Doing It Right. MaryJanice Davidson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      “We wait until Carlotti is arrested. It shouldn’t be long. A lot of people are looking for him.” She said that with cool relish and he made a mental note to never get on her bad side. “When he’s arrested, you’re out of danger.”

      “Doesn’t he have hench-thugs who could still get me?”

      She nodded. “In theory. But they won’t make a move without him breathing in their ears. You can see the D.A.—his name is Thomas Wechter, by the way, second floor of the courthouse, take a left past the water fountain—and tell him your story, tell him you’re willing to testify, ask to see the rest of his case. If he has one.”

      “What about you?” he asked, trying once again, even though he knew it was useless. The same tenacity that made other doctors literally pull him off a DOA wouldn’t let him back away from this. “You were wronged by Carstupidi. You should testify that he tried to kill you! I mean, Jesus, that big bully, if you hadn’t cleaned his clock, I would have.”

      She snorted and he raised an eyebrow at her. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I was just picturing you and Carlotti—but you were talking about the D.A. I can’t testify. It’s all up to you.”

      “What are you afraid of?” he asked boldly, sure she’d rebuff him, or deny fear. Instead, she just gave him a level look.

      “Nothing I could explain to you,” she said quietly, then got up, poured the rest of her coffee down the sink and walked to the window. She took the cup with her, he noticed. After a moment, he got it—she was so paranoid, she wouldn’t take a chance on leaving fingerprints behind. Interesting. “See you around, Dr. Dean. I’ll be in touch.” She stepped up to the windowsill.

      “It’s Jared,” he yelled, darting after her, “and use the door, for God’s sake! Look, it’s right here.” He rattled the doorknob invitingly; she ignored him. “I can walk you to the main entrance. Ha! Some bodyguard!” he screamed and that got her attention; she paused and turned, looking at him over her shoulder, one foot already on the ledge. “Leaving me here to rot! I’m easy pickings for Carlotti’s hench-morons.”

      She smiled. “Hardly. I’ll be close. Good night.” “Wait!” But the window closed firmly and when he darted to it to look out, it was so dark he couldn’t see her anymore.

      Ten hours later, he let himself into his apartment. A long shift, but a busy and rewarding one—only one death and that one a DNR, an eighty-seven-year-old woman who had been praying for death for the better part of a year, according to her calmly tearful daughter. Tough, but it could have been so much worse. Was so much worse, frequently.

      He often wondered how he had ended up where he was—a physician, someone who dealt with death every day. In school he’d been an amiable goof-off, the class clown, never taking anything or anyone seriously. Strange that he had been drawn to a career that was, at times, absolutely the furthest thing from humorous.

      It wasn’t that he’d lost someone close to him, had been marked forever by the death of a parent or close friend. Hell, he’d never had so much as a pet die on him. But in college he’d taken an EMT course, and as part of the training he had to volunteer at a busy metro hospital.

      Looking at the suffering around him, he watched the doctors and nurses ease that suffering, pull off miracle cures, reunite families. He remembered thinking, That looks a helluva lot more satisfying than working in an office or going out to L.A. to do stand-up. Making people laugh is one thing. Giving them their lives back is another. He had gone home that night and applied to five premed programs. His father, seeing his slack-ass son filling out college applications instead of watching Friends reruns, had nearly wept with relief.

      He was walking through the living room, intent on the kitchen and a sandwich, when he saw Kara was deeply asleep on his couch, curled under a yellow fleece throw. He nearly walked into the end table.

      He turned around, tiptoed back to his front door, and examined the lock. Absolutely no signs of tampering. Then he walked to the windows, which were all locked on the inside. The woman was a marvel, a ghost—a rich woman if she ever decided to use her powers to aid the forces of evil.

      He went to stand over her again, wanting to talk to her, but also wanting to let her sleep. If she had stayed close, as she said she would—and he didn’t think she would lie to him—she’d had a long day, most of it probably spent huddled on ledges. She hadn’t heard him come in through the door and he hadn’t been taking particular care to be quiet. Clearly she was exhausted. He would let her sleep.

      Except …

      Except her hair, in the faint gleam from the streetlight, was muted gold, the color of nuggets brought up from the river, gleaming dully among the pebbles and worth thousands. It was the first time he’d seen it down and he itched to touch, caress …

      He reached out a trembling hand and stroked her hair where it curved along her skull, realizing with happy dismay that he was falling in love with a woman he knew nothing about, not even her last name.

      It was his last happy thought for a while. She came awake like a cat in the dark—one minute dead to the world, the next utterly alert. Her hand came up, seized his wrist in a grip slightly less breakable than handcuffs, and pulled. Hard. He rocketed toward her and somehow—he didn’t think this was possible to do from a prone position—she flipped him over the end of the couch. She didn’t let go of his wrist and a split second later he was on his butt in the dust and she was looking down at him from the back of the couch, still holding his wrist, which started to throb from the pressure.

      “For heaven’s sake,” she complained, letting go. “Don’t scare me like that.”

      He could feel his eyes bulge. “Don’t scare you?” he croaked, climbing slowly to his feet. “You’re the one who broke in, dammit! Jesus Christ, I come into my apartment—my apartment—and here you are, dead to the world, a—a breaker and enterer—”

      “I didn’t break,” she said reasonably. “Just entered.”

      “—and then you wake up and kick my ass all over my own living room. Who scared who?” He finished standing and was pleasantly surprised to find his legs were supporting him. His heart rate felt quite high—like about six hundred. “Some bodyguard!”

      She snorted, then the snort turned into a laugh. She choked off the sound almost at once and looked at him, stone-faced. “I apologize for startling you. Something woke me up—”

      He coughed, knowing his pawing her hair had been what awakened her and unwilling to impart that information at the moment.

      “—and then I saw a large man—”

      “A large, incredibly handsome, virile man,” he interrupted.

      “—leaning over me and I acted instinctively. How’s the wrist? Good thing I didn’t break it on the way down,” she added thoughtfully.

      “Yes, that is a good thing. I retract my whining. Instead I’ll count my blessings. You could have broken my arm, caved in my skull, reached into my chest, and pulled out my still beating heart and showed it to me.”

      She looked away. “I’m not quite that bad. You have—” she eyed him as he hustled toward the kitchen, remembering he hadn’t eaten in seven hours—”admirable equilibrium.”

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