“What the hell is going on?”
The older woman turned her head and covered her mouth so that only Reese could hear. “Ambassador Merriweather’s landed, and from the looks of it, he’s brought half his staff with him.”
He could see that. That still didn’t answer the question. “Why?”
The woman shrugged her wide shoulders. This was causing havoc on her usually smooth-running floor. “Something about keeping his daughter safe.”
Reese felt his anger heighten. Maybe he was over-reacting. His quick temper went back to the days when he was growing up and was regarded as someone from the wrong side of the tracks, someone whose opinion—because his mother’s bank account was represented by a jar she kept in a box beneath her bed—didn’t count. But if his patient’s life was in jeopardy from something other than the injuries she’d sustained the other day, someone should have taken the time to inform him.
“What room did you put her in?”
The nurse didn’t even have to look. “Room one.” She pointed down the hall toward where the activity grew more pronounced. “The largest of the suites.”
He was vaguely familiar with it. He remembered thinking that the room was somewhat larger than the first apartment he’d lived in.
Reese nodded his head and made his way down the corridor.
Besides being on the cutting edge of medicine, Blair Memorial prided itself on being uplifting and cheerful in its choice of decor. The tower rooms were designed to go several steps beyond that. Here patient care was conducted in suites that looked as if they were part of an upscale hotel rather than a hospital.
Reese supposed there was no harm in pandering to patients who could afford to waste their money this way, as long as playing along didn’t get in the way of more important matters, such as the health of the patient.
As he approached suite one, a tall, unsmiling man stepped forward, his hand automatically reaching out to stop Reese from gaining entry to the room he was guarding.
“I’d put that hand down if I were you,” Reese told him evenly. He’d had just about enough of this cloak-and-dagger VIP nonsense.
Wallace turned from the man he was instructing to see what was going on. Recognizing Reese, he crossed the room to him. “He’s okay,” he told the bodyguard who was part of his detail. “He’s the main doc.” His brown eyes shifted to Reese. “This is Kelly. He’s on midnight to eight,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Well I’m on round-the-clock when it comes to my patients,” Reese replied. He looked at Kelly coolly, waiting. The latter dropped his hand and stepped out of the way.
But as Reese started for the unblocked door, Wallace shook his head and moved to stop him.
“I wouldn’t go in there just yet if I were you,” he advised.
Was someone in there, brightening up her room, giving her a pedicure? He was in no mood to be dealing with the very rich and their self-indulgence.
“And why not?”
Wallace glanced toward the door, lowering his voice. “The ambassador’s in there. He’s talking to London, and I think they’d rather keep it private.”
Wallace was willing to place bets that London did. If he knew her father, the man was probably giving her a dressing-down for being so reckless. For his part, Wallace would have liked to be there to shield her, but it wasn’t his place and he knew it. Still, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
It was going to take more than a private chat between the ambassador and his daughter to keep Reese out. He figured he’d wasted enough time as it was.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Reese said to the other man as he walked by London’s primary bodyguard and into the room.
Mason Merriweather narrowed his piercing blue eyes. He wasn’t happy about this. Not happy at all.
He had no idea what to do with her.
Damn it all, being a father shouldn’t be this difficult, especially at his age.
He could negotiate contracts and peace treaties that were advantageous to people on both sides of the table, get along in several languages with a host of people and was known for his ability to arrange compromises and defuse the hottest of situations, be they global or, as they were once upon a time, corporate.
But when it came to his own daughter, he hadn’t a clue how to behave, what to do, what to say.
It was his considered opinion that he and London had never gone beyond being two strangers whose photographs just happened to turn up in the same family album.
Perhaps part of the problem was that she behaved and looked so much like her late mother. It was like receiving a fresh wound every time he laid eyes on her. Because London made him think of Anne, and Anne wasn’t here anymore.
She hadn’t been for a very long time.
And now this, a car accident that brought all the old memories back to haunt him. Because Anne had died behind the wheel, taking a turn on a winding road that hadn’t allowed her to see the truck coming from the opposite direction—the truck that had snuffed out her vibrant young life and taken the light out of his own.
Anne had never gotten the hang of driving on what she termed the wrong side of the road. And it was he who had paid the price for that.
