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  “Just a few hours,” Joanna said. “It started when I was flying back from Bolivia this morning. It came on very suddenly.”

  “And it’s been getting progressively worse?”

  “Yes, for about…” How long had it been? “Maybe five hours now. Maybe a little more.”

  She felt the cold touch of a stethoscope beneath the neckline of her shirt.

  “Did you get a flu shot this year?” Dr. Franco asked.

  “Yeah. Three months ago.”

  “And you said Bolivia. What did you do there? Did you go out into the forest at all?”

  “I did,” she admitted. “My mom always says I should just stay in my hotel, but there was this group hike along one of the Inca trails, and it was only thirty dollars to sign up—”

  A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she inhaled deeply. A moment later, she was aware of a cool cloth on her face.

  “I’m going to start a saline drip and try to get your fever down,” Dr. Franco said. “That should help you hydrate, and I think you’ll be feeling a lot better in a minute or two. Hang in there.”

  There was the sharp sting of a needle at the crook of her elbow, then pressure. Joanna curled her hands into fists and waited, clinging to the promise of relief.

  She focused on her breathing, on the antiseptic smell of the office, and the sound of Dr. Franco quietly moving around the room. She lost track of the passage of time, but after a while she noticed that her limbs had stopped shaking. She opened her eyes.

  Dr. Franco peered at her. “If you’re feeling a little better, try to drink some water, at least.”

  Joanna nodded, struggling into an upright position. She took the water cup in both hands and sipped slowly, feeling strangely childlike.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “This isn’t the flu, is it?”

  “No,” Dr. Franco said. “I think it’s some sort of tropical virus. There are a lot of things it could be, unfortunately, and I’m not that well-versed in the subject, to be perfectly honest with you.”

  “What do we do?” Joanna asked. “Are you going to give me antibiotics?”

  “I don’t want to give you anything much until we know what the specific problem is,” Dr. Franco said. “I’ll send you home with some fever reducer, and that should help you stay comfortable, but I want to run some tests so we can make sure we treat this thing properly.”

  “What kind of tests?” Joanna asked.

  “Blood tests,” Dr. Franco said.

  “Blood tests? Why?”

  “The first thing I’m going to want to do is rule out a parasite as the cause of your illness,” Dr. Franco explained. “If this is parasitic, we’ll have to pursue a different and much more aggressive form of treatment.”

  Joanna stared up at her doctor in dismay.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” Dr. Franco said. “I don’t believe that’s the case. It’s just that the diagnostic procedure requires me to rule everything out.” She smiled. “You want to treat this correctly the first time, and not have to keep coming back to see me, right?”

  “Yes,” Joanna agreed.

  “Once we’ve ruled out the possibility of a parasite, I’ll have to isolate the virus and send samples to disease labs to have it analyzed against known pathogens,” Dr. Franco explained. “What we’ll be hoping for is that it will match up with something we know a lot about, something that a lot of other people have experienced. The more people who have contracted the illness you’re dealing with, the more we’ll know about how to treat it.”

  “Do you think it’s likely that a lot of other people have had it?” Joanna asked.

  “I can’t say for sure,” Dr. Franco said. “I won’t lie to you; I’m not aware of any common diseases originating in Bolivia. That might be a good or a bad thing.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s a good thing because that means the high-profile illnesses—the ones you read about on the news—they’re not coming from Bolivia,” Dr. Franco said. “But on the downside, this might be something new.”

  “How serious do you think it is?” Joanna was beginning to feel really frightened.

  Dr. Franco rested a hand on Joanna’s shoulder. “I’m not getting overly alarmed,” she said. “Based on the symptoms you’re exhibiting, I’m comfortable sending you home today rather than to the emergency room.”

  Joanna exhaled. “That’s good. You were really starting to scare me.”

  Dr. Franco nodded. “That said, this is still a tropical virus, and we want to find out all we can about it and begin treatment as quickly as possible. It was very wise of you to call as soon as you were off the plane. These things can often escalate and do permanent damage if they’re left untreated.”

  Joanna nodded and sipped her water.

  “I’m going to fast-track your blood work,” Dr. Franco said. “We should be able to get the results back within a couple of days if we mark it as high priority. In the meantime, I want you resting and getting lots of fluids. Is there someone local who can help you?”

  “My mom lives in town,” Joanna said.

  “Good. See if she can drop by to check on you once a day. I’m expecting your condition to remain pretty stable, but if any new symptoms arise, call me immediately. You can leave a message with my nurse.”

  “Okay.”

  Dr. Franco scribbled something on her prescription pad, tore it off, and handed it to Joanna.

  “This is for a fever reducer and a nausea pill. Maybe your mother can pick these up for you, as well. I really want you to get straight home.”

  Joanna nodded. “I’m sure my mom won’t mind.”

  “Are you okay to drive? We can call you a cab if you’d like?”

  “No, I can handle it, thanks.”

  Joanna only lived a couple of miles away from Dr. Franco’s office, and at this point, she thought she might as well just get there. She was already fantasizing about her bed, with its cool, crisp sheets and soft pillows. And maybe a bottle of lemon-lime soda from the fridge.

