Читать книгу The Truth About Elyssa - Lorna Michaels, Lorna Michaels - Страница 13

Elyssa woke with a throbbing headache. She’d sat up for hours, gripping the fireplace poker, the nearest thing to a weapon she could find. When she finally lay down, every noise from outside, every creak and groan in the house had her leaping out of bed and grabbing her makeshift weapon. At last, near dawn, she fell into a troubled sleep.

Now she sat up, rubbed her eyes and massaged her temples. Along with the headache, she felt groggy and vaguely nauseated. She’d never had a hangover but she suspected they felt like this. “Coffee,” she muttered and trudged downstairs.

By the time she’d drunk half a cup, her mind began to clear. Last night she’d been so shaken, she hadn’t asked herself the obvious question, how did her caller know she was investigating Randy’s death? She’d told only two people—Brett and Derek. Now that she’d tipped him off, was Derek trying to frighten her away from a story he wanted?

The voice last night wasn’t Derek’s. She would recognize it in an instant even if he tried to disguise it. Would he have gone so far as to get someone else to call and scare her off so she’d leave this story to him and Channel 9?

With Derek, anything was possible. Well, he wouldn’t get away with it. She grabbed the phone and punched in his number.

“Derek Graves,” he answered in the too-smooth voice she’d come to detest.

“This is Elyssa.” She got straight to the point. “Someone called me last night to warn me—no, to threaten me—that I’d better stop looking into Randy’s death.”

“Good grief, Elyssa, what have you been up to?”

“Up to?” Though anger threatened to bubble over, she kept her voice level. “All I’ve done is talk to you. What have you been up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who did you tell about our conversation yesterday?”

“Nobody.” His tone implied that their discussion was so insignificant, he’d forgotten it the moment she left. “What did this caller have to say?”

Elyssa always paid attention to nuances of voice, and now she heard just the smallest tinge of uneasiness in Derek’s. Was he afraid the caller had mentioned his name? “Standard threat,” she said. “Essentially, he told me to watch my back.”

“Good advice. I hope you pay attention.”

Her temper boiled over. “Why the hell did you say that? What do you know? You did sic someone on me, didn’t you?”

“Good God, do you hear what you’re saying? You really are becoming paranoid.”

“I’m not paranoid. Jenny thinks Randy was murdered—”

“Murdered!”

“Yes,” Elyssa said, “and I’m beginning to agree with her.”

“If this bizarre idea is true, then investigating could land you in a mess of trouble. I’m concerned for your safety, sweet—uh, Elyssa.” He paused, and his voice deepened. “What happened to him could happen to you.”

“Don’t lose any sleep over me,” Elyssa said coolly. “I’ll stay alert, but I won’t stop digging until I know what happened.” Then she said what she wished she’d told her caller last night, “Don’t try to scare me off.” She hung up before he had a chance to say another word.

Elyssa sat across the desk from Amanda Pryor, coordinator of volunteer services at St. Michael’s. They’d been high school classmates but had lost track of each other. Elyssa had been surprised when she’d made an appointment to present her proposal for clown shows and found an old friend.

Bright posters adorned the walls of Amanda’s small office, lush plants crowded the windowsills, and the bulletin board held letters from former patients praising the volunteer staff.

“Your program’s going great,” Amanda said. “Want to expand? The kids in the orthopedic unit could use some entertainment.”

“I’m not ready for that yet,” Elyssa said. Hoping Amanda wouldn’t notice, she checked her watch. This was not her regular day at St. Michael’s, but she’d mentioned to Brett that she’d be here, and they’d arranged to meet in the cafeteria. Ten minutes.

“Let me know when you’re ready. Meanwhile, we’ll authorize the programs in the cancer unit for another four months.” Then she smiled slyly. “I hear you’re seeing Dr. Cameron.”

Elyssa’s mouth dropped open. “I just went out with him Tuesday night.”

“But you’ve been staring into each other’s eyes in the cafeteria for weeks.”

Elyssa’s eyes traveled upward. Heaven help her. “Um, I guess word gets around fast here,” she muttered.

“Yep, faster than the Internet.” Amanda grinned mischievously. “The things I could tell you…”

“You already have.” From Amanda Elyssa had learned that the head of neurology, who’d been married to his wife for twenty years, was involved in a hot affair with a male resident; that two aides in obstetrics had engaged in a nasty altercation over a trivial misunderstanding; and that the hospital would soon announce its participation in trials of what was considered the most promising AIDS drug in the last decade.

