The Taking (The Taking 1)

He grinned. “Yeah, I know. I sorta recognized you.”

A flush burned my cheeks and made me hot all over again. “Thanks. That was sweet of you.”

Tyler coughed, and at first I thought I’d just made him uncomfortable with my praise and he was trying to cover it up by clearing his throat. But then he kept on coughing.

“Shit, Tyler. Your nose.”

And then there was that. He was bleeding again.

Snatching up the box of tissues from the nightstand, I rushed over to him with a wad already in my hand. He was as stunned as I was and pressed the tissues to his nose.

I knew then that something was wrong. Tyler had said it himself; he hadn’t had a bloody nose since he was a kid, yet this was his third one today.

My mom’s words rose up in my head: He says you were infected with whatever that guy from Skagit General Hospital had. He says you’re contagious.

That was the second time Agent Truman had brought up that lab tech from the hospital—first sending me his picture and then telling my mom I’d been infected by him. But now the lab guy was dead; that’s what it said on the news, right? That he’d been found dead in his apartment, and the cause of death hadn’t been determined yet.

But what if it had been?

I tried to make sense of it. What if I really was contagious, like Agent Truman said I was?

It would explain what was happening to Tyler, wouldn’t it?

And then I thought about that other guy—that agent at the bookstore. I’d seen the look on his face when he saw the blood trickling down my wrist. The way his hands shook, and his eyes had been filled with indecision and panic.

The lab guy had been exposed to my blood too.

I lifted my hand to my mouth. “Oh my god. It’s me, isn’t it? I’m the reason all those agents were suited up in biohazard gear.”

Tyler fumbled for me, his hand finding my cheek. Even behind the tissue I saw his lips quirk. “Don’t do this. Seriously, Kyr.”

My heart raced over the way he said my name.

“Think about it. I wasn’t infected, Tyler—I am the infection. Remember that agent? He was all set to shoot you, right up until I cut myself. What if it’s something in me that makes people sick—something about my blood? What if he shot himself because of me?” I was frowning so hard my head hurt, but I needed Tyler to take me seriously. “And what if that same thing is causing your nosebleeds?”

“Stop it,” he said through the filter of the tissues. “You’re making way too big a deal about this. It’s a nosebleed.”

But I stood there, watching him as he held the compress to his nose. I’d been so focused on drooling over his pecs and abs that I hadn’t really noticed the shadows beneath his eyes.

I reached up and pressed the back of my hand to his forehead.

Tyler grinned. “On second thought.” This time when he coughed it was totally and completely fake. He grinned some more. “If you want to play nurse, I’m all in.”

I didn’t share his enthusiasm, though. Because when I felt him, the moment I laid my hand on his skin, I knew . . . Tyler was sick.

“You’re burning up.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I need medical attention.” He refused to give it up. “See what I did there? I made you all worried, and now you sorta have to be nice to me.”

“Tyler. Don’t. This is serious. What you need is to lay down and stop acting like this is no big deal. I don’t know what’s going on or why this is happening, but we have a problem. I need to figure out how to get us some help. I think Simon might know what to do; I just have to find a way to get ahold of him.” I went to the bed and peeled back the tacky orange covers and gave him my best I’m-serious face, waiting for him to quit pretending this was some sort of game.

He tried. He wasn’t great at it, but at least he tried, pasting on a solemn expression for my benefit. He still held the tissues, but with one hand he reached out and stroked my arm. “It’ll be okay, Kyr. I really believe that. Everything’ll work out. I’ll get some rest, and I’ll feel better in the morning. And then we can find your dad, and you can explain your side of things to him, and you two will work things out. Your mom . . . well”—he winced—“I’m not sure about her. But everything else . . . things always have a way of working themselves out. You’ll see.”

He eased down onto the bed, getting beneath the covers. “How ’bout this? I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stay in bed if you promise not to worry.” He stretched out. “Come here,” he said, reaching for me, and I flushed all over again. When I hesitated, he grinned. “I know you don’t need much sleep or anything, but it’ll make me feel better just having you next to me. Humor me. Pretend you’re tired too.” He yawned, and I ached to feel that way again. To feel my eyelids grow sleepy and let my thoughts drift until dream was impossible to differentiate from reality.

I missed dreaming.

More than anything, though, I wanted Tyler to be right. I wanted whatever was wrong with him just to be exhaustion and for him to wake up feeling refreshed.

I frowned at him as I settled onto the side of the bed, testing the feel of it. “Just sleep,” I insisted, ignoring the way my body reacted to being so near him. To knowing what he was, or wasn’t, rather, wearing beneath the covers.

He caught me the second I was within reach and hauled me against him. I was hyperaware of every single thing about this moment. His skin, which was too hot and too dry and too tempting, and how badly I wanted to run my fingers over every inch of it. The tang of motel soap that clung to him, and the way it smelled different on him than it did on me. The itchy comforter I was lying on top of and how it kept us apart. The thrum of my heart and the sound of his breathing.