Читать книгу Airborne Emergency - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 9

“DO YOU really want me to tell you? Or shall I surprise you?”

Vidal heard the aroused tone of his voice, felt his body hardening even more, had no control over it at all.

What was happening to him? What was he doing?

Instead of gulping down some coffee and heading for the plane he should have boarded an hour ago, he was waxing poetic, all but pouncing on the woman. A woman whose name he didn’t even know. A woman who might even be engaged or married.

His eyes darted to her hands—those supple, skilled fingers, made for taking lingeringly into his mouth...

Whoa. Focus, Vidal.

No rings. Good. Great.

But why great? Why should that matter? In an hour he’d leave, never see her again. And, anyway, she’d said she was a surgeon. That probably explained the absence of rings. She wasn’t wearing any kind of jewelry at all. And she should—she should wear sapphires, like her eyes—and nothing else, with just his leg thrown over hers for cover...

What was wrong with him? He didn’t pursue women. Never. Not even in his mind. In fact, he’d turned dodging them into an art. So what was he doing, standing there like a hormone-ridden adolescent, panting over this—this...vision?

Vision? The woman wasn’t even beautiful!

No, just the answer to his every taste and fantasy.

“So, will you tell me? Or will you just stand there and hyperventilate?” The vision was also all but laughing her head off at his eagerness. He should mind. He didn’t.

He gazed into her disarming eyes and something warm and soft spread in his gut. Let her make fun of him if it would keep them radiating that wicked innocence, make that exquisite head tilt, letting that burnished carmine hair riot over those full...

That’s it. He’d gone over the edge. Right into mental breakdown.

He’d thought he’d been suffering from clinical depression. But no depression manifested as uncontrollable lust and a desire to make a fool of oneself. Maybe manic depression?

Oh, whatever. It was worth it. She was worth it.

“I am far from back to normal.” He pitched his voice lower, throwing himself into this weirdness of wanting to be open, needing to communicate. “And right now I’m wiped out. I forgot how exhausting CPR can be. If it wasn’t for you taking over ventilation, I think I would have passed out. So I could say that’s why I’m hyperventilating. But I won’t. It’s you. You leave me breathless.” He reached out, ran his thumb over the elegant line of her nose, tracing the soft freckles’ pattern. She let him, her eyes turning turquoise with... equal eagerness?

“And you’ll leave me in suspense? Oh, the torture!” she gasped in perfect damsel-in-distress mode, her lament both intentionally silly and provocative.

Her teasing tickled his all but forgotten sense of humor. Madre de Dios, she was inviting his intimacy—and what an invitation. Heat rose inside him, took him over.

“Want to know what’s torture?” He placed his arms on both sides of her, bore down on her. Her fresh scent deluged him, mock-distressed lips just a breath away. She only deserved that he devour them. His eyes moved from her lips to her eyes, explicit with his desire. Then he voiced it. “Another minute without tasting you.”

Her eyes flickered, her lips opened on a tiny gasp. Then her breath rushed out, scorching his cheek. Would she back off?

She didn’t.

Purpose settled in her bewitching eyes. Those smoldering, exuberant, piercingly intelligent eyes. Eyes to drown gratefully in. But was that challenge, too? Conviction that he’d back off?

Not on her life. Or his. He was out of control, and loving it. Only one thing mattered: showing her how much she affected him. Taking this to the next level, right now. He wanted this to continue, wherever it took him. Wanted to connect with her, bind her somehow, so he’d find her again when he returned.

He sat down on the couch beside her, his hands reaching for her, stinging with the need to make contact with her. Her eyes shot wider before her lids fell, obscuring her reaction. Her head was a perfect fit cradled in his large palm, angled for his deliberate approach. Her heat rose to meet his, igniting him.

It had been too long. Forgotten—no, unknown. That blast of awareness, that gnawing anticipation. He was still alive after all.

His other hand dipped in the curve of her waist. Dios—that steep, firm curve. She gasped. He drew her closer until her breasts brushed his chest. Her every nerve seemed to tremble and buzz under hands that felt like electrodes of a monitor, tapping into her reactions, recording them. Turbulent, anxious, feverish. Or were those his sensations, doubling back up his awareness pathways?

