Under the Knife Page 10

  “You didn’t have any children?” It was a perfectly natural question. He wished she hadn’t asked it.

  He nodded shortly. “A son.”

  “Oh. How old is he?”

  “He’s dead.” How flat his voice sounded. As if Noah’s death were as casual a topic as the weather. He could already see the questions forming on her lips. And the words of sympathy. That was the last thing he wanted from her. He’d heard enough well-meaning words of sympathy to last him the rest of his life.

  “So anyway,” he said, shifting the subject, “I’m what you’d call a born-again bachelor. But I like it this way. Some men just aren’t meant to be married, I guess. And it’s great for my career. Nothing to distract me from the practice, which seems to be going big guns these days.”

  Damn. She was still looking at him with those questions in her eyes. He headed them off with another change of topic.

  “What about you?” he asked quickly. “Were you ever married?”

  “No.” She looked down, as if contemplating the benefits of another slug of whiskey. “I lived with a man for a while. In fact, he’s the reason I came to Honolulu. To be near him.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Guess that’ll teach me.”

  “What?”

  “Not to go chasing after some stupid man.”

  “Sounds like a nasty breakup.”

  She hiccuped. “It was very—civil, actually. I’m not saying it didn’t hurt. Because it did.” Shrugging, she surrendered to another gulp of whiskey. “It’s hard, you know. Trying to be everything at once. I guess I couldn’t give him what he needed: dinner waiting on the table, my undivided attention.”

  “Is that what he expected?”

  “Isn’t that what every man expects?” she snorted angrily. “Well, I didn’t need all that—that male crap. I had a job that required me to jump at every phone call. Rush in for every emergency. He didn’t understand.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Was what worth it?”

  “Sacrificing your love life for your career?”

  She didn’t answer for a while. Then her head drooped. “I used to think so,” she said quietly. “Now I think of all those hours I put in. All those ruined weekends. I thought I was indispensable to the hospital. And then I find out I’m just as dispensable as anyone else. All it took was a lawsuit. Hell of an eye-opener.” She tipped her glass at him bitterly. “Thanks for the revelation, counselor.”

  “Why blame me? I was just hired to do a job.”

  “For a nice fat fee, I imagine.”

  “I took the case on contingency. I won’t be seeing a cent.”

  “You gave up all that money? Just because you think I’m telling the truth?” She shook her head in amazement. “I’m surprised the truth means so much to you.”

  “You have a nice way of making me sound like scum. But yes, the truth does matter to me. A great deal, in fact.”

  “A lawyer with principles? I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “We’re a recognized subspecies.” His gaze inadvertently slid to the neckline of her gauze dress. The memory of how that silky skin had felt under his exploring fingers suddenly hit him with such force that he quickly turned and reached for the whiskey. There was no glass handy so he took a swig straight from the bottle. Right, he thought. Get yourself drunk. See how many stupid things you can say before morning.

  Actually, they were both getting thoroughly soused. But he figured she needed it. Twenty minutes ago she’d been in a state of shock. Now, at least, she was talking. In fact she’d just managed to insult him. That had to be a good sign.

  She gazed fervently into her glass. “God, I hate whiskey!” she said with sudden passion and gulped down the rest of the drink.

  “I can tell. Have some more.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “I think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” He laughed, shoving the bottle toward her.

  She regarded it for a moment. Then, with a look of utter disgust, she refilled her glass. “Good old Jack Daniel’s,” she sighed. Her hand was unsteady as she recapped the bottle. “What a laugh.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It was Dad’s favorite brand. He used to swear this stuff was medicinal. Absolutely hated all my hair-of-the-dog lectures. Boy, would he get a kick out of seeing me now.” She took a swallow and winced. “Maybe he’s right. Anything that tastes this awful has to be medicinal.”

  “I take it your father wasn’t a doctor.”

  “He wanted to be.” She stared down moodily at her drink. “Yeah, that was his dream. He planned on being a country doctor. You know, the kind of guy who’d deliver a baby in exchange for a few dozen eggs. But I guess things didn’t work out. I came along and then they needed money and…” She sighed. “He had a repair shop in Sacramento. Oh, he was handy! I used to watch him putter around in that basement. Dad could fix anything you put in his hands. TVs. Washing machines. He even held seventeen patents, none of them worth a damn cent. Except maybe the Handy Dandy apple slicer.” She glanced at him hopefully. “Ever heard of it?”

  “Sorry. No.”

  She shrugged. “Neither has anyone else.”

  “What does it do, exactly?”

  “One flick of the wrist and whack! Six perfect slices.” At his silence she gave him a rueful smile. “I can see you’re terribly impressed.”

  “But I am. I’m impressed that your father managed to invent you. He must’ve been happy you became a doctor.”

