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Wait. There were faint marks on the floor, a little pattern of wear that suggested a hidden door opening and closing. She shoved the smocks out of the way and found a flat panel. Clawing with her nails, she forced it open and frowned. It was some kind of dimly lit monitoring room with a high-tech setup of computers and vitals readouts. Leaning in to the blue glow of one of the screens, she saw a hospital bed. On top of it, a male was lying spread-eagled and restrained with tubes and wires coming out of him. Butch.

She barged past the yellow hazmat suits and facial masks hanging next to the door and pushed into the room, the air lock breaking with a hiss.

“Virgin in the Fade…” Her hand went to her throat.

He was definitely dying. She could sense it. But there was something else—something frightening, something that set off her survival instincts sure as if she were confronted by an attacker with a gun. Her body screamed for her to run, get out, save herself.

But her heart brought her to his bedside. “Oh…God.”

The hospital johnny left his arms and his legs bare, and it seemed as if he was bruised everywhere. And his face…good Lord, he was desperately battered.

As he made a groaning noise in the back of his throat, she reached out to take his hand—oh, no, not there, too. His blunt fingers were swollen at the tips, the skin purple, some of the nails missing.

She wanted to touch him, but there was no place that she could. “Butch?”

His body jerked at the sound of her voice and his eyes opened. Well, one of them did.

As he focused on her, a ghost of a smile pulled at his lips. “You’re back. I just…saw you at the door.” His voice was weak, a tinny echo of the bass it normally was. “I saw you then…lost…you. But here you are.”

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and wondered which nurse he thought she was. “Butch—”

“Where did…the yellow dress go?” His words were garbled, his mouth not moving much, as if his jaw were broken. “You were so beautiful…in that yellow dress…”

Definitely a nurse. Those suits hanging next to the door were yello—shoot. She hadn’t put one on, had she? Holy hell, if his immune system was compromised, she needed to protect him.

“Butch, I’m going to go out and get a—”

“No—don’t leave me…don’t go…” His hands started twisting in the binds, the leather restraints creaking. “Please…dear God…don’t leave me…”

“It’s okay, I’ll be right back.”

“No…woman I love…yellow dress…don’t leave me…”

Not knowing what else to do, she leaned down and softly laid her palm on his face. “I won’t leave you.”

He dragged his bruised cheek into her touch, his cracked lips brushing her skin as he whispered, “Promise me.”

“I—”

The air lock broke with a hiss and Marissa looked over her shoulder.

Havers burst into the room as if he’d been torpedoed inside. And through the yellow mask he wore, the horror in his stare was as obvious as a scream.

“Marissa!” He swayed in the protective suit he had on, his voice muffled and frantic. “Sweet Virgin in the Fade, what are you—you should have a hazmat on!”

Butch started to struggle on the bed, and she lightly stroked his forearm. “Shh…I’m right here.” When he’d calmed a little, she said, “I’ll put one on right now—”

“You have no idea—oh, God!” Havers’s whole body shook. “You’re compromised now. You could be contaminated.”

“Contaminated?” She looked down at Butch.

“Surely you felt it when you came in!” Havers launched into all kinds of words, none of which she heard.

As her brother kept at it, her priorities realigned themselves, steel locking into steel. It didn’t matter that Butch had no idea who she was. If the mistaken identity kept him alive and fighting, that was all that mattered.

“Marissa, are you hearing me? You’re contam—”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Well, if I’m contaminated, then it looks like I’m staying with him, doesn’t it.”

Chapter Seven

John Matthew squared off at his target and tightened his grip on his blade. On the far side of the gym, across a sea of blue mats, there were three punching bags hanging from the bottom lip of the bleacher