His eyes scanned for signs of apprehension, rejection. None. She was nervous, yes, but willing, impatient for him. As he was for her, for those lips.

At the last second, he remembered. His lips landed on her velvet cheek instead. “You got enough of my resistant strains today,” he murmured against her flesh, burying his hunger in a trail all the way down to her pulse, settling there and feasting. Dios, this was hot, powerful—unprecedented. She lurched, panting as hard as he was. It was the same way with her. “Querida...”

“Cassandra, there you are!”

The voice drowned his whisper, snapped their surroundings back. He turned vexed eyes around, saw a brunette walking up to them.

“Thought you must be going crazy, looking for this. Apparently not.” The woman held up a handbag, but her eyes were on him. He almost groaned at the familiar combination of extreme female interest and curiosity. “A woman gave it to me. She’d seen us together earlier, said you’d left it behind in the cafeteria when you ran to the emergency. She’d also seen you...rushing here. Sorry I mucked it up a bit. I had to produce something to prove to the guards it’s yours.”

Vidal still heard the woman talking, yet made no sense of anything any more. The name ‘Cassandra’ was sinking into his mind like a megaton depth charge. Then it exploded.

Cassandra.

She was a Cassandra? As in Cassandra St James?

No. No. Dios, no! You can’t be this cruel.

Thoughts screeched, frantic for a way out, until something started burning inside his head.

It had to be someone else. The world was full of Cassandras.

Si, ciertamente. Full of Cassandras who were American, surgeons, redheads and in Madrid Airport at the same time Cassandra St James was.

And God didn’t have anything to do with any of this. He had only himself to blame. He had felt something cataclysmic brewing the moment he’d seen her. Felt it and disregarded it. Chose to mis-interpret it even.

But this—this was far worse than anything his morbid imagination could have conjured up.

It was her.

Arthur’s daughter. Arthur’s daughter.

Not only that but, if memory served, and it did, the most obnoxious creature who’d ever lived. And he’d been making a fool of himself over her. Far more than a fool. Totally out of line. Totally out of control.

Totally out of character.

Rewind and erase. That was the only way out. Forget his every thought and word and action since she’d turned around in that cafeteria with that pouting glower setting her unique face on passionate fire.

But time travel and rewriting history aside, he just had to resolve the flaming mess he’d made. The poor kid would go into shock the moment he told her who he was.

OK, fine, so she wasn’t a kid any more. And she’d never been ‘poor’. Or a kid, for that matter. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a pink-haired holy terror. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be shocked now. She hadn’t seen him since that fateful day fourteen years ago when he’d come so close to...

Anyway, she’d probably forgotten he existed. Now, when she found out who exactly it was who’d been coming onto her, hot and heavy, who’d had his hands, his lips all over her—Dios, would she believe he hadn’t recognized her?

Breathe. Snap out of it. He couldn’t take refuge in shock any longer. His hands were still around her. Limp and nerveless but still there. He had to remove them, had to look at her some time. At last he did. And what he saw in her eyes...

Blood surged to his head, smearing his vision red.

No need to worry about confronting her with his identity.

She knew who he was.

She’d known all along!

* * *

This was better than anything she’d expected.

Vidal had gone from white to green to blue. And now purple.

He realized who she was. Realized she was way ahead of him in the recognition department. And he didn’t like it. Whoo boy, didn’t he ever.

Let him taste crushing embarrassment for a change.

Savor his humiliation later. Run and leave him stewing in it. “Oh, thanks, Ashley.” She stood up, making one last contact with his arm as he drew it away, and almost collapsed down again. Her hand trembled as she took the handbag, her other hand on Ashley’s arm more for support than for steering her away, too. It wasn’t that easy to distract Ashley from gaping at Vidal. She tried harder. “And I hope you kissed that lady for me. It would have been a nightmare if it had gotten lost. What would I have done without... identification?”

