Page 109 of The Cajun Doctor

“I went to the medical center and spent some time with Molly, who is not in good shape, thanks for asking.”

She made a clucking sound of disgust at his sarcasm.

“I suspected all along that you would agree to this lamebrain wiring, putting yourself in the hands of a madman, but it was after I left the hospital that it hit me. Here were all these people, mostly kids, who, through no fault of their own, are living with a dangerous disease, or dying from it. And then, there you were, perfectly healthy, taking on danger. Why not just smoke a pack of cigarettes a day to give yourself cancer?”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“It felt like it to me at the time. Still does.”

“Daniel, Nick has to be stopped. What he’s doing is evil.”

“Let someone else stop him.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“Yeah, I do. Let me go with you.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . because I . . . care.”

He could tell she was touched, maybe even reciprocated the . . . caring, but she stiffened and said, “Well, you can’t come with me. Nick will never open up with a third party there. If he’s going to reveal anything, it will only be if he thinks I’m there alone.”

“Shouldn’t your lawyer be here with you? Does Luc approve of this madness?”

“Luc should be here any minute. He was at the police station with Angus. And, yes, he agrees, sort of.”

“What the hell does ‘sort of’ mean?”

“He says the FBI and police will step in at the first sign of danger. But in the end it’s my decision whether to participate. And, Daniel . . .” She paused to make sure she had his attention. “. . . I have decided to get this whole mess over with. Me. Not you, or anyone else, will make that decision.”

“I thought . . .” He wasn’t sure what he’d thought. He wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t even her boyfriend, or lover. Just a one-night stand . . . or one-week stand . . . or whatever. A good fuck. Who’d fucked up. “Forget I ever showed up,” he said and pounded on the window for the Fibbies to open the door.

“Daniel, wait,” she said, even as the door slid open and he stepped out. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“You meant it exactly how it sounded, but that’s all right. I crossed the line. I won’t do it again.”

“Daniel . . .”

He heard the pity in her voice. So, he left before he made even more of an ass of himself.

Luc arrived then and gave him a passing, questioning glance as he went into the van, presumably to give his client some last-minute instructions. He hoped one of them was, “Be careful!” Because she sure as hell wasn’t listening to him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

There was a pot of gold, but no rainbow . . .

Samantha entered Nick’s empty, third-floor, corner office. The receptionist had told her that Dr. Coltrane would be with her shortly. Despite her fear and anxiety over the situation, she couldn’t help but stop her mental hand-wringing and admire her surroundings.

If Nick’s building was something out of Architectural Digest, his office was a cover for Luxury magazine. Very modern and elegantly appointed. It reeked of money. Money which . . . Hello! . . . Nick did not have.

Massive windows on two adjoining sides gave an arresting view of the Mississippi River and the Port of New Orleans, several ships on the horizon. Another wall, containing floor-to-ceiling bookcases, displayed medical books and objets d’ art, such as a bronze sculpture of two alligators fighting, some rare Newcomb pottery, and a sterling vase of her grandmother’s that she hadn’t realized was missing all these years. He must have taken it from an attic chest when they’d first separated. The floor was polished golden cypress with a jewel-toned oriental carpet in its center. The desk, in the vee of the two showcase windows, was large and sleek, probably specially designed for the space.

But it was the massive sideboard on the fourth wall that drew the attention most. A fifteen-foot-wide and ten-foot-high masterpiece, with beveled glass mirrors and gold-plated knobs, had to have resided in some European castle at one time. She couldn’t even guess what it had cost.

Just then, the door opened and Nick strolled in, as cool and handsome as ever. He wore blue scrubs and a surgeon’s cap, which he tossed into a tall, sterile-looking wastebasket with a swinging lid by the door. His blond hair was neatly cut with not a strand out of place. He must have just completed an operation in the surgical suite Angus had described to her. Maybe he’d even delivered a baby, which he was about to sell.

“Samantha! So good of you to come!”