Читать книгу Person of Interest - Debra Webb - Страница 11

Elizabeth sat in her car as the purple and gray hues of dawn stole across the sky, chasing away the darkness, ushering forth the new day.

She’d managed a few hours sleep last night but just barely. Her mind kept playing moments spent with David, fleeting images of a past that had, at the time, felt like the beginning of the rest of her life.

How could she have been so foolish as to take that risk? She had known that a relationship with a man like David was an emotional gamble, but she’d dived in headfirst. The move had been so unlike her. She’d spent her entire life carefully calculating her every step.

She’d known by age twelve that she wanted to be a doctor, she just hadn’t known what field. As a teenager, pediatrics had appealed to her, in particular helping children with the kind of diseases that robbed them of their youth and dreams. But at nineteen her college roommate had been in a horrifying automobile accident and the weeks and months that followed had brought Elizabeth’s future into keen focus as nothing else could have.

Watching her friend go from a vibrant, happy young woman with a brilliant future ahead of her to a shell of a human being with a face that would never be her own had made Elizabeth yearn to prevent that from ever happening again…to anyone.

She’d worked harder than ever, had thrown herself into her education and eventually into her work. That burning desire to do the impossible, to rebuild the single most individual part of the human body, had driven her like a woman obsessed.

Elizabeth sighed. And maybe she was obsessed. If so, she had no hope of making it right because this was who she was, what she did. She made no excuses.

She dragged the keys from her ignition and dropped them into her purse.

But this was different.

Though she had changed faces for the CIA before, a fact for which she had no regrets, this was so very different.

Elizabeth emerged from her Lexus, closed the door and automatically depressed the lock button on the remote. The headlights flashed, signaling the vehicle was now secure.

She inhaled a deep breath of the thick August air. It wasn’t entirely daylight yet and already she could almost taste the humidity.

“Might as well get this done,” she murmured as she shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and then trudged across the parking lot.

The CIA had leased, confiscated or borrowed a private clinic for this Saturday morning’s procedure. She noted the other vehicles there and, though she recognized none of them, assumed it was the usual team she worked with on these secret procedures. Of course, she would prefer her own team, but the group provided by the CIA in the past were excellent and, admittedly, a sort of rhythm had developed after more than a dozen surgeries.

A guard waited at the side entrance. His appearance made her think of the Secret Service agents who served as bodyguards for the president.

“Good morning, Dr. Cameron,” he said as she neared. Though she didn’t know him, he obviously knew her. No surprise.

“Morning.”

He opened the door for her and she moved inside. It wasn’t necessary to ask where the others would be, that part was always the same. Most clinics were set up on a similar floor plan. This one, an upscale cosmetic surgery outpost for the socially elite, was no different in that respect. The plush carpeting rather than the utilitarian tile and lavishly framed pieces of art that highlighted the warm, sand-colored walls were a definite step up from the norm but the basic layout was the same.

Agent Dawson stepped into the hall from one of the examination rooms lining the elegant corridor. “The team is ready when you are, Dr. Cameron.”

“Thank you, Agent Dawson.” Elizabeth didn’t bother dredging up a perfunctory smile. He knew she didn’t like this. She sensed that he didn’t either. But they both had a duty to do. An obligation to do their part to keep the world as safe as possible. She had to remember that.

The prep room was quiet and deserted and she was glad. She wanted to do this without exchanging any sort of chitchat with those involved, most especially the patient.