Richard

I dismiss the doctor and shut the front door.

Pneumonia?How the hell did Maya go from making snow angels in Central Park less than a week ago to a nasty case of pneumonia? She went from the sniffles to bedridden faster than I’ve seen anyone decline.

Something thumping against the floor makes the ceiling vibrate.

“Maya?” I bolt up the stairs and throw open the bedroom door at the end of the hall. The pulse point at my neck throbs to a wickedly fast beat as I walk into the empty bedroom. The sheets are nothing but a haphazard mess, empty of the severely ill woman who should be sleeping.

My eyes snap to the bathroom door.

“Shit!” I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I do nothing but run toward a set of tan legs peeking out from the doorframe. My knees slam into the marble beside a small…