  “All right,” Dr. Franco said. “The technician will be in to do the blood draw, and we’ll contact you as soon as we have the results. Get some rest.”

  “You got it, Doc. Thank you.”

  Dr. Franco left the room, and Joanna lay back and closed her eyes again. She had nearly drifted off to sleep when the door opened and a lab tech with a cart entered the room.

  “Joanna Perkins?” the tech asked.

  Joanna nodded wearily.

  “Okay.” The tech snapped some latex gloves on his hands and opened a fresh needle. “This will only take a moment, and then we’ll have you on your way.”

  Three vials of blood later, Joanna made her way out the door, feeling foggy and surreal. Landing after a long flight was always a bit disorienting, but the events of today had thrown her whole world into chaos. She couldn’t believe that only a few hours had passed since she’d boarded the plane in Bolivia. It felt like something out of a different life now.

  The drive to her Pleasant Hill apartment should have taken less than ten minutes, but when she consulted the clock after parking, Joanna saw that almost twenty had gone by. She was moving much more slowly than usual. She got out of the car and made her way carefully up the stairs, not even bothering to unload her travel bag from the trunk. She would get it later.

  For now, bed.

  The apartment was familiar and welcoming, and she was glad to be home. She headed straight for her tiny bedroom—which was just barely large enough to accommodate her queen-sized bed and a nightstand—and fell into her pillows.

  Thank goodness.

  She kicked the blankets down and squirmed her way beneath them, too exhausted to get up again even to arrange herself in bed properly. Finally settled, she pulled out her phone, texted a quick update to her mother, along with a request to pick up the prescriptions, and pulled her pillow over her face.

  And the anxiety began to settle in.

  What could be wrong with me?
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  Dr. Franco hadn’t seemed worried, but then, it was Dr. Franco’s job to keep patients calm as long as possible. She had mentioned some really frightening possibilities, though.

  Could I really have a parasite?

  It was a terrifying thought. No matter what was causing her illness, it was at work in her body right now, and it wouldn’t be eradicated until the blood tests came back with some answers.

  Oh, I hope the lab finds what it’s looking for quickly!

  She reached up and touched the window ledge above her head, then pushed at the sill until she was able to raise the glass a few inches. The fresh air on her face felt good, but cold, and she thought her fever was probably starting to climb again.

  I should go get a drink, she thought.

  Dr. Franco had reinforced more than once that hydration was important, and she did want to take good care of herself until the blood work came back. She definitely didn’t want to have to deal with the possibility of calling the doctor and saying that she’d gotten sicker.

  But getting up just sounded too difficult.

  She curled up on her side as chills began to wrack her frame again and pulled the blanket up over her head, trying to make the most of her body heat to keep herself warm. Almost immediately, she was too hot again, and she shoved the blanket away and gasped as the air from the open window hit her face.

  A text appeared on her phone.

  I’ll stop and pick up your prescription and then come over, honey.

  Good. Her mother was coming. Joanna closed her eyes and tried to steady herself.

  Mom’s going to have a field day, she thought. It’s going to be all “I told you so” and “things like this wouldn’t happen if you would listen to your mother” and “maybe now you’ll leave that terrible job of yours.”

  Joanna’s job had always been a point of contention between her and her mother. In all other respects, they got along fine. But her mother worried about travel, airline flight, and foreign countries, and would much rather have seen Joanna safe and secure behind a desk somewhere.

  She’ll use this as ammunition, Joanna thought. She’ll try to persuade me that it’s a sign I should leave my job and do something else.

  And maybe her mother had a point.

  After all, if Joanna hadn’t been in Bolivia, she would never have gotten sick. She would be perfectly healthy right now. Was seeing Incan ruins really worth it if it meant putting her health at risk?

  And there were the other sacrifices, too. Things like being away from home all the time. Yes, it was wonderful to see the world, and Joanna had opportunities that most people she knew didn’t. But she gave up opportunities, too. Almost all of her friends from college were married or in long-term relationships. Some of them even had children. Some of them had bought their first homes.

  None of that was possible for Joanna. Not at this stage in her life.

  Who would want to be in a long-term relationship with someone who was constantly traveling? How could she ever maintain a boyfriend when she couldn’t even stay in the country for more than a couple of weeks at a time? Joanna was twenty-eight years old, and she had never had a relationship that had lasted longer than two months.

  So maybe her mother was right.

  Maybe it was time to make a change. Maybe she couldn’t keep living this way.

  But I can’t let Mom know what I’m thinking, she told herself. If I do, she’ll seize on it and try to persuade me, and I don’t want to make a decision while I’m under the weather and freaked out about these blood tests. I’ll table it, and once I’m feeling better, I’ll think about this some more.

  It was a scary thought. She had no idea what she would do if she gave up being a flight attendant. Despite all the problems that went along with it, Joanna loved her job, and she had never really thought about doing anything else.

  I’m not going to let myself dwell on that right now, she thought firmly.

