Dr. Braeburn came out of his office and approached Paul and Amanda. He’d already explained all the specifics to Paul, starting with the preparation Paul would undergo for the four days prior to the transplant. Then came the day itself. The apheresis-the actual technology during which Paul’s blood would pass through an apparatus, collecting and separating out the cells necessary for the transplant and returning the remaining blood to his circulatory system-was a four-hour procedure, followed by a ten-hour purification process to enrich the stem cells as much as possible before the blood was ready to transfer to Justin. The transplant itself would be done right in the PICU and was an IV infusion of Paul’s purified stem cells into Justin’s body.
At Paul’s insistence, Dr. Braeburn had reviewed what to hope for afterward, although he warned Paul not to accept the timetable as ironclad.
“Each case is different,” he’d explained. “Engraftment can take place anytime between ten and twenty-eight days. So I don’t want you losing faith if it takes longer than the two-week period I’ve suggested. Also, I know Amanda’s mentioned graft-versus-host disease to you. We’re hoping that won’t happen, but we’ll have our experts in several pediatric subspecialties-hematology, gastroenterology and dermatology-monitoring Justin for fever, rashes, diarrhea and anything else that could indicate GVHD. We’ll also have our infectious diseases specialists monitoring him for infections of any kind.”
Paul couldn’t help himself. He had to ask the question that Amanda had sidestepped with him earlier, only because she so desperately wanted to put it out of her mind. She knew the answer. But to hear it said aloud-again-she just couldn’t bear it.
Still, she understood. Paul had to know.
“If I’m a healthy donor match,” he asked Dr. Braeburn, “and if the transplant takes place, what are Justin’s immediate chances for survival?”
Dr. Braeburn regarded him soberly. “If Justin weren’t as sick as he is right now, I’d say close to ninety percent. But I won’t lie to you. Given his physical condition, his chances are a little better than fifty-fifty.”
Amanda’s insides twisted, and she turned away, tears clogging her throat.
“But we’re not going to focus on odds,” the doctor continued. “We’re going to focus on a positive outcome. If the engraftment takes place and clears the pneumonia-which I’m hoping it will-Justin’s long-term survival rate will increase to ninety percent, after which there’s every reason to believe that he will live a full and healthy life.”
For the umpteenth time, Amanda found herself silently praying. But she also knew that, between now and then, there were so many hurdles to conquer, so many “what-ifs” to face.
“It will be all right,” Paul murmured, as if reading her mind. His fingers closed around hers. “We’re going to beat this, Amanda. Justin’s going to beat this.”
She nodded, determined to stay as strong as she’d been before Paul’s return. She’d coped with this all alone. Now she’d cope with it together with Justin’s father.
One step at a time.
Paul was anxious to take step one.
“Everything’s been arranged,” Dr. Braeburn informed Paul. “Once your blood’s been drawn, you’ll go through a battery of tests, just to make sure you’re healthy and there’s nothing to rule you out as a donor. Then, you’ll come back up here. Amanda will show you the visitation protocol, and the sterile attire you’ll have to wear before going inside. After that, you’re welcome to spend time with your son. I know you want to hold him, but that will have to wait. The fewer people who handle him right now, the better.”
“I understand.” Paul nodded. He looked ashen.
“Let’s get you tested,” Dr. Braeburn said gently. “We’ll take it from there.”
The FI team was waiting when Amanda and Paul-now with blond hair, glasses and two-inch lifts in his shoes-emerged from the PICU and into the waiting area. Paul paused, gave Amanda a quick kiss and squeezed her hands hard. Then, he waved at the FI team and headed purposefully off toward the elevator.
Amanda walked over to join the team.
“I was instructed by Agent Hutchinson to stay here with you,” she told them quietly. “My being by Paul’s side would make him more recognizable. This way is safer.” She gazed anxiously after Paul. “I wish I could be there. I wish they could tell him the results on the spot. I wish…” She broke off and gave a hard shake of her head. “I’m not letting myself think that way. I’m just going to be grateful that you found Paul, and believe in my heart that it’s a good sign. I have to think positively, for Justin’s sake.”
“That strategy has worked up until now,” Marc reminded her.
“You’re right.” Amanda’s expression changed. “Your team and I haven’t had a chance to talk. We do now. How guilty was my uncle? Where do things stand on that front?”
“Listen to me, Amanda.” It was Casey who spoke. “You’re a very intelligent woman. You realize this situation goes a lot deeper than any of us realized. Let’s just be grateful that Paul was one of the good guys.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Amanda’s gaze was steady. “And I need to know. Obviously, Paul is an undercover FBI agent assigned to a high-level case. So who was following us? Was it other agents sent to prevent you from finding Paul?”
“Most of the time, yes. They were keeping a close eye on our progress. They were also the ones who made that unnerving phone call to you in an attempt to scare you off.”
“Most of the time,” Amanda repeated. “Well, since the FBI wouldn’t go so far as to kill us, that means the danger you were sensing about us being watched came from a different source, like from organized crime.”
No response.
“Whatever you’re not saying, it involved my uncle,” Amanda pressed. “What has he done?”
“A lot,” Marc answered her bluntly. “None of which we can discuss with you. And none of which you can take to your uncle. We located Paul and got him home. We didn’t do it without some assistance. So it’s time to respect the FBI’s wishes not to have their investigation compromised. Once things are out in the open and arrests have been made, then we can talk and you’ll have plenty of time to hurl accusations at Fenton. Until that time, all you can know is that he’s committed more than one crime. But he didn’t know that Paul was alive, and he didn’t keep him away from you and Justin. Leave it at that.”
Blowing out a breath, Amanda studied Marc’s face, which, as always, was carefully blank. “All right. I won’t ask you any more questions. But it makes me ill to think that my own uncle did something that made it necessary to erase Paul’s existence. Paul Everett’s existence,” she amended. “That man is gone forever. But Paul Evans is here. And he won’t be disappearing or going undercover again. No matter what, Justin will have his father. And when the FBI gives you the okay, I plan to find out every single thing my uncle is guilty of. Then, I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him.”
“Just don’t do it now.” Marc’s words were more than a request. They were a command.
Amanda’s chin came up in surprise. Marc had never before used that sharp tone with her.
Now she saw what had triggered it.
Marc’s penetrating stare was fixed on a point over her shoulder. She turned to see her uncle Lyle striding into the PICU waiting room, clearly on his way to see Justin.
“Don’t, Amanda,” Marc instructed her. “Be cold. Be aloof. But don’t tip your hand-not if you want to keep Paul safe and to see justice done.”
Amanda nodded. She took a few deep breaths, then walked away from the FI team and toward her uncle.
Patrick took an instinctive step in their direction.
Marc seized his arm. “Leave it alone. We can’t tip our hand any more than Amanda can tip hers. We’re all here en masse. He won’t try anything stupid.”