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Dr. Sarah Baldwin races to a Boston hospital with a young woman whose normal labor has suddenly become a matter of life and death. As she struggles to save both mother and baby, she doesn't know that two other women have already died under horrifying identical circumstances. And so begins Sarah's own nightmare, as she learns that the prenatal herbal vitamins she prescribed are the only thing these women have in common. Soon Sarah is fighting to save her career, her reputation--her life. For she's certain there must be some unknown factor linking these women, and as she gets closer to the truth, it becomes clear that someone will do anything--even murder--to keep a devastating secret.
is a concern, but it’s not a crisis. Ideally, we’d like to see the baby stay where it is for a couple more weeks.” “What can I do? Can you stop labor? I—I don’t have any health insurance. Peter’s been paying for.… Sarah, I think another one’s coming.” “Okay, easy does it, Annalee,” Sarah whispered again, stroking her forehead. “One contraction at a time and one question at a time.” She glanced at the clock. Six and a half minutes since the last contraction. This time, responding perhaps to
They stopped dying, and just lost weight—right down to dry weight. F-finally I ingested the virus myself. It w-worked perfectly. I l-lost a hundred pounds in just a f-few months with no p-problem and absolutely no side effects.” “But Cletus Collins said all your monkeys died.” “I—I’m ashamed to say it, but I k-killed them m-myself to protect the secret. It was B-Blankenship’s idea. We were classmates in graduate school. He has an M.D. I have b-both an M.D. and Ph.D. I s-swear I n-never thought
of injection. Matt nearly passed out from the pain of merely having his arm moved about for the needle. Then, moments later, the pain vanished. For a stretch that might have been minutes—or days—he heard only isolated words and phrases, first in Blankenship’s voice, then his own, floating through his mind like feathers. Finally darkness and silence swept down and enveloped him. When he regained consciousness, he was sitting on the floor of a damp, totally darkened room, his legs extended, his
with wine-color velvet, was festooned with microphones, a dozen or more. Behind it were five folding chairs, three to one side and two to the other. Eli Blankenship and Randall Snyder were already seated, with one empty chair between them. Paris motioned Sarah to that seat. If Paris was nervous about the event or the absence of a representative from the Centers for Disease Control, it did not show in his face or manner. He measured the hall for a time, then buttoned his jacket and crossed over
a dark, sparsely settled street. He slowed and dropped back. This would not have been the first corpse to be dumped in this particular area. But now, fate had decreed that it just wasn’t going to happen. His uniform was folded on the backseat. Without taking his eyes off his quarry, Leo felt around for his cuffs and slipped them into his pocket. The lights on the Olds had already been cut, but Leo could still easily make out its silhouette against the glow from the city. It was parked by the