Buried and Shadowed (Branded Packs #3)(62)

Sinclair was a wolf with honor.

“I can’t be sure it’s Dr. Lowman, but I can be sure it’s not a sick patient,” she assured him. “The CDC has been monitoring the virus, making certain that it didn’t mutate so the vaccine was no longer effective. They determined that since it was a manmade virus, it has burnt itself out.”

Sinclair grimaced. “I hope to God they’re right.”

Mira gave a slow nod. She’d been too young to truly remember the horror, but her time at the CDC had revealed an insight into the horrifying death and chaos that had swept throughout the world.

“We all hope they’re right,” she said.

With faith in her assurances that warmed her heart, Sinclair moved to the door set in the frosted wall and grabbed the handle.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

With a quick twist of his wrist, the knob turned, snapping the lock with an ease that revealed just how strong Sinclair was even in his human form.

He shoved open the door, stepping into the room even as he reached back in a silent demand for Mira to stay where she was. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she remained in the waiting room until he returned to gesture for her to join him.

Moving through the open doorway, she allowed her gaze to move over the long space that served as both a living room and bedroom.

At the end closest to the door, was a small sofa and chair with a coffee table. At the opposite end, were a hospital bed and a dresser with a TV on top. There was another door that she assumed led to a bathroom.

It would have been depressing, in an institutional sort of way, if it weren’t for the bank of windows that lined the back wall, offering a stunning view of the gardens.

Bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, a man stood next to the windows.

Short and slender, the stranger had a thick mane of silver hair and a sharply defined profile. His back was slightly humped as if he were carrying a great weight. At the moment, he was dressed in a robe with striped pajama bottoms.

Mira had a suspicion that he had an entire closet filled with robes and pajama bottoms.

There was no need for clothes if he never left this room.

She stepped toward him, Sinclair close by her side. “Dr. Lowman?”

The man didn’t turn, but his body stiffened. A certain sign that her suspicion had been right.

This was the man they were searching for.

“Are you here to kill me?” he asked in low tones.

Mira was caught off guard by the question. “No,” she denied. “I swear we have no intention of hurting you.”

“A shame.”

Wondering if the man was mentally unstable, Mira shared a glance with Sinclair before returning her wary gaze to the doctor.

“Excuse me?”

There was a long pause before the man finally spoke.

“There are nights when it would be easier to end it all. Unfortunately, I don’t have the courage to do it myself. I’ve never had courage.” The man’s thin shoulders hunched even further. “Plenty of brains, but no courage.”

She stepped forward, only to have Sinclair reach out to grab her arm and tug her back. Clearly, he wasn’t convinced that the doctor was as frail and helpless as he appeared.

“Why would you want to end it all?” she asked in confusion.

She didn’t know what she’d expected when she at last confronted Dr. Lowman. Anger. Denial. Excuses. But not this deep, almost tangible air of regret.

“To forget.” Slowly, he turned, revealing his narrow face that was deeply lined, although he couldn’t be much more than fifty years old. “Do you know, when I close my eyes at night, I can hear them scream.”

Mira shivered. Was there a darkness that filled the room? Or was it just her overactive imagination?

“Hear who scream?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

Lowman gave a sad shake of his head. “The dead.”

Mira grimaced, struggling not to think about the horrific guilt the doctor would have to live with if he was somehow responsible for the mass destruction of mankind.

Instead, she focused on keeping him talking. They had to get answers. The sooner, the better.

“Are you talking about the virus?”

He gave a slow nod, pain in his pale eyes. “Yes.”

“How did it happen?” she asked, deciding to start at the beginning.

The doctor leaned against the windows, his face shadowed. “I was hired by the Verona Clinic because of my work with the Ebola virus while I was finishing my doctoral program at John Hopkins University.”

“You must have been very young,” she said.

He released a short, humorless laugh. “Young and idealistic. I thought the intention was to broaden my research to find a cure.”

A portion of the anger she hadn’t even realized she was harboring toward this man began to ease. Was it possible that he was more a victim than the evil scientist she’d been imagining?

“I’m assuming that’s not what they wanted?” she asked.

“No.” His thin body was wracked by a visible shudder. “Only months after starting at the clinic, I was told my research was being funded by Bellum International.”

“Damn,” Sinclair abruptly breathed. “That’s the connection to Ranney.”