She wished she could turn to see her jibe’s effect. She couldn’t. She could barely keep upright, stop herself from collapsing in demented giggling. She didn’t need to look, though. Fury emanated from him, coming faster, hotter, bombarding her, sinking into her flesh, giving her a pretty good idea of how he was feeling.

“Someone would have reported it to airport security sooner or later,” Ashley said, resisting Cassandra’s efforts to move her, her eyes darting from her to Vidal, full of avid questions.

“All personnel of the Jet Hospital heading to Casablanca, Morocco, please, board now at boarding gate number 19.”

The announcement was a summons from the heavens. A perfect escape. “See? Even if they had, I probably wouldn’t have had time to collect it.”

“Of course you would have. They wouldn’t have taken off without you!” Ashley’s astonished glance all but asked about her walking away from Vidal without a glance. Vidal, the man whose lips had been buried in her neck just minutes ago. Lips that must have sucked dry all her energy and bravado, right along with her sanity.

She had to run. Now. “Let’s hurry. No reason to keep everyone waiting.”

She’d taken only one step when his voice broke over her. “Everyone can wait while you introduce me to your friend, don’t you think...Cassandra?”

His voice. Glacial. Hair-raising. Oh, lord. She hadn’t thought this through, hadn’t thought how this would end. How he’d retaliate. What if he got abusive?

Well, let him try. Then he’d really get exactly what was coming to him.

Puffing out her chest, she turned. And swayed. His eyes slammed into her again, not with instant desire and enveloping heat, but with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. An incensed Vidal, suppressed violence crackling from his every pore, his formidable body a foot away from hers, trapping her against the wall more effectively than if he’d crushed her to it...

Intimidating. She hated to admit it, but he’d been intimidating then and he was far more so now. She hated, too, to find herself wanting to deny any knowledge of his identity. Oh, no. She’d see this through.

“Oh, we really don’t have time for that now, Vidal.”

He rose. The world shrank. “But we do, querida. As much time as we need.”

The change in him was spectacular. No passion now. No humanity. This man looked every atom the soulless narcissist she knew he was.

Those eyes will never feast on you again, make you soar.

Oh, stop it!

This was Vidal. He’d been faking it all. Handing her a line. And even if he hadn’t been, he was the only man in the species she’d condemned beyond redemption.

“Vidal?” That was Ashley, squeaking. “You’re Dr Santiago? Our mission leader?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

It took a heartbeat for his calm answer to Ashley to sink in. Then it hit. This time, when her heart stopped, it felt as if it would stop forever.

* * *

Vidal saw Cassandra’s reaction, felt it. He’d been counting her breaths, her blinks, the times she’d licked her lips—those lips... Focus. Focus. Not on what he’d thought, felt. On who—what she was. What she’d done. What she was thinking, feeling.

This was news to her. She hadn’t known he was her mission leader.

How come? Could it be...? Hmm.

Maybe this situation wasn’t a total disaster after all.

Before any of them could utter another word, the security guards entered the lounge, deeming Ashley had had enough time to deliver the bag and should leave.

Ashley shrugged her disappointment. “We’ll meet properly on board the Jet, Dr Santiago,” she said. “I’m your mission logistician, by the way.”

It took him a moment to notice Ashley’s extended hand. He shook it with a calm nod, calmness that was totally artificial, and saw her widen her eyes meaningfully into Cassandra’s shocked ones, giving the message, Later. Oh, yes, he’d love to be there “later,” when Cassandra explained this whole mess to her colleague.

The moment the door closed behind Ashley, Cassandra sat down again. Fell down, more like. Savage satisfaction frothed inside him. Good. She was as flabbergasted as he was. But she couldn’t be as enraged. All he wanted was to pull her up, haul her into his arms and crush her to his... No, no. He had to stop this, squash it. This was Arthur’s daughter. He couldn’t think of her that way. Off limits. She was off limits.

“Ha ha!”

His eyes narrowed on her. Saw shock receding, challenge replacing it. What now?

She rose to her feet again, hooked her handbag on her shoulder, tossed her magnificent hair. His body, his head tightened. Dammit. Damn her!

“Good one, Vidal. You almost had me there for a moment.”