Even in high school Amanda had had such a proclivity for gossip that she’d earned the nickname Miss Tattles. She’d loved the name; she’d even titled her column in the school paper Miss Tattles’ Tales. Now she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. “So is it serious?”

“Are you kidding? After one dinner?”

Amanda sighed dramatically. “Love at first sight.”

“That, my dear, is a myth.”

Later when she saw Brett coming toward her, she told herself that just because seeing a man made you breathless, it didn’t mean love. At first or even second sight.

“A consultation came up,” he said, “so I only have a few minutes. I should have called you and canceled…but I wanted to see you.” His lips curved in the sexy smile that made women go weak in the knees. “So, how about a quick cup of coffee? We can sit on the patio.”

Elyssa cocked her head and smiled at him. “Is this a date?”

He chuckled as he paid for their coffee. “A cheap one.”

The patio behind the cafeteria was quiet, with only a few tables filled. The worst of the midday August heat had dissipated, leaving the promise of evening in its wake. They drank their coffee, and Elyssa told Brett that Amanda had extended her contract. “I know I have you to thank for it,” she added.

“Don’t thank me. You earned that extension.”

When they finished their coffee, he walked her to her car. In the garage he nodded to a tired-looking man in scrubs, then glanced over his shoulder and raised a hand in greeting as a silver Lincoln Town Car drove slowly past.

He held Elyssa’s door open, leaned close and to her surprise, kissed her hard. “Drive carefully,” he said, and shut the door.

Her heart pirouetted wildly from his kiss. And she thought, maybe love at first sight wasn’t a myth after all.

Brett glanced at his watch—10:00 a.m. Clark Madigan rarely kept a colleague waiting when he scheduled a meeting, but this morning Brett had been cooling his heels in the chief of staff’s outer office for nearly twenty minutes. He wondered what Clark wanted to see him about. When Clark called at nine saying, “We need to talk,” he’d sounded agitated. Something about the plans for the new hospital or the departmental budget, Brett supposed. He flipped through the latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine, then glanced up when the door opened.

“Come in, Brett,” Madigan said. “Sit down.”

Wondering at the seriousness of the older man’s expression, Brett sat across the desk from Madigan. Had they lost the grant they’d been counting on from the National Institute of Health?

Madigan frowned, then said, “The woman you were with the other night, Elyssa Jarmon. How long have you been seeing her?”

Brett blinked. This was what his mentor wanted to talk to him about? Why?

An idea dawned, and Brett’s lips twitched. Maybe Madigan had been planning on matchmaking. His daughter was married, but Brett had heard something about a niece who’d recently moved to Indianapolis. Uh-uh, Clark. Thanks, but no thanks. Determined to thwart Madigan’s plans before they got off the ground, Brett smiled easily. “That was our first evening out together. The first of many, I hope.”

Madigan tapped his pen sharply on the desk. “Break it off before there’s a second.”

Brett’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“Stop this…affair before it goes any further.” Madigan’s voice was stern. “She’s a poor choice.”

“And why would that be?” Brett asked. His voice revealed no emotion, but below the desk, his fist clenched. Who did Clark think he was talking to, one of his interns?

“Some time ago Ms. Jarmon aired a story about St. Michael’s,” Madigan answered. “She ruffled some feathers.”

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” Brett began.

“It’s relevant,” Madigan said sharply. “Those feathers are still ruffled.” He leaned forward. “You have a bright future here, Brett. Don’t tarnish it by getting involved with someone who could jeopardize your standing in the medical community.”

Brett fought down his anger. “Look, Clark,” he said, willing his voice to stay calm, “I always appreciate professional advice, but what I do with my free time and who I spend it with is personal. It has nothing to do with my career.”

“On the contrary, it has everything to do with your career.” Madigan put his pen in his pocket. “Think it over. I’m confident you’ll come to the right decision.”

The two men rose. Brett forced himself to shake the proffered hand, say a cordial goodbye and leave.

Come to the “right” decision? Like hell, he thought as he strode down the hall. Clark Madigan had misjudged him. Challenging Brett’s actions made him that much more determined to continue on course. Madigan could say whatever he liked. Brett would damn well see who he wanted to.