The Heroic Surgeon(14)

He exhaled again. “You know what, Mr. Kauffman? I was really indignant when you all insisted on downplaying Gulnar’s far more important role in this situation. Now I am just glad everyone decided to ignore her. I have never suffered anything more aggravating and oppressive than the status you’ve all thrust on me. I am happy she escaped the same fate.”

Kauffman gifted him with another of those impassive smiles that made him feel like an over-emotional idiot. Made the man such a nerve-fraying negotiator. “Such is the burden of heroism, Dr. Guerriero. Just as you’d accepted the possible outcome of severe injury or death, going in there, you have to accept the acclaim now you’ve made it out triumphant. And you also have to accept the responsibility that acclaim places on you.”

Dante heaved himself up to his feet. This wasn’t going to end unassisted. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Kauffman. I don’t have to accept anything. In my opinion, I’ve done my share, and that’s it. I’m out of here, and I’ll be eternally in your debt if you stop your attempts to emotionally blackmail me into staying, and if you let this be the end of this endless meeting.”

Without giving Kauffman the chance to bat a languid eyelid, Dante dragged the man’s hand for a hard, adamant handshake then turned and almost ran out of his office. And directly into Gulnar. And Emilio.

His heart stuttered. Everything inside him surged, almost burst out of him. Why didn’t you come to see me today?

He barely caught the reproachful roar back. She didn’t owe him anything after that morning when he’d behaved like an out-of-control teenager. She’d been gracious enough to laugh it all off and walk out of his room with a smile.

The moment she’d closed the door behind her he’d plunged into a hell he’d never known before. Not knowing if she’d ever return, where she was, how to contact her, what he’d say if he did—he’d felt abandoned, desperate, like a kid in an alien world, and it had had nothing to do with her loss as an interpreter.

Next morning, and every day ever since, she’d come back during the morning visiting hour, ten to eleven a.m., behaving as if they hadn’t fought and survived by each other’s sides, as if they’d shared nothing but an aborted flirtation in one of his former American hospital’s cafeterias. And she’d mostly come with her shadow, her fellow GAO volunteer and nurse, the hunky Emilio Fernandez.

He’d lived for that hour. Then she’d deprived him of it today. The almost suicidal despair that had robbed him of all reason and power when the seconds had ticked by and she hadn’t appeared had decided him. He was running out of there.

Tomorrow. He’d go back on the road tomorrow. And to hell with recuperation.

“Dr. Guerriero! Good thing we caught you. We were told this was one of your stops today.” It was the Portuguese nurse who addressed him. Gulnar only looked at him. Burned him down to the bone.

He swallowed the roiling hunger, the crushing despondency, kept his eyes on Emilio. “Yeah, I have a whole line-up of appointments all over Srajna.”

Emilio raised one thick, straight eyebrow. “People actually asked you to go to them?”

Say something cool and diplomatic. “I’m a popular man nowadays, am I not, Fernandez? Everyone wants a piece of me.” OK, not so cool or diplomatic. “Most did try to save me the trouble, but twelve days in one place, one room, is my limit. So, what can I do for you? I really have to run.”

Emilio’s brown eyes told him he could drop dead. At six feet five it was unusual for Dante to meet men’s eyes on the same level. He did Emilio’s. A mane of black curls even gave the good-looking man an extra inch over him. As tall and as broad and as dark. Emilio could have been his brother. And he hated Dante’s guts.

It figured. Men who were interested in Gulnar would probably shred each other with bare teeth and talons over her. And Emilio’s interest was unmistakable. Was Dante’s?

What kind of a stupid question was that? All the sexual energy he’d thought he’d never had or had lost had only been accumulating undiscovered, had only taken the sight of her, her touch to be unearthed, unleashed.

But once he was out of her orbit, he’d revert to his usual numbness. He’d throw himself into the sanctuary of emotional vacuum again. He couldn’t wait.

Emilio’s lips stretched on a pseudo-smile, revealing white, clenched teeth. Only fair. Emilio set Dante’s teeth on edge, too. “Nothing you can do for me, that’s for sure.”