“Which moment would that be? The one before or the one after Ashley set me straight? The one before, I definitely had you—”

She interrupted him, voice and eyes sharp, color high. “Let’s not play any more games. You know what I mean. Now if you’re satisfied...”

“Satisfied?” He’d never known frustration like this. Recognizing her should have killed his craving. His body shouldn’t still be on fire. This was the woman who’d once been a thorn in his side, who’d given him a harder time than his parents and jailers combined. Who’d clearly matured into a bona fide monster. “And I only realized there was a game going on five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but you’re quick on the uptake, I’ll give you that. You tossed it right back at me. So, now we’re even and I have a plane to catch.”

She’d decided he was bluffing, was feeling all secure and relieved again.

That’s nice, he thought viciously. Now, to string her along or not to string her along? There was the score of those ten years she’d just knocked off his life expectancy.

He stepped into her path as she made to hurry away. She couldn’t stop in time. His body broke her momentum. He jerked back the moment she did. This was ridiculous, this current that constantly arced between them.

He should just let her go, get his bearings, stock up stamina for a confrontation, let her find him on the plane—take it from there.

No. They had to settle this now, in private. He couldn’t jeopardize the mission with personal vendettas. Drawing this out, to get back at her, was also not on.

There was another call to board the Jet. Her eyes turned from wary to anxious to angry in seconds.

“Vidal, get out of my way and go pick up someone else.”

“Is this any way to talk to an old friend and your new boss?”

“Since you’re neither, I’ll talk any way I please. You’ve had your joke, Vidal. Now move!”

“Don’t worry. The Jet won’t leave without me. You transited in Madrid to pick me up after all.”

“Cute. You could have read that in the papers. There’s been enough publicity over the maiden voyage of Global Aid Organization’s first Jet Hospital over the last couple of days.”

He sighed. There was only one way she’d believe him.

He took her arm and towed her out of the VIP lounge, through the special exit connecting it with the boarding gates.

“You’ve taken this far enough, Vidal!” she spluttered, yet stopped resisting him when she found gate 19 at the end of the corridor. Her steps picked up speed, thinking she’d escape him there, leave him behind and forget about him and the whole nasty episode. If only. No such luck.

“As far as you took your...prank?” They’d reached the boarding checkpoint. She flashed her special pass at the woman, the pass GAO issued its volunteers which would get them on and off the Jet in all their stops around the world. The moment she was ushered in she shook off his hand and strode ahead. He let her go. He’d join her soon enough.

He nodded at the woman who insisted he shouldn’t even produce his pass. “You go right in, Dr Santiago. It’s lovely to see you again. We’ve been hearing all about your Jet Hospital project. May I tell you how great it all sounds? Have a safe and productive journey.”

He passed into the tube connecting the airport to the Jet. Cassandra was rooted there, a look of absolute horror on her expressive face.

She’d heard. Now she knew. It should taste good, getting back at her.

It didn’t.

He’d been bracing himself for three months in purgatory being in constant contact with her. But suddenly purgatory sounded good. He’d take purgatory.

For now it seemed he was getting hell.

“You’re not Vidal Santiago!”

Cassandra heard the choking words, realized she’d said them. It was a miracle she could speak at all. This had to be a nightmare. He had to be lying. This woman back there had to have made a mistake. Another victim of Vidal’s hypnotic powers.

“We can stand in this tube all morning or we can board and talk about this later.” He took her arm and she shook him off again. He sighed. “All right. Here...” He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket, produced his pass and held it up inches from her eyes. His photograph, even grimmer than reality, but him. And the name beneath it. Vidal A. Santiago.

“You can’t be Vidal Santiago. Your name is—”

“Was Arroyo Martinez—both my father’s and mother’s family names, in the Spanish tradition. I changed it.”

“How? When? Why?”

“Through legal paperwork, a few years ago. That’s how and when. As for why, I didn’t think I owed it to either my father or mother to carry their family names. Satisfied?”

