Buried and Shadowed (Branded Packs #3)

Mira silently commended Jessica. If she was hiding her husband, she’d done a hell of a job. Clearly, no one knew anything about the mysterious patient.

“Do you know how long Mr. Medlen has been here?” she pressed.

“One of the older guards once told me that he’d been in that room for at least twenty years.” Inching his way back toward the door to the stairwell, the guard nodded his head toward the far wall. “The man is through there.”

Mira sent him a startled glance. “Aren’t you going to unlock the door?”

“I don’t have a key,” the guard said. “As far as I know, only his sister can get in.”

“But…” Mira’s words trailed away as the guard pulled open the door and darted away.

Like a rat leaving a sinking ship.

Giving a shake of her head, Mira turned her attention to Sinclair.

“Can you get us in?” she asked.

He gave a slow nod, his attention focused on the door slamming behind the retreating guard.

“Of course,” he said, his voice distracted as he slowly turned his head to meet Mira’s gaze. “You’re sure there’s no chance that we might be wrong?”

She frowned in confusion. “About what?”

“Could this really be a patient with the virus instead of Dr. Lowman?” he demanded. “As much as I want to expose the SAU, I won’t risk another pandemic to do it.”

She reached out to lightly touch his arm. She loved the fact that he was concerned for the humans. After all the ghastly things they’d done to the shifters, no one would blame him for condemning them to hell. But that wasn’t who he was.

Sinclair was a wolf with honor.

“I can’t be sure it’s Dr. Lowman, but I can be sure it’s not a sick patient,” she assured him. “The CDC has been monitoring the virus, making certain that it didn’t mutate so the vaccine was no longer effective. They determined that since it was a manmade virus, it has burnt itself out.”

Sinclair grimaced. “I hope to God they’re right.”

Mira gave a slow nod. She’d been too young to truly remember the horror, but her time at the CDC had revealed an insight into the horrifying death and chaos that had swept throughout the world.

“We all hope they’re right,” she said.

With faith in her assurances that warmed her heart, Sinclair moved to the door set in the frosted wall and grabbed the handle.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

With a quick twist of his wrist, the knob turned, snapping the lock with an ease that revealed just how strong Sinclair was even in his human form.

He shoved open the door, stepping into the room even as he reached back in a silent demand for Mira to stay where she was. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she remained in the waiting room until he returned to gesture for her to join him.

Moving through the open doorway, she allowed her gaze to move over the long space that served as both a living room and bedroom.

At the end closest to the door, was a small sofa and chair with a coffee table. At the opposite end, were a hospital bed and a dresser with a TV on top. There was another door that she assumed led to a bathroom.

It would have been depressing, in an institutional sort of way, if it weren’t for the bank of windows that lined the back wall, offering a stunning view of the gardens.

Bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, a man stood next to the windows.

Short and slender, the stranger had a thick mane of silver hair and a sharply defined profile. His back was slightly humped as if he were carrying a great weight. At the moment, he was dressed in a robe with striped pajama bottoms.

Mira had a suspicion that he had an entire closet filled with robes and pajama bottoms.

There was no need for clothes if he never left this room.

She stepped toward him, Sinclair close by her side. “Dr. Lowman?”

The man didn’t turn, but his body stiffened. A certain sign that her suspicion had been right.

This was the man they were searching for.

“Are you here to kill me?” he asked in low tones.

Mira was caught off guard by the question. “No,” she denied. “I swear we have no intention of hurting you.”

“A shame.”

Wondering if the man was mentally unstable, Mira shared a glance with Sinclair before returning her wary gaze to the doctor.

“Excuse me?”

There was a long pause before the man finally spoke.

“There are nights when it would be easier to end it all. Unfortunately, I don’t have the courage to do it myself. I’ve never had courage.” The man’s thin shoulders hunched even further. “Plenty of brains, but no courage.”

She stepped forward, only to have Sinclair reach out to grab her arm and tug her back. Clearly, he wasn’t convinced that the doctor was as frail and helpless as he appeared.

“Why would you want to end it all?” she asked in confusion.

She didn’t know what she’d expected when she at last confronted Dr. Lowman. Anger. Denial. Excuses. But not this deep, almost tangible air of regret.