in the environment, or it isn’t.”“You’re killing my ‘A’ material, you know,” he said, toeing off his soggy shoes.“You know that, right?” As he peeled off his socks, he was pretty sure they were beginning to grow mold.She let out a little, stifled half laugh and shook her head.“Sorry,” she said.“But if you’re going to crack virology jokes in this crowd, your science has to be solid.We’re a discriminating audience.”He laughed too, and stripped the clinging pants and damp shorts off his sticky legs and kicked them away, wrapping the towel around his waist.Even shirtless, it was amazing how good it felt finally to be rid of the clothes and relatively dry.As opposed to being wet and dead.Which, up until about twenty minutes ago, had seemed a great deal more likely.“You can turn around now if you want,” he said, gathering his things into a bundle.“Where’s that dryer?”She turned to face him, gaze involuntarily dropping to take in his towel-clad body.She blushed and looked away again.“Right,” she said.“Um… this way.”He followed her down the hallway to a narrow laundry room off the kitchen.It was barely big enough for the two of them, standing side by side.There were a small utility sink, a washer, and a dryer—which was already running.“Give me your clothes,” she said, holding out her hand.He handed over the wet bundle and she pulled open the dryer door, interrupting the cycle [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.After about ten minutes of weaving through the maze of streets, she said, “This is it—this is the neighborhood.Turn right here, at this light.”He did as she requested, turning onto a quiet, residential side street.“Just down this way—there’s someplace they won’t know about.” She pointed at a tidy moss-green house on the left.“Ted Westerson.Best teacher I ever had.One of the best in the entire field of virology.Anyway, he’s in Costa Rica right now, and he gave me his keys so I could water his orchids.No one will think to look for us there.We can get some dry clothes and figure out what to do next.”Peter continued in the direction she was pointing, heading for the cottage-style house.He was cold and exhausted, and worn down to nothing.What he really wanted to do was kick this woman and her apocalyptic chaos to the curb, and then run for his life.Yet he couldn’t.If he refused to help her, and some crazy bastard got his hands on the vial, there wouldn’t be anywhere left to run.Besides, she was shivering, and it looked way better on her than it did on him.It wouldn’t hurt to go in and get some dry clothes.Just for a minute.Inside, the green house was pin neat and sparsely furnished with older but well-maintained furniture.On the far side of the long, narrow living room was a large glassed-in porch populated by orchids.Peter went over to examine them, while Doctor Lachaux excused herself to change out of her still-damp clothes, which looked pretty nasty.“I’ll see if I can find something big enough for you to wear, too,” she said.Peter frowned as she left the room, wondering just how familiar the good doctor was with the house… and its occupant.Not that it’s any of my business, he mused.Yet as he stood there in the fading evening light, the feeling of unease wouldn’t let go.When she came back into the living room she was holding a large towel.She wore a bathrobe that didn’t even come down to her knees, and was much too short in the sleeves.She tossed the towel to Peter.“I knew Ted was a smaller guy,” she said.“But I had no idea how small until I tried on his clothes.” She smiled and held up her arms, twisting her exposed wrists.The bottom of the robe rose hazardously, as well.“If his stuff is too small for me, there’s no way anything will fit you.”Peter used the towel to dry his hair.“That’s okay,” he said, plucking at the damp shirt.It was stained with grit and other souvenirs of their activities.“I’ll dry out eventually.”“Come on,” she said, shooting him a look.“Don’t just sit there all damp and miserable.Wrap that towel around yourself and give me your clothes.I’ll put them in the drier with mine.” She turned away from him.“I won’t look.”He just stood there for a moment, watching her not watching him and feeling weirdly self-conscious.Finally, he gave in, and started unbuttoning his shirt.“I suppose it would be ironic to catch cold, what with the deadly mutagenic retrovirus and all,” he said, pulling the vibrator out of his waistband and setting it on a small Asian end table before unbuckling his belt.“There’s got to be some kind of quota.You know, one disease per customer?”“You aren’t any more likely to contract acute viral nasopharyngitis if you’re cold and wet than you would be if you were warm and dry,” she replied.“Either a viable, contagious strain of rhinovirus is already present in the environment, or it isn’t.”“You’re killing my ‘A’ material, you know,” he said, toeing off his soggy shoes.“You know that, right?” As he peeled off his socks, he was pretty sure they were beginning to grow mold.She let out a little, stifled half laugh and shook her head.“Sorry,” she said.“But if you’re going to crack virology jokes in this crowd, your science has to be solid.We’re a discriminating audience.”He laughed too, and stripped the clinging pants and damp shorts off his sticky legs and kicked them away, wrapping the towel around his waist.Even shirtless, it was amazing how good it felt finally to be rid of the clothes and relatively dry.As opposed to being wet and dead.Which, up until about twenty minutes ago, had seemed a great deal more likely.“You can turn around now if you want,” he said, gathering his things into a bundle.“Where’s that dryer?”She turned to face him, gaze involuntarily dropping to take in his towel-clad body.She blushed and looked away again.“Right,” she said.“Um… this way.”He followed her down the hallway to a narrow laundry room off the kitchen.It was barely big enough for the two of them, standing side by side.There were a small utility sink, a washer, and a dryer—which was already running.“Give me your clothes,” she said, holding out her hand.He handed over the wet bundle and she pulled open the dryer door, interrupting the cycle [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]