  “He was. When I graduated from med school, he told me it was the very best day of his life.” She stopped, her smile suddenly fading. “I think that’s sad, don’t you? That out of all the years of his life, that was the one single day he was happiest….” She cleared her throat. “After he died, Mom sold the shop. She got married to some high-powered banker in San Francisco. What a snooty guy. We can’t stand each other.” She looked down at her glass and her voice dropped. “I still think about that shop sometimes. I miss the old basement. I miss all those dumb, useless gadgets of his. I miss—”

  He saw her lower lip tremble and he thought with sudden panic: Oh, no. Now she’s going to cry. He could deal with sobbing clients. He knew exactly how to respond to their tears. Pull out the box of Kleenex. Pat them on the back. Tell them he’d do everything he could.

  But this was different. This wasn’t his office but his living room. And the woman on the verge of tears wasn’t a client but someone he happened to like very much.

  Just as he thought the dam would burst, she managed to drag herself together. He saw only the briefest glitter of tears in her eyes, then she blinked and they were gone. Thank God. If she started bawling now, he’d be utterly useless.

  He took her glass and deliberately set it down on the table. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight. Come on, doctor lady. It’s time for bed. I’ll show you the way.” He reached for her hand but she reflexively pulled back. “Something wrong?”

  “No. It’s just…”

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about how it looks? Your staying here, I mean.”

  “A little. Not much, actually. I mean, not under the circumstances.” She gave an awkward laugh. “Fear does strange things to one’s sense of propriety.”

  “Not to mention one’s sense of legal ethics.” At her puzzled look, he said, “I’ve never done this before.”

  “What? Brought a woman home for the night?”

  “Well, I haven’t done that in a while, either. What I meant was, I make it a point never to get involved with any of my clients. And certainly never with the opposition.”

  “Then I’m the exception?”

  “Yes. You are definitely the exception. Believe it or not, I don’t normally paw every female who walks into my office.”

  “Which ones do you paw?” she asked, a faint smile suddenly tracing her lips.

  He moved toward her, drawn by invisible threads of desire. “Only the green-eyed
ones,” he murmured. Gently he touched her cheek. “Who happen to have a bruise here and there.”

  “That last part sounds suspiciously kinky,” she whispered.

  “No, it’s not.” The intimate tone of his voice made Kate suddenly fall very still. His finger left a scorching trail as it stroked down her face.

  She knew the danger of this moment. This was the man who’d once vowed to ruin her. He could still ruin her. Consorting with the enemy, she thought in sudden panic as his face drew closer. But she couldn’t seem to move. A sense of unreality swept over her; a feeling that none of this could be happening, that it was only some hot, drunken fantasy. Here she was, sharing a couch with the very man she’d once despised, and all she could think of was how much she wanted him to haul her into his arms and kiss her.

  His lips were gentle. It was no more than a brushing of mouths, a cautious savoring of what they both knew might follow, but it was enough to touch off a thousand flames inside her. Jack Daniel’s had never tasted so good!

  “And what will the bar association say to that?” she murmured.

  “They’ll call it outrageous….”

  “Unethical.”

  “And absolutely insane. Which it is.” Drawing away, he studied her for a moment; and his struggle for control showed plainly in his face. To her disappointment, common sense won out. He rose from the couch and tugged her to her feet. “When you file your complaint with the state bar, don’t forget to mention how apologetic I was.”

  “Will it make a difference?”

  “Not to them. But I hope it does to you.”

  They stood before the window, staring at each other. The wind lashed the panes, a sound as relentless as the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.

  “I think it’s time to go to bed,” he said hoarsely.

  “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “I mean it’s time you went to your bed. And I went to mine.”

  “Oh.”

  “Unless…”

  “Unless?”

  “You don’t want to.”

  “Want to what?”

  “Go to bed.”

  They looked at each other uneasily. She swallowed. “I think maybe I’d better.”

  “Yeah.” He turned away and agitatedly plowed his fingers through his hair. “I think so, too.”

  “David?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “Is it really a violation of legal ethics? Letting me stay here?”

  “Under the circumstances?” He shrugged. “I think I’m still on safe ground. Barely. As long as nothing happens between us.” He scooped up the whiskey bottle. Matter-of-factly he slid it into the liquor cabinet and shut the door. “And nothing will.”

  “Of course not,” she responded quickly. “I mean, I don’t need that kind of complication in my life. Certainly not now.”

  “Neither do I. But for the moment, we seem to need each other. So I’ll provide you with a safe place to stay. And you can help me figure out what really happened in that O.R. A convenient arrangement. I ask only one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We keep this discreet. Not just now but also after you leave. This sort of thing can only hurt both our reputations.”

  “I understand. Perfectly.”

  They both took a simultaneous breath.

  “So…I think I’ll say good-night,” she said. Turning, she started across the living room. Her whole body felt like rubber. She only prayed she wouldn’t fall flat on her face.

  “Kate?”

  Her heart did a quick somersault as she spun around to face him. “Yes?”

  “Your room’s the second door on the right.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Her flip-flopping heart seemed to sink like a stone as she left him standing there in the living room. Her only consolation was that he looked every bit as miserable as she felt.

  * * *

  LONG AFTER KATE had gone to her room, David sat in the living room, thinking. Remembering how she had tasted, how she had trembled in his arms. And wondering how he’d gotten himself into this mess. It was bad enough, letting the woman sleep under his roof, but to practically seduce her on his couch—that was sheer stupidity. Though he’d wanted to. God, how he’d wanted to.

