A chunk of ceiling gave way and crashed to the floor, shooting up a snarling roar of white heat and orange flame. Damon rolled to the side, sucking in the last breath of oxygen hovering above the floor. The firefighters and paramedics were on their way. But even if they were already in the building, they had twenty-eight stories to climb. Damon was his wifes lasther onlyhope for survival.
Miranda!
He found her curled into a ball in the corner of a storage closet. Her clothes and hair had caught fire, and though shed managed to douse the flames, shed already suffered serious burns.
If she was still breathing, Damon couldnt tell. He could only cradle her in his arms while he carried her to safety. Outside the burning lab, he collapsed and lay her on the floor. His damaged hands couldnt detect a pulse, but he put his lips against hers and breathed. Come on, baby, he rasped. Live, Miranda. Live.
The old images faded as Damon twisted in his sleep. But the nightmare wouldnt end. It merely transformedinto something hideous and ugly. Like him.
They were at the asylum now. Months later. Mirandas willowy figure was lost beneath the green hospital gown. And she was crying. At least, her shoulders moved with the sounds of sobbing. The tear ducts beneath the bandages that wrapped her face could no longer cry.
Why wont you help me? Her blue eyes pierced him straight to the core, adding to the weight of well-deserved guilt he carried. How can you make yourself right and not help me?
She should never have been a part of this. Miranda was an innocent pawn, caught and trampled by someones jealous greed. If only hed been an ordinary man. Less rich. Less powerful. Less of a visionary brainiac. None of this would have happened. His work wouldnt have been stolen. His lab wouldnt have been destroyed. She wouldnt have been hurt.
Damon Sinclair loved like an ordinary man, but he was cursed with being anything but.
We nearly lost you in the E. R. when you reacted to the treatments. I wont risk that again until I run more experiments. For some reason the tissue regeneration formula doesnt work on you. I havent figured out why. Yet. But I will. I promise. He joined her at the window. It was the last time he remembered feeling the heat of sunshine on his skin. In the meantime, theres reconstructive surgery
That takes too long. Ill never be the same.
He gently stroked her arm. Money is no object. Whatever it takes. Whatever experts we need
I thought you were the expert. She shrugged off his touch. Your hands have healed. But my face?
Damon reached for her again, but she slid away, crossing to the far side of the small room whose posh amenities couldnt completely mask its clinical purpose. Miranda, you are beautiful to me. Inside. Where it counts. I love you. I will always love you, no matter what.
But Im not beautiful outside anymore, am I? She faced him then, the bandages masking everything but the accusation in her eyes. You cant look at me and say Im beautiful on the outside, can you?
His medical breakthroughs werent infallible. I cant fix my eye, either, and the nerve repair is still incom
But you fixed the skin on your hands. What about the skin on my face? Its not vanity. Its humanity. I have no face left. No lips, no nose. Justscars.
She hated him. So much. Where once hed seen love, he saw nothing but blame and contempt. Hell, he hated himself. Hed worked miracles for so many patients. Miranda
Fix me, Damon. Fix me!
I dont know how. The admission twisted cruelly through a brain that had always had the answers. Always. Until now. I dont know how.
I dont know how, he muttered, finding no peace in slumber. I dont know how!
Damon lashed out at himself in his nightmare and awoke to the crash of glass.
He blinked his good eye into the glaring brightness of lights reflecting off stainless steel. Even as he pushed himself away from the lab table where hed fallen asleep, the frustration and guilt that haunted his nightmares were still with him. He had a shattered petrie dish and contaminated solution on the floor by his feet, to boot. Damn.
Another experiment gone to waste. Not that hed expected this one to work better than any of the others hed run in the last month. He didnt know if his equations were off, or if the sample had been tainted. But as he rolled the kinks from his neck and adjusted the black strap that crossed his forehead and held the patch over the empty socket where his left eye had been, he knew the answers would continue to elude him tonight.
A glance out the window of his twenty-eighth-floor lab told him it was well past midnight, even before he noted the time on the clock above the door. Time would forever be his enemy. No formula or device his clever mind could conjure would ever grant him the time he needed. The time hed lost with Miranda.
Their marriage hadnt been perfect. Hed worked too much in the lab; she had loved to travel. But shed given him a beautiful home life and a trusted voice in the Sinclair Pharmaceuticals office; hed given her everything shed asked for.
Except her humanity.
He hadnt found the answer to heal her in time. He hadnt made her feel whole again. He couldnt save her from her injuriesor the resulting depression. His skills werent enough. His money wasnt enough.
His love wasnt enough.
Wide awake, as he searched for a broom and dustpan, he saw the visionas clearly as hed seen it that morning at the asylum.
Miranda. Dead.
An empty bottle of pills beside her on the bed.
No stomach pump, no science, no miracle could bring his wife back to him.
The note shed left him had been brief.
D
I cant do this anymore.
M.
Some lousy chromosome in her genetic makeup kept the miracle drugs that had earned his company millions from working. Hed even tested the tissue-regeneration formula on himself. The prototypes might be scarred and ugly, but hed regained the use of his hands. The fingerprints hadnt all come back, but he had sensation in almost every nerve, and most of his dexterity had returned. He could do his work. He could type his notes and mix his chemicals and write his equations. He could feel heat and cold and pain.
God, yes. He was a pro at that now. Through and through. Some days, pain was all he could feel.
Damon paused in the center of his new lab. He pulled back the front of his white coat, propped his hands at his hips, tipped his head back and roared at the soundproof ceiling.
It wasnt fair that he should be alive while Miranda was dead. It wasnt fair that he should have more money than some small countries and not know happiness anymore. It wasnt fair that he couldnt find the solution to Mirandas Formulathe tissue-regenerating miracle intended to save patients who shared the same genetic predisposition shed had.
He couldnt even honor her memory with that.
So what are you going to do about it, Doc? he asked aloud, breathing deeply and talking to himself in a way that had always cleared his thoughts and enabled him to concentrate. For starters, Im going to see if that persistent bastard has made any progress breaking into SinPharms restricted files.
With something new to engage his brain, Damon was a happier man. He rolled a stool over to his computer and logged in to his companys database. In just a few keystrokes, he located the illegal activity and grinned. The nosy SOB was back. Welcome, Mr. Black Hole of the Universe. Catchy online name. Appropriate since the hacker had tried a dozen different ways to download his research codes. In the middle of the night, when SinPharms corporate offices were closed and the satellite labs and production facilities had been secured, someone was trying to hack into Damons private files.