“What if I don’t deserve it.”
She thought of Stephan lying on that stainless steel, his body cold and bruised. “Everyone with a beating heart deserves to be saved.”
“Is that why you got into nursing?”
“No. I got into nursing because I want to be a doctor someday. The saving thing is just the way I see the world.”
The silence between them lasted forever.
“Are you in a car?” he said eventually.
“An ambulance, actually. I’m going back to the clinic.”
“You’re out alone?” he growled.
“Yes, and you can cut the he-man crap. I’ve got a gun under the seat and I know how to use it.”
A subtle laugh came through the phone. “Okay, that’s a turn-on. I’m sorry, but it is.”
She had to smile a little. “You drive me nuts, you know that. Even though you’re all but a stranger to me, you drive me up the frickin’ wall.”
“And somehow I’m complimented.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve had a bad night.”
“Yeah, well, me too. On both the sorry part and the bad night.”
“What happened?”
“It’s too much to go into. How about you?”
“Ditto.”
As he shifted, a sheet rustled. “Are you in bed again?”
“Yes. And yes, you still don’t want to know.”
She smiled widely. “You’re telling me I shouldn’t ask what you’re wearing again.”
“You got it.”
“We’re so falling into a rut, you know that?” She grew serious. “You sound really sick to me. Your voice is hoarse.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Look, I can bring you what you need. If you can’t make it to the clinic, I can bring the medicine to you.” The silence on the other end was so dense, and went on for so long, she said, “Hello? You there?”
“Tomorrow night…can you meet me?”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Yes.”
“I’m on the top floor of the Commodore. Do you know the building.”
“I do.”
“Can you be there at midnight? East side.”
“Yes.”
His exhale seemed one of resignation. “I’ll be waiting for you. Drive safely, okay?”
“I will. And don’t throw your phone anymore.”
“How did you know?”
“Because if I’d had an open space in front of me instead of the dashboard of an ambulance, I would have done the same thing.”
His laugh made her smile, but she lost the expression as she hit end and put the phone back in her purse.
Even though she was driving at a steady sixty-five and the road ahead of her was straight and free of debris, she felt as if she were totally out of control, careening from guardrail to guardrail, leaving a trail of sparks as she ground off parts of the clinic’s vehicle.
Meeting him tomorrow night, being alone with him somewhere private, was exactly the wrong thing to do.
And she was going to do it anyway.
TWENTY-TWO
Montrag, son of Rehm, hung up the phone and stared out the French doors of his father’s study. The gardens and the trees and the rolling lawn, like the great mansion and everything in it, were his now, no longer a legacy he would one day inherit.
As he took in the grounds, he enjoyed the sense of ownership singing in his blood, but he was less than satisfied with the view. Everything was battened down for winter, the flower beds emptied, the blooming fruit trees blanketed with mesh, the maples and oaks without their leaves. As a result, one could see the retaining wall, and that was just not attractive. Better for those ugly security sorts of things to be covered.
Montrag turned away and walked over to a more pleasing vista, albeit one that was mounted on the wall. With a flush of reverence, he regarded his favorite painting in the manner he always had, for indeed Turner deserved veneration for both his artistry and his choices of subject. Especially in this work: The depiction of the sun setting over the sea was a masterpiece on so many levels, the shades of gold and peach and deep burning red a feast for eyes robbed by biology of the actual glowing furnace that sustained and inspired and warmed the world.
Such a painting would be the pride of any collection.
He had three Turners in this house alone.
With a hand that twitched in anticipation, he took hold of the lower right-hand corner of the gilt frame and pulled the seascape from the wall. The safe behind it fit the precise dimensions of the painting and was inset into the lath and plaster. After twisting the combination on the dial, there was a subtle shifting that was barely audible, giving no hint that each of the six retracting pins was thick as a forearm.