Racing Against the Clock Page 6

  How had she managed to resurrect his emotions so completely in such a short time? How did he fight these dangerous feelings while at the same time help her?

  He felt confused, baffled by both his attraction and her extraordinary afflictions. He found himself caught up in backwash he did not understand, unable to solve his dilemma but equally unable to retreat. Like it or not, he was caught up like a fish in a net. He was involved.

  High time you got truly involved with something again, his conscience gloated.

  But he feared he was not up to the challenge. It had been a long time since he’d put himself out for another human being and he wasn’t so sure he could handle the implications. What had he gotten himself into?

  She was an enigma, a riddle, a paradox that compelled him despite his reservations. If only she could remember something about herself. If only he knew what chemicals she had been carrying with her and for what purpose. If only he could explain this inexplicable pull toward her.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—those vulnerable lips, those wide blue eyes, that mass of golden hair.

  After wrestling with the covers for over an hour, Tyler switched on a small bedside lamp, slung his legs over the side and browsed through the books mounted on the shelf over the headboard.

  There weren’t many medical books here. Yvette had been loath for him to work at the beach, so most of the volumes were either basic textbooks or short paperbacks on first aid. Nothing about chemicals and certainly nothing about spontaneous healings. Then one title jumped out at him, squeezing off his airway.

  Healing Your Cancer From Within.

  After all these years, any reminder of Yvette still had the power to knock the wind from his lungs. She had been so young, so pretty and full of life, looking forward to conceiving their first baby. It had been during a routine visit to the ob-gyn, in preparation for getting pregnant, that the doctor had discovered she had leukemia. But it had been over four months before she had broken the bad news to him.

  Tyler fisted his hand as the familiar anger rocked back into his life. His wife had cheated him of precious moments, all because she hadn’t wanted to worry him while he was finishing his surgical residency.

  The memory of that awful day when she finally told him the truth was burned into his subconscious. Metastasis. To her lungs and liver. Prognosis poor. Six months to live. With chemo. Four months had already passed and she had decided on her own not to have chemotherapy. Single-handedly she had made the choice without him.

  There would be no babies. They would not grow old together.

  Shocked, Tyler had slumped into denial. He simply could not bring himself to accept the cruel diagnosis. The doctors had to be wrong. This could not be happening. Not to his young, beautiful, vibrant wife. She could beat it. She would live.

  Yvette had handled the news with her usual quiet calm. She had always been spiritual and she turned deeper into her religion. Buying books such as this one that promised if you just prayed hard enough God would heal you.

  Rubbish. Tyler jerked the book from the shelf and flung it across the room. It struck the wall with a resounding whack.

  He’d lost whatever naive beliefs he’d ever held about miracles.

  He was still angry, still very guilty. He should have detected her cancer himself. But no, he had been as useless as a third thumb, and even after the diagnosis he had been unable to do anything but sit idly by and watch her die. There was no greater torture for a physician. Because of his denial, he had never said the things that needed to be said, but he had brought her to the beach in the end, as she had wished.

  It was hard for Tyler to come back here. He associated the beach house with her death and could not say why he hadn’t sold the place years ago.

  It had been too late to save his wife. Maybe he wasn’t too late to save Jane Doe. Perhaps that was why fate had deposited her in his emergency room. He was a doctor, dammit. He should be able to save someone.

  It frustrated him that the hospital laboratory had been unable to identify the toxic chemicals in Jane Doe’s car. Running his hands through his hair, Tyler paced. Over and over he tried to rationalize what he had seen this past evening. How one minute Jane had been broken and bleeding, hovering on the verge of death and later that night she had been in his car wolfing down a hamburger, her battered body completely healed.

  There had to be a logical, rational explanation, and he would find it if he just looked long enough.

  Then he remembered the symptoms she’d suffered when they were walking on the beach. Obviously, she wasn’t completely healed. And what about those lab reports? The ones that indicated she might have cancer?

  The conundrum intrigued him almost as much as the lady herself. He had the strangest feeling she was faking her amnesia. But why? What was she hiding from him? Was she in trouble with the law? And how could he get her to trust him enough to give him the answer? She was a very private person and by her own admission, distrustful. Her remoteness evident in the way she held herself aloof, a little shy, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to react to people.

  What was he going to do with her? What if her amnesia was real? He should report her case to the police but Tyler knew he wasn’t going to do that.

  An odd excitement raced through him. A sensation of aliveness he hadn’t felt since Yvette’s death. If he could find out how Jane Doe had been healed, he might be able to heal others in the same manner. The possibilities were mind-boggling and flew in the face of all rational thought, but Tyler knew something miraculous had happened and he intended to find out exactly what it was.

  Fingers trembling, Hannah called an operator and had her re-dial Marcus’ telephone number. She held her breath. It rang.

  Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the operator interrupted, “no one seems to be answering.”

  “Please, could you let it ring longer? My friend was just there. We were cut off.”

  The operator sighed as if Hannah had asked for the key to Fort Knox. “All right.”

