More Than Life Itself Read Free Page B

they had measured her growth ever since she'd turned two. Everywhere he looked, everything he touched, had some special memory attached to it, something to remind him of the wonders he'd held for such a short time, wonders stolen from him by the capricious hand of fate.
    When he reached the mantle over the fireplace in the living room, his hands automatically sought the picture of his late wife, Denise. The picture stood centre stage, in the place of honour. Taken the same day as the accident that had claimed her life, it showed Denise as she had always been; smiling, happy, content with who she was and what she'd gained in life.
    Every second of that horrible day was etched indelibly on his memory, from the taste of the French toast he'd had for breakfast that morning to the smell of crushed fruit that had floated around him as he'd screamed for an ambulance with his wife's body lying limp in his arms. The three of them had gone for breakfast at a local restaurant, just a simple family excursion, the kind of thing they did on the weekend. Afterward they'd done a little shopping, picking up fresh bread from the bakery and some fruit from the display stands outside the corner market. He'd been inside with Jessica, paying their bill, when it happened.
    He'd seen it all, looking back from the cash register through the open door to where his wife was still searching through the peach display. She'd looked up at him and smiled, one hand rising to give a little wave, her eyes filled with love and hope and joy, only to be swept from view in the next second by a black Mercedes as it moved with the steady surety of a striking snake.
    One moment she'd been there, the next … gone.
    Not a cry or even a sound to accompany her passage.
    Just that one last, love-filled smile, that tender little wave.
    Witnesses had later said the car had jumped the curb, struck Denise, and then just as quickly disappeared back into traffic as if nothing had happened. It had never even slowed down. The doctors had assured him she'd died instantly, her skull crushed by the impact, that she probably hadn't even known what was happening. To this day, Sam couldn't figure out how that was supposed to have been reassuring. Dead was dead, and his Denise had died horribly; quickly or slowly didn't make much difference to the end result.
    He stared at her picture, his sorrow and regret for what they had lost almost overwhelming in its poignancy. He would give almost anything to have even one more day with her.
    His gaze fell upon several of the other pictures standing on the mantle, photos of the three of them together, of the happy times they had shared; and the horror of his present situation reared its head once more.
    He'd lost his wife, now he was about to lose his daughter, too.
    You should have taken the package.
    The thought was unbidden, unexpected, but not altogether surprising. The events of earlier that day had left him shaken and confused. Something extraordinary had happened, he knew that, but its very nature had caused him to look at it with wariness and not a little fear. He couldn't see how something that caused such feelings in him could be good for his girl.
    And yet…
    What else did he have?
    Nothing. That was the cold, stark truth of it. Over the previous month he'd called every expert he could think of, every hospital and government laboratory that might have some knowledge of what they were dealing with, all to no avail. Next he'd turned to private foundations, charities; hell, he'd even tried the CIA, just in case it was some experimental government virus that had gotten out of control. Still nothing. From there, his list had gotten progressively poorer; faith healers, talk show hosts, and quack doctors touting the latest herbal remedies.
    The latter group had wanted to help, but none of them had been able to give him any sense of confidence, and he had finally given up.
    He'd been hoping the final round of tests would give the staff at the