~Chapter One~
“I do not wish to blackmail you into taking his case, Dr. Youngblood. I only want you to look at him.” Damon Santorno stood at the head of Jordan’s desk. “Please. Help him.”
All Jordan could focus on were the two huge guards standing behind the man, armed to the hilt. No blackmail my ass. He’ll probably shoot me if I say no. Jordan sighed in defeat. “Where is your son, Mr. Santorno?”
“Fort Worth, Texas.”
“Oh, great. I have to leave Washington state for hell?”
“I can compensate you —”
“Don’t,” Jordan waved his hand. “This isn’t about money; it’s about me proving these inadequate doctors wrong. I’ll be there tomorrow.” Jordan glanced at Damon’s face. His eyebrows rose almost to the man’s hairline. “No?”
“Today.” Damon narrowed his eyes at the doctor.
Jordan watched the two armed men move forward. “Okay, okay, today.”
“Thank you, Dr. Youngblood,” Damon smiled, shaking his hand. “Please do not tell Stefano I am involved; he will refuse your help if he knows.” Damon turned and nodded toward his guards. “Antonio and Marco will stay behind with you.”
“To make sure I do my job?” Jordan arched a brow. “I can assure you, I take medicine seriously.”
“To make sure Stefano is all right. I cannot be seen near him.” Damon’s face was one of sadness. “I am a changed man, Dr. Youngblood, but I am afraid my son will always see me as a monster.”
“Well, no offense, but you are standing in my office with two guys who are packing quite a bit of heat asking me for a ‘favor.’”
Marco chuckled and Antonio smacked his chest, shaking his head in disapproval. Damon eyed both of them and motioned for them to wait outside. He sat down and regarded Jordan.
“I cannot lose my son. He means the world to me, and they have not given him much time.”
Jordan studied the man. He looked sincere, but looks had a way of being deceiving. Damon Santorno — however ruthless — was one hell of an attractive man. The blue-grey eyes were penetrating. He was older, maybe late forties, but had the body of a man who worked out regularly. Whenever Jordan thought of the Mob, a picture of Michael Corleone from “The Godfather” came to mind. Damon was nothing like him. He looked like the “GQ” version.
Jordan stood up and put his hand out. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Santorno.”
“I know you will.”
~*~
Jordan flew to Fort Worth aboard Damon’s private jet. It had been a surprise, but one he welcomed — so much better than commercial. Damon assured him he had secured a place for him to stay, and the doctor would be pleased with his accommodations. He also had arranged for Jordan to have privileges at the hospital in Texas. He had been pleasantly surprised at their eagerness to welcome “the unbelievable Dr. Youngblood.”
Sitting on a plane with a notorious mobster and his goons should have made Jordan uncomfortable, but for some reason he wasn’t. He could see the concern for his son in Damon’s eyes. He truly did care, even if he went about things differently than most people.
As soon as they landed, Jordan went straight to the hospital. He let them know who he was and why he was there.
His first problem? Stefano’s mother, who happened to be standing outside the young man’s room.
“You are?” She narrowed her eyes.
“As I have said — several times — I am Dr. Jordan Youngblood. I’m here from Seattle to look over your son’s chart, and perhaps examine him. I hear the doctors on his case are not making much progress.”
Leah Sanders looked him over: he was about five-foot-ten, with light brown hair and icy blue eyes. He was athletic-looking, but not covered in muscles.
“Well, first off I’m going to have to see some documentation and references. And what makes you think you can help when others have failed?”
Jordan crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the woman with a smirk. “Because they weren’t me.”
They were saved further sparring when the hospital chief of staff arrived, breathlessly making apologies to Leah while simultaneously sucking up to Jordan.
“Well, I see you two have met!” he enthused. “We’re so honored to have you Dr. Youn —”
Before he continued, Leah sighed and opened the door to her son’s room and motioned him in. Jordan grabbed the chart and then studied the young man in the bed. Twenty-two at the most, he had honey-blond hair and the most luscious lips Jordan had ever seen. He dragged his eyes away and perused the chart, shaking his head.