  More empty rings.

  “Your party is simply not picking up.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah cradled the receiver and sank against the wall.

  What had happened to Marcus? Why had the line gone suddenly dead and why hadn’t he answered when she called back? Her imagination ran rampant as she imagined Daycon or one of his hired henchmen standing in Marcus’s bedroom with a gun pressed to his temple, making all kinds of awful threats. She shuddered. By calling him, had she inadvertently placed Marcus in mortal danger?

  “What’s going on?”

  Hannah jumped and clutched a hand to her chest. She had been so concerned about Marcus’s welfare that she hadn’t heard Tyler come into the room.

  His dark eyes were disconcertingly intense, as if he knew exactly what she was hiding. Her stomach churned and for a moment she thought she might be sick.

  “I…er…” she stammered, and gestured helplessly. She couldn’t explain anything to him without drawing him deeper into her problems. He was a nice man and didn’t deserve to be mixed up in this mess. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

  “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “No,” she whispered softly, surprised by the strange look in his deep chocolate eyes.

  His gaze landed on hers. Hannah caught her breath. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away. He seemed intent on searching her soul, on getting answers to his questions.

  “If you tell me the truth maybe I can help you.”

  “Truth?”

  “About those chemicals in your car.”

  “I told you before that I don’t know anything about any chemicals.” She hated lying to him, but it was for his own safety.

  “Jane, or whatever your name is, whether you realize it or not, you’re in serious trouble.” His tone of voice suggested he was saddened by her response and disappointed in her.

  Hannah’s eyes widened. She h
ated to think that she had displeased him. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip despite the chill in the room. How did he know she was in trouble?

  “Come here.” He extended his arms to her. “You look as if you could use a hug.”

  “I’m all right.” Hannah shook her head and wrapped her arms around her chest. She wanted to hug him and yet she was afraid. Too many years of keeping her distance from people had held her in reserve.

  Plus, she was afraid that if she ever let down her guard, even just a little bit, she would totally unravel and never be able to put herself back together again.

  “Are you sure?” His eyes softened. “I’ve got broad shoulders just perfect for crying on.” There was such self-assurance in his voice. He had no clue that crying on his shoulders would not fix anything. He was a doctor, accustomed to performing miracles. How could he know her problems were far beyond his expertise?

  She managed to return his smile in spite of her escalating anxiety. How easy it would be to step into his welcoming embrace, and yet how utterly hard. She fought against the attraction urging her to give in and accept his comfort. “I appreciate the offer.”

  “It’s an open invitation.” He dropped his arms to his side. “What are you doing up this early? Did you need something?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Would you like a sleeping pill?”

  “No!” The last thing she needed was to be knocked out. Despite the exhaustion permeating her body, she must remain alert.

  “Okay. It’s probably better to avoid drugs anyway. There’s no telling how they might react with those chemicals you came into contact with.” His brow knit with concern.

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Listen, I have surgery at seven-thirty this morning, so I have to head back to Houston. I’m sorry, there’s no food in the house but there’s a convenience store at the end of the block that should be open in a hour. Do you think you can walk that far?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll leave you some cash.” He picked up his wallet off the bar and pulled out three twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the counter. “Will you be all right here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sleep, read, rest. Make yourself at home. I should be back by three-thirty since I’m not on call today.”

  “Thank you so very much. I’ll pay you back whenever I can. I promise.”

  “I’m not worried about it and if you need something else to wear later on, check out the closet in my bedroom. There’re some clothes that used to belong to my wife and you’re just about her size.”

  “You’re very generous.”

  Tyler looked deeply into her eyes. “You will be here when I get back.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I can’t make any promises,” she admitted.

  “Here’s my beeper number.” He scrawled the number on a notepad hanging by the telephone. “Page me if you need me.”

  Unexpected tears misted her eyes. Why was he being so nice to her? She was nothing to him. An odd stranger who had materialized in his emergency room. She didn’t know how to deal with kindness. She wasn’t used to such an intimate connection with others.

  “You’re feeling a little emotional,” he said as if he could read her thoughts. “It’s not surprising, given the circumstances. Come.” He held out his arm. “Let me put you back into bed.”

  Uncertain, she hung back, but Dr. Fresno was not the type to take her hesitation for an answer. Smoothly, he reached over and slipped his hand into hers.

  His touch instantly calmed her in a way that confused Hannah. Why should she be so reassured by a stranger? Especially when there was nothing he could really do to help her. And yet she felt safer with him than she ever had with anyone, including her own parents.

  What was wrong with her? Why was she so hungry to trust this man?

  “Come,” he coaxed, drawing her upstairs beside him and draping his free arm around her shoulder.

  He was good at handling people. But of course, he was a medical doctor who had been taught the importance of therapeutic touch. She had the strongest urge to lean into his body and absorb his warmth, but she wasn’t accustomed to such intimacies with a total stranger, nor was she accustomed to following her emotions.

