Pandemic

He wanted nothing more than to tear off their clothes, to kiss every inch of her body, and to take her on the spot. Inside the car, outside in the freezing air, he didn't care. His desire for her swallowed him.

He knew he had to wait, but didn't know if he could so he kissed even deeper, releasing months of pent-up desire through his mouth, lips, and tongue.

* * *

Gwen felt giddy as she pulled away from the restaurant. It wasn't so much Noah's company — though between his charm and their desperately sensual kiss she would have gone home with him if he had asked — as having the opportunity to finally relax. She had been so wired up for what seemed like forever with the miserable Gansu virus that she had forgotten what it felt like to unwind and enjoy a night out without carrying the weight of the world.

Driving home through the sparse traffic, she barely listened to the news anchorman recite the same recycled stories of the past week. She only focused in when she heard her name mentioned. "But Dr. Gwen Savard, the country's Director of Counter-Bioterrorism, again refused to comment on rumors that the DHS is mass-producing a new drug to treat the Gansu Flu," the anchor said in a baritone rich with accusation. "In other news the reigning monarch of the oceans, the Atlantic Princess II, suffered her first blemish in two years at sea when a crewman was found murdered a day after the ship arrived in Miami. The twenty-three-year-old's body was found in the laundry, stabbed twice in the chest. His male partner, a fellow waiter, is being held for questioning—"

Not wanting to have her perfect mood deflated, she cut the anchorman off in midsentence and popped Joni Mitchell's Greatest Hits into the CD player. She belted out the words to "Big Yellow Taxi," happily burying the thoughts of hepatitis, viruses, and terrorists.

She was still singing when she pulled into the underground garage of her condominium complex. She opened the security gate with the remote and circled down the three levels to her parking spot. She pulled into her spot and cut off the ignition to her car.

She picked up her purse and began to climb out but then remembered her cell phone. She reached into the glove compartment and pulled it out. Deciding to check her voice mails on the way up, she closed it in her palm and climbed out of the car.

The fluorescent light still flickered a light glow above her parking stall as always, but now two more fluorescent lights had burned out so the lower level was cast in near darkness, lit by a solitary lightbulb over the elevator and stairwell.

She stepped carefully in her heeled boots, realizing that she was gambling with her ankle in the dimness of the parking lot. Halfway from her car to the stairwell, she thought she heard a noise behind her and assumed one of her neighbors had pulled in to the level above. She stopped and listened, but heard nothing. She turned and walked faster to the elevator.

When she got to the elevator, she pressed the call button but it didn't light up. She tried it with two harder pushes but was rewarded with nothing. Annoyed, she turned for the door to the stairwell. Gazing through the small glass cut in the steel door, she noticed that the stairwell's light had burned out, too.

She glanced around the garage again, listening for the earlier noise, as the mounting coincidences grew more difficult to explain. Her palms dampened. She dug around in her purse before realizing that she had left the small can of bear spray in her "day" handbag.

She stood outside the door, vacillating. She considered climbing back in her car and driving out front of the building, but the thought struck her as paranoid. She took a big breath and yanked the door open to the dark stairwell.

When the door closed behind her, she had to grab on to the handrail to lead her up the stairs. She climbed the first five steps tentatively, more concerned about twisting her ankle than out of alarm. She reached the first landing, stopped, and listened for a moment.

Nothing.

Just as she rounded the comer to take the next step, she felt sudden pain in her teeth. Her mouth filled with the taste of leather. At the same moment, an arm wrapped around her chest and pulled her backward until she almost fell. Something hard pressed through her coat into the small of the back. She knew it was a gun.

"Do not speak, Dr. Savard," a voice whispered in her ear. "Or you die here."

She stood motionless, her mind racing.

"Take me to your car," the whisperer said. "Now!"

Suddenly he spun her in the opposite direction. He released her from his grip but only to shove her forward. She almost stumbled down the stairs before regaining her footing. With the gun jammed into her back, she walked slowly and deliberately. With each step, she brought her hand closer to her waist.

"Faster!" the whisperer urged.