“It’s okay, Doctor Todd.” The sweet little woman coughed into a crumpled white tissue. She weighed less than a hundred pounds and couldn’t have been five feet tall from her bunioned feet to the top of her perfectly quaffed silver-blue hair. “I’ve felt worse pains, I suppose.” She gave a tremulous chuckle. “Though I can’t remember when at this very moment.”
Elton dried his hands on a paper towel and then looked down at the red bag filled with medical lances and gauze covered with blood and gore. It was a struggle to resist the urge to keep scrubbing his hands until they were raw.
He turned to face his patient, keeping a good distance between them. “We’ll get you a prescription for some antibiotics. I’m going to go ahead and treat you for MRSA, just in case you’ve got one of the nastier bugs. The culture will take about three—”
Brandy, his PA, knocked on the door and then opened it without waiting for an answer. Her purple scrubs were visible through the narrow crack.
“Can I see you a moment, Doctor?”
Elton forced a smile, relieved to have an excuse to escape the confines of the exam room. “I’ll just be a minute, Mrs. Johnson.”
The old woman gave a polite nod and he pulled the door shut behind him.
Brandy’s round face was ashen. “There are two more in the waiting room now.”
“Seriously?” Elton stared blankly at the wall. “That makes—”
“Your brother-in-law came in yesterday. You’ve done nine already since we opened. Four more have come in over the last twenty minutes.” Brandy rolled full lips into a white line. “This is just too weird.”
The doctor gave an exhausted sigh. “I’ll give Public Health a call…” As lead physician at both the Kane County Hospital and Clinic it was his responsibility to ensure all necessary protocols were followed when it came to the outbreak of a contagious disease — something he’d never had to face in his small, southern Utah town.
Brandy followed close behind as Elton made his way down the bright hall to his office, as if she were afraid to be left alone. Donita, the records clerk, glanced up as they passed her office. A worried half grin crossed her face. Everyone could tell this was no ordinary day at the clinic.
The public health hotline picked up on the second ring. Instead of helping him with his problem, the harried woman on the other end said she would need to transfer him. A half second later, someone from the Centers for Disease Control answered.
He put his hand over the receiver and looked at Brandy. “Odd,” he whispered. “They’ve transferred me to the CDC.” He turned back to his conversation. “Yes, this is Todd Elton in Kanab, Utah… No, K… A… N… Yes, Kanab. Anyway, I’m a family practice physician and…” He took a deep breath. “We have a bit of a situation I’d like to run by you—” He nodded, though talking on the phone and the woman on the other end had no idea he was nodding. She asked a series of questions, callback numbers, physical address, number of people involved, all likely off a predetermined checklist kept beside the hotline telephone.
“Yes,” Elton answered at length. “Well, it’s an acute outbreak of feverish boils around the groin, armpit, and neck. There’s been one male patient but it generally appears to be affecting women… Yes, fourteen total so far… Yes, I’m running cultures—”
He sat silently for a moment, listening, perfectly still but for his eyes that kept darting between Brandy and his desk.
Elton shook his head, grimacing at Brandy as if he’d just heard something odd. “Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact one of the patients is a soldier. All right, I understand.”
He hung up. “Get this,” he said, taking a deep breath, “they were already working on it.”
“How’d they know about us?” Brandy crinkled her forehead.
“Not us,” Elton said. “I guess there are cases popping up in other places.”
Brandy caught her breath. “What other places?”
“I was talking to a government agency.” Elton chuckled, trying to relieve the tension he felt in his gut. “She was not extremely forthcoming with that information.”
“What are we supposed to do?”
Elton toyed with the notepad where he’d written the number for CDC. “The lady said she’d call right back. But I get the feeling they are sending someone to take over.”
CHAPTER 18
The tiny edge of the hidden tattoo that had plagued Quinn and Thibodaux for the last year and a half was actually the beginning of a design that covered virtually every inch of Miyagi’s torso.
Brilliant splashes of black, orange, pink, and green started at her shoulders like cap sleeves and worked their way down. An orange carp, or koi, covered much of her back, swimming beneath fallen pink cherry blossoms. The image of a gaudily made-up courtesan adorned the ribs and hip of her left side, completely covering her buttock and thigh. The opposite side of her body was graced by the goddess Kwannon, who faced inward, as if staring into her soul.
Her upper chest around her collarbone and a four-inch line of flesh running down the center of her body remained un-inked, making it possible for her to wear shirts open at the neck and even her workout leotards without revealing the presence of a tattoo. Only the tiniest black outline of a cherry blossom sometimes peeked out on the swell of her breast.
Her head bowed demurely, chin pressed against her chest, Emiko brought her leg over the side of the tub in a movement that reminded Quinn of ballet. The steam parted as her foot pierced the surface. Water shimmered like quicksilver, lapping at the taut muscles of her belly, just below her navel.
She stood perfectly still.
The musky scent of her body drifting over the superheated water made Quinn feel as though he’d been drugged. He found it impossible to tear his eyes away. Apparently wanting him to look, she kept her hands at her waist, turning in a slow revolution before she settled into the bath. Only her head and shoulders were left exposed.
Her body was the canvas for an incredibly intricate work of art. The fact that Quinn had known her for so long without any idea such a thing was there only added to the mystery.
Miyagi kept her face down, toward the water. Her wet hair hung in a sort of protective curtain, concealing her eyes but not her emotions.
“Many servicemen get tattoos,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “I have often wondered at the fact that you do not have any.”
“I’ve thought about it,” Quinn said, surprised at how dry his mouth was. “But I started working outside the wire, posing as an Arab, early in my career, so it seemed advisable to keep my skin unidentifiable.”
“That is a good choice,” she said. “One that will hopefully keep your skin intact as well.” Her chest shook with a nervous chuckle. “I think Americans would consider my tattoo hideous, no?”
“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks,” Quinn said. His voice was throaty and hoarse. He opened his mouth, but could not think of another worthwhile word to say.
Miyagi looked up, her eyes probing to know what he thought of her. “Do you know how we begin a tale of long ago in Japan?”
Quinn gave a quiet nod. “Of course. Mukashi, mukashi—once upon a time…”
The tiniest of smiles parted Miyagi’s lips. She was close enough that Quinn could almost feel her breath across the water. She trembled slightly as she spoke. Her shoulders, which had always been so powerful during their lessons, softened and seemed to melt into the water. She tilted her head, ebony hair trailing the surface of the bath.