Tess Gerritsen - Bloodstream

Lincoln knew of Jack Reid’s temper, and he understood why Amelia would be afraid of him.

Afraid or not, the girl had been ready to share the truth with Claire. Last night, just before J.D.’s rage had exploded in murder, Amelia had slipped out of her house and walked through the clear, cold night, toward Claire’s house. Her route had taken her along Toddy Point Road.

Right past the boat ramp.

The girl’s fortunate journey had saved Claire’s life. And in the process, Amelia had saved her own.

Noah had once again fallen asleep.

Claire looked at Lincoln. “Is Amelia’s word going to be enough? Will anyone believe a fourteen-year-old girl?”

“I believe her.”

“Yesterday you said you had physical evidence. The blood-”

“We also found blood in the trunk of Mitchell Groome’s car.”

She paused as the significance of that fact sank in. “Doreen’s?” she said softly.

He nodded. “I think Groome meant to implicate you, not Noah, when he smeared the blood on your pickup. He didn’t know which car you’d been driving that night.”

They were both quiet for a moment, and he wondered if this was how it would end between them, with silence on her part, and longing on his. There was so much he still had to tell her about Mitchell Groome. There’d been the items they’d found in Groome’s trunk: the jars of specimens and Max’s handwritten log books. Both Anson Biologicals and Sloan-Routhier had denied any connection to the two men, and now Groome, angered by that disavowal, was threatening to drag the pharmaceutical giant down with him. Lincoln had come to tell Claire all this and more, but instead he remained silent, his unhappiness weighing down on him so heavily it seemed a burden just to take a deep breath.

He said, hopefully, “Claire?”

She raised her eyes to his, and this time she did not look away “I can’t turn back the clock,” he said. “I can’t erase the hurt I caused you. I can only say that I’m sorry I wish there was some way we could go back to He shook his head. “The way we were.”

“I’m not sure what that means, Lincoln. The way we were.”

He thought about it. “Well, for one thing,” he said, “we were friends.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she admitted.

“Good friends. Weren’t we?”

A faint smile touched her lips. “Good enough to sleep together, anyway.”

He felt himself flush. “That’s not what I’m talking about! It’s not just the sleeping together. It’s-” He gazed at her with painful honesty. “It’s knowing there’s a possibility for us. A possibility that I’ll be seeing you every morning when I wake up. I can wait, Claire. I can live with the uncertainty.

It’s not easy, but I can stand it, as long as there’s a chance we’ll be together. That’s all I’m really asking for.”

Something sparkled in her eyes. Tears of forgiveness? he wondered. She reached out and stroked his face. It was the gentle caress of a lover. Even better than that, it was the touch of a friend.

“Anything’s possible, Lincoln,” she said softly. And she smiled.

He was actually whistling when he walked out of the hospital. And why shouldn’t he? The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the ice- encrusted branches of willow trees clacked and glittered like hanging crystals. In two weeks would come the longest night of the year. Then the days would open up again, the earth cycling back toward light and warmth. Toward hope.

Anything’s possible.

Lincoln Kelly was a patient man, and he could wait.