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to talk here? It had been a long, bad day. He wanted to go home, have dinner with Danny and catch up on some virology articles that were waiting for him. One might spark an idea that could lead to a cure.

      “Dr. Granger—”

      Too formal. “When we’re not working, call me Rafe.”

      He almost surprised himself, but the words had come naturally.

      “Rafe,” Gemma started again, sounding unsure. “How can I help your stress level?”

      Rafe inclined his head. “My stress level?”

      Gemma shifted in her seat. “We’re under a tremendous amount of stress, but you most of all. You drive us hard and yourself harder—”

      He felt a criticism coming from her pink mouth. “Are you saying you need a break?” Losing a member of their staff would be hard, but he wouldn’t work someone into the ground. If she needed to step back from her duties, he understood.

      Green eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a break. I’m concerned about you.”

      Why? He hadn’t come apart. “No reason to be. I know my limits.”

      The waitress took their order. Rafe asked for his food to go and a coffee. He couldn’t feed Danny cereal or a sandwich again as a meal. They were guys, but Rafe had hit his limit on crap food and Danny was a growing teenager.

      The waitress lingered at the table. “Any news?” she asked.

      About the cure? The break-in? “About what?” Rafe asked. He’d been in the clinic and didn’t know if news of the break-in had hit the gossip mill. It was Dead River, so most likely it had.

      The waitress looked around. “About the virus. I heard you found a cure, but it ended up making everyone sicker. Is that true?”

      If they’d had a cure that made people sicker, it wouldn’t be a cure. Luckily, Gemma answered before Rafe could make any more enemies with his sarcastic response.

      “We’re doing our best, but we’re still working on it,” Gemma said.

      The waitress frowned. “It’s been months. Have you tried asking for outside help?”

      Rafe kept his temper. It was difficult for people of the town to believe that finding a cure wasn’t a straightforward task. It wasn’t as if the clinic had a computer that would take the virus, find the antidote and print it out on paper like a recipe for them to mix. “There are a number of factors at play. We’re closing in on it,” Rafe said. He curbed the urge to say more.

      The waitress nodded. “Okay, thanks. Everyone is so worried.” She bit her lip. “I’ll put your order in.”

      Gemma reached across the table, and then drew her hands back into her lap. “Dr. Granger, she didn’t mean to be insulting.”

      The people of Dead River wanted a cure found and they were putting their faith in the clinic to deliver. “It’s hard to explain to someone why we don’t have a cure.”

      “Everyone knows you’re an exceptional doctor,” Gemma said.

      He didn’t need his ego stroked. “But what?”

      Gemma smiled. “But I am worried you’ll burn out. You can’t keep going at the pace you’re going and not break down.”

      She had no idea what he could and could not do. Since he had gotten out of Dead River, he had worked as if the devil was chasing him and would catch him if he slowed. College, medical school, a fellowship with the CDC and his residency had led to the pinnacle of his success: a position as an ER doctor at Presbyterian University Hospital in New York.

      “I will not have a breakdown. Is this about getting upset with Flint earlier today?” The Coltons had always stuck together. Rafe understood if she was sticking up for her brother.

      “This isn’t about Flint. He’s a big boy and he can take it. This is about you. You’re the only doctor who works additional shifts.” Gemma pointed to the coffee the waitress had slid in front of him. “Is that the majority of your meals?”

      Rafe glanced at the coffee. He wasn’t keeping track of his food. “Worried I’ll have shaky hands during a procedure?”

      Gemma shook her head. “Please hear me. I am not concerned about how you treat others. I am not concerned about your patients. I am concerned about you and how you will drive us crazy if you don’t ease off.”

      Gemma had struck a nerve. Ease off. Slack off. Sit around and wait for someone else to do the work. He would set Gemma straight now. “I do not expect you or anyone else to help.” The cold in his voice hit its mark. Gemma drew away and her face dropped.

      “I can do this entirely on my own if that’s what it takes. I don’t need to rest. I need to find a cure to help the people of this town get better. I will not put my personal needs ahead of someone’s life.”

      Gemma seemed shocked and then gathered herself. “That’s not really true is it, Dr. Granger? You want to help our patients, but you have another motive.”

      He’d made no secret of his desire to escape this town. “Like everyone else here, I can’t wait to leave.”

      Gemma drew back. “I don’t want to leave.”

      She wouldn’t. She had a great family, people who cared about her and she’d gone with the flow and seemed happy doing what was expected of her. Even in high school, she’d been the school’s sweetheart, not popular exactly, but few had a bad word to say about her. “Then I guess that’s one reason we don’t get along. I don’t want to be here a minute longer than I have to.”

      Gemma leaned in and glared at him. “You can try that bad-boy routine on me, but I see through you. You’re here because you want to be.”

      He snorted. “You know nothing about me. I am here because of a promise I foolishly gave.”

      “Why not break the promise if you hate it here?”

      “Because breaking a promise to a dead person would make me the tyrannical, self-serving shithead you’re implying I am.”

      Gemma’s mouth dropped open. “I said no such thing.”

      Rafe threw several twenties on the table. “See you at work.”

      He fled the diner and ignored the looks from the people around him. He didn’t need their condescension and he didn’t need this town.

      * * *

      Rafe opened the door to his rental, a two-story, three-bedroom colonial. It was too big for him, though somehow he thought it was too small for him and Danny. The teenager seemed to have a lot of stuff, or maybe it seemed that way because nothing was ever put away.

      “Danny! Are you home?” Rafe asked.

      Rafe was accustomed to some signs that Danny was inside. Muddy shoes by the door, winter jacket thrown over the chair in the living room or the sound of music pulsing from the boy’s bedroom.

      It was quiet.

      “Danny!”

      Was he wearing headphones?

      Rafe took the oak stairs to Danny’s room and found it empty. No backpack slung on the floor. Rafe picked up an empty box of cookies and tossed it in the trash. He called the cell phone he’d given to Danny, but the call went directly to voice mail.

      Worry knotted in his stomach. He gave Danny his freedom and his privacy, as Danny’s grandfather had, but Rafe and Danny had an agreement. Danny would let Rafe know where he was and when he would be home and Rafe did the same for him. That morning, Danny had told him he’d come home directly after football practice. After the fire at the clinic, Rafe had texted him that he would be late tonight. Danny was usually good to his word.

      Rafe called the Dead River Youth Center. It was a safe place for students to hang out

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