  He could tell by the way she’d melted against him that she hadn’t been kissed in a very long time. Terrific. Here they were, two normal, healthy, deprived adults, sleeping within ten feet of each other. You couldn’t ask for a more explosive situation.

  He didn’t want to think about what his old ethics professor would say to this. Strictly speaking, he couldn’t consider himself off the O’Brien case yet. Until he actually handed the file over to another firm, he still had to behave as their attorney and was bound by legal ethics to protect their interests. To think how scrupulous he’d always been about separating his personal from his professional life!

  If he’d had his head screwed on straight, he would have avoided the whole mess by taking Kate to a hotel or a friend’s house. Anywhere but here. The problem was, he’d been having trouble thinking straight since the day he met her. Tonight, after that phone call, he’d had only one thought in mind: to keep her safe and warm and protected. It was a fiercely primitive instinct over which he had no control; and he resented it. He also resented her for stirring up all these inconvenient male responses.

  Annoyed at himself, he rose from the couch and circled the living room, turning off lights. He decided he wasn’t interested in being any woman’s white knight. Besides, Kate Chesne wasn’t the kind of woman who needed a hero. Or any man, for that matter. Not that he didn’t like independent women. He did like them.

  He also liked her. A lot.

  Maybe too much.

  * * *

  KATE LAY CURLED up in bed, listening to David’s restless pacing in the living room. She held her breath as his footsteps creaked up the hall past her door. Was it her imagination or did he pause there for a moment before continuing on to the next room? She could hear him moving around, opening and closing drawers, rattling hangers in the closet. My God, she thought. He’s sleeping right next door.

  Now the shower was running. She wondered if it was a cold shower. She tried not to think about what he’d look like, standing under the stream of water, but the image had already formed in her head, the soapsuds sliding down his shoulders, the gold hairs matted and damp on his chest.

  Now stop it. Right now.

  She bit her lip—bit it so hard the image wavered a little. Damn. So this was lust, pure and unadulterated. Well, maybe slightly adulterated—by whiskey. Here she was, thirty years old, and she’d never wanted any man so badly. She wanted him on a level that was raw and wild and elemental.

  She’d certainly never felt this way about Eric. Her relationship with Eric had been excruciatingly civilized; nothing as primitive as this—this animal heat. Even their parting had been civilized. They’d discussed their differences, decided they were irreconcilable, and had gone their separate ways. At the time she’d thought it devastating, but now she realized what had been hurt most by the breakup was her pride. All these months, she’d nursed the faint hope that Eric would come back to her. Now she could barely conjure up a picture of his face. It kept blurring into the image of a man in a shower.

  She buried her head in the pillow, an act that made her feel about as brilliant as an ostrich. And she was supposed to be so bright, so levelheaded. Why, it was even official, having been stated in her performance evaluation as a resident: Dr. Chesne is a superbly competent, levelheaded physician. Ha! Levelheaded? Try dim-witted. Besotted. Or just plain dumb—for lusting after the man who’d once threatened to ruin her in court.

  She had so many important things to worry about; matters, literally, of life and death. She was losing her job. Her career was on the skids. A killer was searching for her.

  And she was wondering how much hair David Ransom had on his chest.

  * * *

  SHE WAS
RUNNING down hundreds of steps, plunging deeper and deeper into a pit of darkness. She didn’t know what lay at the end; all she knew was that something was right behind her, something terrible; she didn’t dare look back to see its face. There were no doors, no windows, no other avenue of escape. Her flight was noiseless, like the flickering reel of a movie with no sound. In this silence lay the worst terror of all: no one would hear her scream.

  With a sob, Kate wrenched herself awake and found herself staring up wildly at an unfamiliar ceiling. Somewhere a telephone was ringing. Daylight glowed in the window and she heard waves lapping the seawall. The ringing telephone suddenly stopped; David’s voice murmured in another room.

  I’m safe, she told herself. No one can hurt me. Not here. Not in this house.

  The knock on the door made her sit up sharply.

  “Kate?” David called through the closed door.

  “Yes?”

  “You’d better get dressed. Pokie wants us down at the station.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  It was his low tone of urgency that alarmed her. She scrambled out of bed and opened the door. “Why? What is it?”

  His gaze slid briefly to her nightgown, then focused, utterly neutral, on her face. “The killer. They know his name.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  POKIE SLID THE book of mug shots toward Kate. “See anyone you know, Dr. Chesne?”

  Kate scanned the photographs and immediately focused on one face. It was a cruel portrait; every wrinkle, every hollow had been brought into harsh clarity by the camera lights. Yet the man didn’t squint. He gazed straight ahead with wide eyes. It was the look of a lost soul. Softly she said, “That’s him.”

  “You positive?”

  “I—I remember his eyes.” Swallowing hard, she turned away. Both men were watching her intently. They were probably worried she’d faint or get hysterical or do something equally ridiculous. But she wasn’t feeling much of anything. It was as if she were detached from her body and were floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching a stock scene from a police procedural: the witness unerringly pointing out the face of the killer.