But now it was London, not Anne, who was the problem. Just when he thought she was finally settling down. After all, she’d acquiesced to his wishes regarding the bodyguard detail. He’d thought—hoped—that this was a sign that she was finally coming around, finally learning not to make waves in his life.
He should have known better.
The initial words between them when he’d walked into the room had been awkward. They always were. She looked a great deal more frail than he’d thought she would. The IV bottle beside her bed, feeding into her hand had thrown him.
Anne had looked that way. Except her eyes had been closed. And she was gone.
But London wasn’t. Thank God.
“How are you feeling?” he managed to ask in a tone he might have used to an underling or even a complete stranger.
“Achy.”
London waited to see a sign of some kind of emotion from the man she felt kept himself so tightly under wraps he could have easily passed for an android…or a mummy.
The ambassador had just endured the long plane ride from Madrid to John Wayne Airport with the specter of his daughter’s imminent death sitting beside him. Seeing her alive had been a relief, but it was instantly replaced by a feeling of helpless anger.
Throwing decorum to the winds, thinking that he could just as easily have been attending London’s funeral right now as standing by her bedside, he demanded hotly, “What the hell were you thinking?”
She wanted comfort, she wanted to hear him say that he was glad she was alive. Not recriminations. But then, after all this time, she should have known better. He hadn’t been there when her mother, her whole world, had been taken from her. He hadn’t held her, comforted her, cried with her. And she’d been a child then. She was a woman now. Why did she expect him to do things differently?
Her eyes narrowed just the way his did. “I was thinking that I wanted to get away from the bodyguard. That just for once I wanted to be me, driving alone without leading a wagon train through the streets. Is that so much to ask?”
His anger rose at the accusation. He knew she thought it was all his fault. As if he had been the one to kidnap the other ambassador’s daughter. Didn’t she realize that he was doing this just to keep her safe? That she meant everything to him?
“We’ve been through this, London,” he said sternly. “These men are here for your own protection.”
She touched the bandage on her forehead and thought of the one taped to her ribs. She raised her eyes to challenge her father. “Didn’t do a very good job, did they?”
It took everything Mason had to keep his temper. He wasn’t going to shout at her. He didn’t believe in shouting. Shouting was for lowlifes, and he had always striven to raise himself above his own roots.
Spreadi
ng his thumb and index finger he smoothed down his pencil-thin mustache. It was still dark, even though his hair had turned silver gray years ago. He liked to joke that he owed the change in color to London. Right now he figured it wasn’t that far from the truth.
“They would have, if you didn’t travel around thinking you were the reincarnation of James Dean, bent on tearing around the countryside.”
“I wasn’t tearing, I was driving,” she snapped.
It was hard to defend a point when she knew she was wrong and would have admitted it freely if only he cared about her.
Why couldn’t her father have just come up and hugged her? Told her that he’d been worried sick about her when he’d gotten the news? Instead he was carrying on nobly, descending on her with his entourage.
Damn it, just once couldn’t he be her father instead of the ambassador?
Mason sighed. This was getting them nowhere. Nobody could ever tell her what to do, and she’d only gotten worse with age. “Look, I don’t want to argue about this. I’ve decided to have you transferred to another hospital—”
Just like that. Without asking, without consulting. He was treating her like a child. Just the way he’d sent her away to boarding school right after her mother’s accident. Instead of trying to make things better, he’d only made them worse. Made her feel more isolated, more alone.
And more brokenhearted.
Well, she wasn’t eight years old anymore. He couldn’t do with her as he willed just because it was more convenient for him.
“No.”
He looked at her sharply. Why couldn’t she just accept things for once instead of fighting him at every turn? “London—”
But she didn’t let him get started again. “You’ve already had me transferred to another room. I’m not playing musical hospitals. The care is good—my doctor is the best, they tell me. I’m staying here.”
His voice rose almost against his will. “For once in your life, London, stop fighting me just for the sake of fighting.”
Reese picked that moment to walk in.
London’s eyes darted toward him, and he saw the momentary flicker of distress there. Maybe he was crazy, but it felt as if she was asking him to come to her aid. He couldn’t help wondering if she even knew that plea was in her eyes.
Or maybe it was all in his mind.
“You’re upsetting my patient, sir,” Reese said, crossing to the bed. “If you can’t refrain from doing that, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Mason drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. He was somewhat heavier than the man who was challenging him and only half a head shorter. “Do you know who you’re talking to, young man?”