He’d asked that question before, in utmost incredulity. It was her turn to be incredulous. He’d changed his name? How come her father hadn’t mentioned that? Did he even know? No, he probably didn’t. Oh, he always said Vidal kept in touch with him, always tried to make excuses for him. But here was proof that he didn’t. Her father would have known of his name change if he had. And because he didn’t, there she was, with Vidal as her boss. She was going to see him every minute of every day for the next three months!

“Oh, no, you can’t be my boss.”

“Well, I am. And, believe me, I share your horror. But the solution to this mess is all in your hands.”

“My hands? What are you talking about?”

“If you take the first flight back to Los Angeles, all this will be over.”

“Why don’t you take the first flight to—to Geneva or Dubai or any other scenic location where you usually stay?”

“Because I’m the mission leader. Without me there’d be no Jet Hospital maiden voyage.”

“And without me you’d be minus your chief surgeon and second in command.”

“I’m willing to give up the luxury of both.”

“You know you can’t. And I’m not willing to give up this mission just to make you more comfortable.”

“You’d be more comfortable, too. And you don’t have to worry about the mission. I’ll find a replacement.”

“You mean you have surgeons of my qualifications falling over themselves to volunteer for this mission?”

“Not really, but—”

“So when do you expect to get someone else? A week before the mission’s over? Or do you intend to postpone it until you do?”

“A day’s delay costs tens of thousands of dollars...”

“So there will be no postponement, will there? If I leave, you go out there short-staffed, boss.”

His neutral glance turned dark. Forbidding. She shivered and looked away, refusing to let him see how he rattled her. “So we’re trapped, aren’t we?”

A moment’s silence, then he exhaled. Without volition, her eyes went to his. They’d emptied again. When he spoke again his voice was as vacant. “Seems so. And since we are, let’s not make much out of this. It was really too silly. So, whatever you were putting me in my place for, I hope it’s out of your system now.”

He didn’t know what for? He didn’t remember? Probably. He must have had a thousand similar incidents in his life. Not that that incident had been what had driven her to lead him on. Her loathing had ceased to be personal long ago. She had endless reasons, family-related as well as professional, to despise Dr Vidal Arroyo Martinez, a.k.a. Vidal Santiago.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He just turned and walked away. In a minute, he disappeared through the door of the aircraft. Feeling stupid and very, very small all of a sudden, Cassandra followed, reality sinking in with each step.

Please. Let me wake up screaming, in a cold sweat and in my seat.

She didn’t. And wouldn’t. This was one nightmare she’d have to live through.

* * *

“Come in Dr St James,” Vidal said when she stood hovering at the door of the cockpit, his voice and his face expressionless. So, that was how it was going to be from now on, huh? She should have felt relieved, but she only ached with disappointment. Losing that fierce hunger that ate her up, made her soar with giddy gratification... “Meet Captain Harry Styles.”

Giving herself a mental shake, she shook the captain’s hand. Vidal went on. “Harry is our operations manager and the best pilot on planet earth.”

The tall blond man guffawed. “That’s right, Dr St James. And Vidal can tell no lies.”

Nice man. A few years older than Vidal, open, with loads of positive energy. Not like the debilitating electricity Vidal generated. She liked him at once. Her smile warmed, tension seeping out of her. “Cassandra, please. Dr St James is a mouthful.”

“With pleasure, Cassandra. Lovely name for a lovelier lady. My opinion of surgeons is fast changing.” Harry winked at Vidal.

Some intensity entered Vidal’s blank expression as he looked at his friend, yet there wasn’t even the shadow of a smile to answer the man’s wide grin. The Vidal she’d known hadn’t been given to smiling. Come to think of it, he hadn’t smiled at her at all so far. Not even when he’d been intent on seducing her. He’d scorched her to the bone with his blatant desire, but no smiles.

“It would have been scary if you found me lovely, Harry.” Vidal’s dry answer brought another guffaw from Harry. Vidal’s lips twisted. She couldn’t call that a smile either. “So, Cassandra, I presume you’ve met everyone?”

She shook her head. “No. I boarded the Jet after a six-hour wait in Los Angeles airport and fell asleep the moment I hit my seat. I woke up when we landed in New York then went right back to sleep the rest of the way to Madrid. I haven’t gone over the Jet either. Just studied the schematics and leafed through my job description.”