  She rolled over to the far side of the bed, which was a little cooler, bringing her pillow with her. A gust of wind blew her sweat-soaked hair off her forehead, and she closed her eyes, letting herself drift away into the realms of sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Ahmad

  Ahmad ibn Rahal looked out over the city of Sepha and swirled a drink gently in his hand, pondering his current predicament.

  He had found it difficult, in the past, to be worried about much of anything from this spot. It was his favorite bar in all of Al-Yara—not that he was spoiled for choice, he reflected. Sepha wasn’t just Al-Yara’s capital city; it was its only city.

  Still, being a member of the royal family had its perks, one of which was this private drinking lounge. The bar’s owner set it aside for VIP guests, and Ahmad could rely on being more important than just about anybody else who showed up here on a given night.

  The lounge took up a full quarter of the rooftop and came with its own attendant, a lovely girl who dropped by every few minutes to ask Ahmad whether he needed a refill of his drink and then withdrew into the background, leaving him alone to think.

  The problem plaguing him today was his Uncle Hakim’s will.

  It had been six months since Uncle Hakim’s death, and they had just gotten around to having the will read this week. That in itself seemed like a shocking oversight now. But Uncle Hakim had died unwed and childless, and everyone had just taken for granted that his nephews would inherit his wealth in equal measure. The family had taken the time to mourn the loss without worrying about what the will contained.

  At least I mourned him, Ahmad thought, sipping his drink. My brothers probably stopped thinking about him the moment he was gone.

  Ahmad was the only one of his brothers who had been close with Uncle Hakim. It was Hakim who knew of his dreams of starting his own airline and had always encouraged him, even when his own parents had scoffed at the idea. Ahmad had been very sorry to lose him.

  He imagined his brothers were probably only concerned about the money.

  Umar, Ahmad’s older brother, was notoriously tightfisted and money-grubbing. Even though he had been raised among the wealth and privilege of the royal family, his way was to stockpile every bit of money he could in low-risk bank accounts. He never spent when he had the option to save instead.

  Ahmad’s younger brother, Rafi, was just the opposite. He had a new hobby every week, and he poured money into each one, equipping himself with the finest supplies before abandoning each passion and moving on.

  Still, even though Ahmad didn’t agree with the way his brothers handled money in their lives, he would have taken no issue with splitting the inheritance three ways. Uncle Hakim had been their uncle too, after all, and Ahmad knew he had cared equally for all his nephews.

  Even though they didn’t seem to care much when he died.

  That was unfair. He was being unfair. He was allowing his anger to get the best of him.

  Well, I have a right to be angry about this!

  Maybe that was true. But being angry wasn’t going to help. The only thing that would help him now was staying calm and coming up with a plan.

  It was just that Hakim had become so strange, so eccentric, late in his life. Everything he’d done in his last few years had been clearly designed to shock or test the people he was closest to. Ahmad hadn’t been expecting that from his uncle’s will, but perhaps he should have. Why would the will be any different? It was his uncle’s final opportunity to play a joke on the family.

  He would never forget sitting in the lawyer’s office with his parents, Umar, and Rafi, as the lawyer had explained the new stipulation in the will—that the entire inheritance would be left to whichever of the three brothers was the first to have a child.

  They had all sat in stunned silence for several moments, taking it in.

  “You mean the boys won’t be splitting the money equally?” his mother had asked.

  “Your brother always was a crazy one,” his father had said.

  “Wait a moment,” Umar h
ad protested. “I need that money. I’m newly married, for God’s sake.”

  “I was going to take a trip to Majorca,” Rafi had chimed in.

  “None of us needs the money,” Ahmad had said quietly, but the truth was that he was just as dismayed as either of his brothers.

  He had had plans for his share of the inheritance. He had been planning to use it to open his own airline, just as he and Hakim had discussed. He had thought his uncle had understood that. Had he forgotten? Had he simply decided he didn’t care?

  The lawyer had scanned the will.

  “It says here that he wanted to instill in his nephews a lesson about the importance of family, and the fragility of life,” he’d said.

  “Well, what the hell does that mean?” Umar had exploded.

  “It means he wants you to value children,” Ahmad had said.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Umar. “We just got married. We don’t even know if we want babies.”

  The lawyer had nodded.

  “Hakim noted in the will that never having had children was the greatest regret of his life,” he’d said. “He hopes to prompt his nephews not to make the same mistake.”

  “Well, this is absurd,” Ahmad’s father had said. “We’ll just take the money now and split it up ourselves.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t,” the lawyer had said.

  “Excuse me? Who’s going to stop us? You?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said the lawyer. “Legally, the money belongs to the state of Al-Yara until such time as the conditions set forth in the will are met. If you try to lay claim to it before then, you’ll be guilty of a federal crime.”

  Ahmad’s father had sputtered but said nothing. Umar had gotten up and stormed out of the lawyer’s office. A few minutes later, the rest of the family had realized there was nothing more to say and had followed suit.

  And so, Ahmad had found himself here tonight, at his favorite bar, looking out over the city and contemplating the fact that the inheritance he had been so sure was his might not be coming at all.

  It would mean saying goodbye to his dream of opening an airline, possibly forever.