  Instead, she did what came naturally. She kept her shoulders stiff and her attention diverted from the sensation of his warm breath tickling the nape of her neck.

  “Here we are,” Tyler said gently, leading her into the guest bedroom. “Back to bed.”

  Hannah’s heart did a strange little skip. She couldn’t stop looking at him. She admired his strong jaw, the curve of his firm chin, the flat planes of his cheeks. She took a curious delight in the way his hair curled along his collar. She yearned to run her fingers along his neck and knead those corded muscles.

  What she wanted was for Dr. Fresno to make love to her. She wanted him to kiss her. She ached to feel his hands at her back, pulling her close, locking her to him. She longed to rip off his pajamas and share with him the hottest, most dynamic sexual passion she’d never had the pleasure to experience.

  But were her feelings really based on pure sexual need, as she told herself they were, or was it something frighteningly more? Was she really just seeking to assuage her fear and loneliness through bodily contact?

  Earth to Hannah, earth to Hannah. This man is not a potential lover.

  He dropped his hand and sadness enveloped her. She did not want him to let go. Where were these feelings coming from? Why the attraction? Was it because he played the knight in shining armor so well? If the truth be told, she was a sucker for Prince Charming.

  “Hop in.” He turned back the covers and patted the mattress.

  Obeying, she slid between the sheets and resisted the urge to pull him down beside her.

  “That’s right.” He raised the covers up to her chin. “There. Snug as a bug in a rug.”

  Something tore loose inside Hannah. Something she could not identify. She wanted to laugh; she wanted to cry.

  “Get some shut-eye.” Then he leaned over and ever so lightly kissed her forehead.

  Sudden joy rushed through her as she realized what had just happened. Tyler had tucked her into bed. She had never been tucked in. When she was a child she got herself ready for bed and if she was lucky her parents would look up from their research to mutter good-night. There had been no nightly rituals involving bedtime stories or prayers or lullabies.

  At last, she was being tucked in like a normal girl. That’s all she had ever wanted. To be normal. But her one hundred and sixty IQ and her parents’ profession had prohibited any semblance of normalcy in her life. There’d been no slumber parties with friends. Indeed, there’d been precious few friends. No trips to amusement parks or the circus or the Ice Capades.

  It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t loved her, Hannah knew that, in their peculiar way, they had cared. They simply hadn’t known how to show affection and they had passed their cold heritage down to her. She had been so isolated from her feelings for so long that the simple act of Tyler tucking her into bed brought forth a string of unknown emotions. Emotions that scared as much as they excited.

  She felt as if she were living a weird dream and she worried about the side effects of her exposure to Virusall. It hadn’t been thoroughly tested. She could not know all the implications, ramifications or adverse reactions associated with the drug. She certainly hadn’t expected it to knit her fractured bone in less than an hour. That was something she still hadn’t come to terms with, even in the face of Marcus’s theory.

  This whole thing was uncanny. How could she be sad one minute and euphoric the next? She had no explanation, but surely it had something to do with her exposure to the drug, not her exposure to Dr. Fresno.

  Then Tyler was gone, shutting the door softly behind him and leaving Hannah lost. Stacking her hands beneath her cheek, she stared at the pale gray light creeping around the window. Her whole world was chang
ing and she didn’t know how to get it back in order.

  Nothing would ever be the same again. Absolutely nothing.

  Tyler barely made it to the hospital in time to scrub for the scheduled seven-thirty colectomy. While he performed his job with his usual precision and skill, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from occasionally wandering to Jane Doe.

  He thought of how his desire for her had almost gotten the better of him and it had been all he could do to keep from crawling into that twin guest bed with her. He should never have brought her to the beach house. He’d been recklessly stupid, impossibly insane. He should have just walked away from her. So what if she looked like Yvette. So what if the memory of his wife had prompted him to offer her sanctuary. It had been a very bad decision.

  Because he could not stop worrying about her.

  He had wanted to drop by the lab for the results of the additional tests he had performed on her the night before, but there simply hadn’t been time. After the colectomy came a 10:00 a.m. gall bladder and following that, a hernia repair. It was after one o’clock before he was able to grab a banana and yogurt from the cafeteria for lunch. Then, he stopped off to check on the paramedics that had been admitted the night before.

  The men had been dismissed, the floor nurse on duty told him. Both claiming they had never felt so good. Tyler had reviewed their charts, checking their labs. Like Hannah’s, their white blood cell count had been low, their platelets high upon admission, but the repeat study done that morning had shown their levels had returned to normal. Puzzling over this, but more optimistic about Hannah’s prognosis, Tyler made his way to the lab.

  “Afternoon, Danny,” he greeted the lab technician.

  “And good day it is to you, Doctor Fresno.” Danny peered up at him from his microscope. “How might I help you?”

  “Remember those chemicals I had you test for me yesterday?”

  “From the Jane Doe MVA.”

  “That’s right. Did you have any luck identifying the substance?”

  A strange expression passed over Danny’s ruddy features. “Some, but not a complete analysis.”