A subtle communication passed between Gulnar and Emilio. Reproach on her side, he-had-it-coming sullen protest on his. Dante felt more lost and alone watching their unspoken argument, the ache of alienation spreading, worse than all his years of estrangement put together. That was an exchange born of entrenched familiarity. And intimacy?

Jealousy seared through him. How stupid was that? How pointless when he wasn’t entitled to it? But stupid or pointless or not, he barely stopped himself from putting his fist into Emilio’s challenging face.

As if he could. His right arm was functioning again, but there’d be no punch-throwing. Never had been and never would be. Not if he wanted to remain a surgeon. But he’d been certain she wasn’t involved. Had he not sensed her involvement with Emilio because he didn’t want to? Or because it didn’t count to her? Just as their encounter didn’t?

Was this how it always was with her? All attachment was on the side of the stupid, addicted males?

And Emilio was certainly attached—not just attracted, but emotionally attached. Yet even in his presence Dante still didn’t pick an answering attachment from Gulnar. That didn’t mean there was no involvement. It could be a purely physical, unemotional interest on Gulnar’s side.

Gulnar and Emilio had fallen into brisk step with him as he hurried out of the small building housing GAO’s modest rented administration office.

He added to his speed. He didn’t want to be in their company, didn’t want to know what went on between them. If they hadn’t come after him now, he would have left tomorrow first thing in the morning before Gulnar came on her daily visit, if she came. He wouldn’t have seen her again, he would have run without saying goodbye…

He flicked Emilio an impatient glance. “So what’s the emergency? I hope it’s something simple for a change. I don’t have time to deal with anything more. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“You are?” Gulnar spoke for the first time, her velvet voice scraping his exposed nerves. “But you’re not fully recovered yet!”

They’d reached his ride, the stately diplomatic limousine the Azernian president had put at his disposal. His uniformed chauffeur was leaning on the hood, smoking. He straightened as soon as he saw him, jumped forward to open his door for him. Dante shook his head at him, his lips going numb. An escape car and no way to escape! Not until he got rid of Gulnar and Emilio. “I’m fine. My luck is holding out. The bullet couldn’t have picked a lesser damage route if it had meant to, and my blood picture is almost back to normal, so I’m almost as good as new.”

“But you should be in hospital for another week,” Gulnar insisted. “Then you should recuperate for another two! All doctors said so!”

“So we’re back to ignoring the fact that I’m one myself, eh?” She opened her mouth. He just couldn’t bear hearing her voice again. He raised his voice, drowning hers. “My professional opinion says I’m well enough to leave tomorrow, and I will. Anyway, if people keep demanding things from me, they must think me well enough. So what am I needed for now?”

He could have sounded less fed-up, should be accessing his professionalism. His despondency wasn’t Gulnar’s or Emilio’s fault. Or anyone’s. Or life’s.

Emilio slowed down, stopped, his hostility even more evident. “We’re so sorry to impose on the time and plans of the madly-in-demand, exalted hero of the Caucasus. But your even more exalted talents as a reconstructive surgeon are being called upon. If you deem it worth your while, of course.”

OK. That was deserved. But it wasn’t in answer to his unintentional arrogance. This was personal. And beyond the instinctive antagonism between two males over a coveted female. Why? Had Gulnar told him what had happened between them?

But what had happened? Nothing much, she’d made it clear. Just the inept fumblings of a half-dead man, grasping for any bits of her life and fire.

The idea that Gulnar could have exposed him, related the incident to her lover—had she laughed as she’d told him? The way she’d struggled not to when he’d been so distressed after she’d taken her first full look at him…

And he’d thought Roxanne’s revulsion had hurt! If his lack of hair had warranted such shock, he didn’t want to think what knowing the full truth would do. Oh, he knew she was too kind, too versed in dealing with affliction to show revulsion. But he hadn’t been about to risk it, had recoiled from her touch when she’d recovered from her shock.

He’d wanted to erase the moments of insanity, to return them to warm spontaneity, to keep her as a friend at least. She’d accepted his overtures, jumped on them more like, relieved. He should have been, too. He hadn’t been.