“That’s what mission leaders are for. We’ll go over everything in detail together, the technical matters as well as the mission specs.” Vidal turned to Harry. “How about introducing your flight crew to Cassandra now?”

“Sure,” Harry said, and picked up the mike.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Please, no. Let me get to know them during the trip, one by one. If you line them up and fire names at me, they’ll just spill out of my other ear.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Harry grinned at her.

“Realistic at least,” was Vidal’s dry rejoinder. “I’ve met only a few here, too. So, what would you advise, Harry? Should I brief everyone and lay down the ground rules now, or later after take-off?”

“You go ahead now. It’ll be another half-hour before take-off,” Harry said.

“Call everyone for me, then.” He turned those cool eyes on her. “After you.”

Smiling a goodbye at Harry, she preceded Vidal out of the cockpit, almost bumping into the man entering it in her haste to move away from him. Murmuring a greeting to Sean McMahon, the co-pilot she’d already met, she almost shouted for Vidal to keep away from her. But he was away now, a few footsteps from her. Yet his aura was all around her. She finally flopped into her seat, the one she’d chosen in the third row, shaking with relief at having put a few meters between them.

By now, Harry’s page had brought the flight’s medical volunteers and all other personnel flocking to their seats. Vidal stood in the left aisle, beside the huge screen facing the seating area.

He started immediately. “Good morning, everyone. For those who don’t know me, my name is Vidal Santiago. I’m your mission leader and I’m what everyone likes to call a plastic surgeon. I don’t know why—I haven’t operated on any dolls yet. I prefer the label of reconstructive surgeon, but who am I to argue with common opinion?” He paused as chuckles rose, then went on. “Before I give you a quick run-through of our mission and our facilities, let me thank each and every one of you for being here today. You could have been somewhere else making money, or at least sleeping in your own beds every night.”

He nodded to Louisa, the nurse Cassandra had spent the hours at the airport with, and she handed him a baton and nodded to a flight attendant.

The lights dimmed and the screen lit up, turning Vidal into a towering silhouette. The sight thumped in Cassandra’s chest, making it hard to breathe, to understand a word he said.

She tried harder, heard him saying, “I’m sorry for all the time you lost and the confusion over your roles and the mission’s schedule. The mess-up and the last-minute changes are all my fault, I’m afraid. But you have an idea about the mission and now I’m going to use this slide show to recap everything, make the transition from the theoretical to the practical and give you a clear overview of what this mission entails.”

He unfolded the baton to its two-foot telescoping length, rapped it onto his other palm, held it there like a principal addressing his third-graders.

“First, some boasting. No matter what other agencies tell you to the contrary, our Jet Hospital is the largest, fully equipped, self-contained airborne hospital ever built. We’re a one hundred per cent non-religious humanitarian effort and our mission is unequivocal: we’re citizens of the world and the Jet Hospital will be available to help the sick and needy of any nation.” He paused, then drawled, “Do inform me if I’m boring you to tears. My bite is worse than my bark, but, then, you’re all brave people or you wouldn’t be here in the first place. No contenders? Hmm—the kind of team I like to lead.”

A ripple of laughter echoed. Cassandra bristled. Mostly because she found her lips twitching, too. So the man had a sense of humor. When had he grown one? Or had he had it grafted?

“OK, after that back-patting we’ve all yet to earn, let’s get down to some hard facts. Louisa?” The first slide flicked on the screen. A cut-through diagram of the Jet Hospital. “I’ll be predictable and go from front to back. Behind the cockpit, the Jet has the crew transportation-educational center we’re currently in, which has a seating capacity of ninety. We’re below that number now, but as we land in our target countries and patients and local medical personnel join us on board, we might have to break out the folding beach chairs. I hope you brought your own.”

