Red Alert. Jessica Andersen

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СКАЧАТЬ test. We already filled out the questionnaire and your assistant took a preliminary sample.” She pushed up the bell sleeve of her tunic to show a small Band-Aid at the crook of her elbow. “Isn’t this just a formality?”

      Meg smiled. “I need to make sure you understand the study structure and your privacy rights.” She paused, losing her place in the oft-repeated speech as Erik shifted uncomfortably in the upholstered chair.

      He looked up and caught her staring. His eyes glinted with an expression she couldn’t interpret and wasn’t sure she liked. But he said, “Can you tell us a little bit about the test? My—Raine is a cautious woman.”

      Another hesitation? Meg thought. Wonder what sort of marriage these two have.

      Telling herself it was really none of her business, she pushed a glossy folder across the desk. “Here’s some information for you to take home and look over later. Most of it is also on our Web site.” She slid a brochure from the folder and tapped a color schematic cutaway of a pregnant woman. “We’re in the final stages of streamlining prenatal blood tests for a number of common genetic disorders. The technique is called Noninvasive Prenatal Testing, NPT for short. We’re enrolling pregnant women in their first or second trimester, and asking that you come in for biweekly blood draws.” Meg smiled at Raine’s indrawn breath. “It’s just one milliliter at a time, so we won’t drain you dry. We’re not vampires.”

      “Twice a week is a substantial time commitment for me.” Raine glanced at her husband, whose attention was focused elsewhere. She touched his knee. “Erik, don’t you think twice a week is too much for me to be out of the office?”

      He diverted his gaze from the wall art and glanced at her. “I’m sure your boss will give you the time.” His lips twitched. “He’s not all that bad, you know.”

      The two traded a look that excluded Meg. The sense of connection sent a slice of harmless envy through her chest.

      Maybe Jemma was right. Maybe she had been neglecting her social life for too long. Maybe it was time to meet a man, someone she could hike and bike and climb with, someone who loved all the things she used to love.

      As soon as the licensing went through and tenure was announced, she promised herself. Then she’d focus on moving from ice-blue walls to something more interesting.

      Maybe teal. Hot pink.

      Sapphire blue.

      Focus, Meg! She gave herself a mental shake and continued her explanation. “We’re testing whether the different phases of pregnancy affect our results. In addition, we’ll be able to examine your baby for most known genetic diseases. We can—”

      “Some people say that’s impossible,” Erik interrupted. His attention wasn’t on the wall art anymore. Now it was focused on Meg. “Plenty of experts in the field say your results are nothing but false positives and hopeful interpretation.”

      Normally, Meg would have taken the challenge and explained the strength of her science. But now she paused as her instincts jangled a warning.

      Something told her that this guy wasn’t quite what he seemed.

      She forced a smile. “I see you’ve done your homework, Mr. Phillips.”

      “Call me Erik.” He leaned forward, hitching his weight to the left to ease his bad leg. “And yes, I’ve done some background reading. Three of the top experts in the field of prenatal testing have publicly denounced your discovery.”

      “Only because I beat them to it.”

      “They say it’s impossible to isolate a baby’s cells from maternal blood.”

      “Not impossible,” Meg countered. “Even dinosaurs like Lafitte in Paris and Heinz Kramer in Dusseldorf admit that fetal cells and DNA are carried in the maternal bloodstream for years, sometimes even decades after the pregnancy. They simply don’t believe that it’s possible to isolate the one-in-a-million fetal cell and use it for testing.”

      “And you believe it’s possible?”

      “I’ve done it,” she said simply, and with a bone-deep sense of pride for the work that would help so many. No more pregnancies would be lost due to a misdirected amniocentesis needle or a nick during chorionic villus sampling, two of the most common—and invasive—procedures used for prenatal genetic testing.

      “How does it work?” he asked, eyes revealing nothing.

      She tapped the brochure. “The process is summarized here.”

      He dismissed the schematic with a wave. “I’ve read what’s posted on the Web site, but how does it really work? How exactly do you isolate the fetal cells? Is it true that the baby’s cells can sometimes heal the mother if she’s injured?”

      “That hasn’t been proven to my satisfaction,” Meg said, a chill chasing through her bloodstream, because she had no intention of pursuing the question. Not now. Not ever. Not with the risks involved. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics of the process.”

      Especially not until next month, when the last of the patents would finally be filed.

      A handful of university glitches had delayed the applications, leaving her in a legal gray area. If another researcher—or worse, one of the big drug companies—tried to scoop her work, she was in trouble. Though she had her lab notes, patent battles were notoriously long and messy, and neither Boston General nor Thrace University could stand up to one of the big companies if it came down to lawyers and money.

      Be careful, her father had cautioned when he’d been in town the week before. Your work is at its most vulnerable right now. They know you’ve done it, but not how, and they’ll be itching for that one detail, the one trick that lets you do what everyone said couldn’t be done.

      With that caution ringing in her ears, Meg narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

      “No reason, really.” Raine touched her husband’s arm, urging him to relax. “Ever since I found out about the pregnancy, Erik’s been fascinated by the technology.”

      He shot her an unreadable look, but shrugged with a half smile that did little to lighten the intensity of his face. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

      “You’re an engineer?” Meg asked. She glanced quickly at Raine’s questionnaire.

      “No, I’m—” A muted buzz cut him off midsentence. He frowned, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a seriously high-tech communications device—a little handheld that combined a phone, computer, fax and probably a food processor into one unit. He read the display and frowned. “We’ve got to go.”

      He didn’t show his wife the message and she didn’t argue. They rose as one and, despite his bad leg, showed an almost military precision in their actions.

      Meg rounded the desk and held the door for them. “Please look over the material and call me if you have any questions. We’ll be in touch once the preliminary blood screening is complete.” Though she already knew what it would show. “If the blood work looks good, you can decide whether you’re willing to make the necessary time commitment in return for free genetic screening for the baby and a small stipend.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