He’d fallen asleep in the chair beside Emily’s bed, and his eyes cut immediately over to where she lay. She was pale, damp, and tossing restlessly, and Amy was bending over the bed and trying to wipe her face with a cool cloth. Emily had been too sick for the last three days to fly back to Philadelphia, so they were still in the hotel suite in Hawaii. She’d had a fever now for over seventy-two hours, and Paul couldn’t quell a heavy weight in his gut that seemed to signal they were nearing the end. Her fever wasn’t getting better this time because it wasn’t going to get better. Ever. He had to force down the insistent toll of warning in his mind. If he thought about it, he wouldn’t be able to function at all. And Emily needed him. “She’s not any better?” he asked, his voice cracking with fatigue and emotion. Amy shook her head. “She still seems to be getting worse.” The woman sounded strained, which was disturbing in someone as no-nonsense as the nurse. “I’m going to draw her another bath.”