Another ripple of laughter. He didn’t wait for it to die down and went on, commenting on each slide as it came up. “These are the dental, ophthalmology, ENT—ear, nose, throat—stations. Here’s the trauma-triage area, the minor surgical-examination area, the pre-operative and recovery area with fourteen hospital beds. And last, in the back, the four surgical suites. Our facilities are state of the art, with the latest technology in diagnostic equipment, laparoscopic and arthroscopic surgical equipment and a complete pharmacy.”

“You mean we have a CT machine beneath all those covers?” Joseph Ashton, the mission’s head anesthetist, whom Cassandra had met briefly before boarding, asked.

“Give us a break, will you, Joseph? We’ve got everything, apart from CT and MRI machines— space limitations, you understand.”

“And how complete is the pharmacy?” a man she didn’t know asked.

“As complete as they come.”

Get to the important stuff, she was about to scream. She wanted this little reconnaissance over and Vidal out of her sight. And earshot.

“Are we going to talk about the mission details?” She was aware of everyone turning to look at her. She lowered her voice, injected neutrality in it. “Up until yesterday, there hasn’t been a definite itinerary. And what about the case load and distribution of responsibilities?”

He turned his eyes on her in the semi-darkness. Did they glow or was she hallucinating? Probably both.

“After Casablanca we go to Muscat, Oman; Hyderabad, India; Tashkent, Uzbekistan; and Baku, Azerbaijan. As for our case load, those have been preselected by our partnering medical facilities in each of these countries, on the basis of complexity and unavailability of proper treatment options locally. So your guess is as good as mine. Among us we do have enough expertise to handle anything they throw at us. As for responsibilities, those will have to be flexible. Each of you will still be in the position you signed on for, but I’ll work out a list of daily chores, then you will make sure everyone knows where to be and what to do on each given day.”

“Where to be? You mean in the different stations in the Jet?”

“No. To get the most done, whenever possible we’ll work in partnering hospitals and offsite clinics, even set up tents in auxiliary areas to treat medical conditions that don’t require the Jet’s facilities.”

“Is the training-teaching side of our mission still on? I heard it was off because of time constraints.”

“Then you heard wrong. We will be training local medical professionals in the latest medical and surgical procedures. Either on their turf or on ours, either by direct attendance or tele-medicine—broadcasting on-board surgeries in this miniature theater. There’ll be lectures, too, which each of you will contribute to.”

A general murmur of unease went through the audience.

“C’mon, folks. Stage fright never killed anyone. Start thinking of the most recent and effective procedures that benefit you in your specialty and write something comprehensive. Anyone needing any reference resources, we have two computers with a complete medical library.”

He waited until they settled again. “So...I expect you to get to know one another. Those I haven’t met, come later, one at a time, please, and introduce yourselves. Now, problems! When they’re medical, you report to me. If I’m unavailable, you report to Dr Cassandra St James. If it’s anything else, I advise you run to Harry, or anyone from our management team, consultants or logisticians.” He stopped, his eyes panning over the crowd. “Hi, there, Ashley.” Cassandra heard Ashley’s splutter. He moved his focus at once but Ashley’s distress didn’t end that easily. “OK— questions?”

No one said anything. What was there to say? He’d said it all.

So the man had rhythm, focus, and clarity of communication. He’d make a hell of an instructor.

He snapped the baton closed and sighed. “I see I’ve put you to sleep. Good, you’ll need it in the coming months. In fact, I advise you to grab every moment of rest you can. And don’t eat anything you don’t recognize. We don’t want any of you on our patient lists. Anyone interested in going over the Jet for real, follow me.”

The light came back on and she blinked. He passed by her seat, not even looking at her. Her every hair stood on end nevertheless. She rose, followed the line that had formed in his wake. All the women were in that line.

She gritted her teeth. His harem had already formed. The worst part was she knew why. She’d gotten a first-hand taste—and touch and scent—of his influence, hadn’t she?

But it wasn’t only that roiling inside her. Her mind was tangling over his contradictions. His multiple personalities, more like. Which was the real him? The Vidal who’d rushed to save the little boy, who was heading this most ambitious humanitarian mission? Or the Vidal who’d treated the people who loved him like dirt, who’d made a staggering fortune combining his surgical talents with the tricks he’d perfected through his years as a con artist and a thief?