Reese never missed a beat as he applied the blood pressure cuff to London’s arm. “Yes, someone who’s upsetting my patient, and I can’t have that.”
Mason wasn’t accustomed to being addressed this way. He’d been an ambassador for more than thirty years and was always treated with the utmost respect. He’d become used to being listened to and obeyed—except by London.
“I am her father.”
“Yes,” Reese said mildly, noting the reading he was getting. “I know. That might be a contributing factor to your daughter’s reaction, but I don’t have time to explore that right now.” He replaced the cuff back in its position. “Mr. Merriweather—”
“Ambassador Merriweather,” Mason corrected him tersely.
He was never one for titles, but he obliged. “Yes, well, Ambassador, your daughter’s not supposed to be agitated this way. It’ll impede the progress she’s making.” He looked at the older man pointedly. “So I suggest that if you have anything else to tell her that will upset her—you keep it to yourself for the time being.”
Color crept up the man’s aristocratic cheekbones. “I don’t appreciate being spoken to in this fashion.”
Taking London’s hand, Reese placed his fingers over her pulse and mentally counted out the numbers. Her heartrate was higher than it had been. Undoubtedly because of her father’s presence.
“No, I don’t suppose you do, sir, and I don’t particularly enjoy speaking this way myself, but my patient comes first, above and beyond family ties, charitable contributions or political standings.” He released London’s hand, still looking at the ambassador. “Am I making myself clear?”
He succeeded in unsettling the ambassador. It took the older man a moment to get his bearings. When he did, he slanted a look toward London, then one in Reese’s direction.
“I would like to speak to you alone, Doctor—” Mason paused to read Reese’s name tag, then raised his eyes to the younger man’s face “—Bendenetti.”
Reese inclined his head and allowed himself to be led to a corner of the suite. This had better be good, he thought.
“If I find that your care of my daughter is lacking in any manner, any manner, you’ll have me to answer to, personally, and I guarantee it will not be a pleasant experience.”
Reese had no doubt about that at all. But he didn’t like being threatened by the ambassador any more than he had liked it when the bodyguard had done it. “I’ll have myself to answer to first, Ambassador. My patients receive my full attention and the best care I can offer them, regardless of their standing in the community or,” he added pointedly, “any threat that might be issued.”
Reese didn’t add that in his short career he had already been threatened graphically with vivisection by the brother of one of his patients. It had been in Los Angeles, and the man had been the head of a local gang in the area. He had gone into great detail about what would happen to the surgeon in charge of his sister should she die on the operating table.
Reese deliberately went and opened the door. He held it, looking expectantly at Mason. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to examine my patient.”
Curbing his anger but admiring the spirit that had caused the younger man to stand up to him, Mason inclined his head then looked toward his daughter. “We’re not finished yet,” he told her, raising his voice. “I’ll see you later.”
With that he walked out.
London watched the door close. She couldn’t remember anyone ever putting her father in his place. “I guess that makes twice you’ve rescued me. Keep this up and you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
If she meant that as a threat, even in jest, it didn’t have the desired effect, because he could think of things that were a great deal worse than having a beautiful woman in his life, even one who was emotionally wounded, as this one apparently was.
“Do you know that you’re the first man who’s ever put my father in his place?”
Reese picked up her chart again and read the various notations by the day nurses.
“Wasn’t trying to do that, I was only trying to get him out of my face—” Reese looked up from the chart and at her “—and yours for the time being.”
“I appreciate that.” She smiled at him, and much to his surprise, he realized that his own pulse had stepped up just a tad.
Chapter 5
“You’re not getting enough sleep.”
Reese smiled at the woman sitting opposite him in the tiny breakfast nook of the house he’d bought for her. He supposed, no matter how old he got, his mother would always fuss over him.
It didn’t bother him. In a way he had to admit that there was comfort in knowing that some things remained the same, year in, year out. This was a far cry from the way he’d felt in his teens, when everything his mother said was guaranteed to irritate him, even though he knew he was being unreasonable.
But in the past ten years or so, he and his mother had settled into a pattern mimicking the one that had been in place when he was a boy. The only difference now was that they were individuals rather than a set—independent yet forever bound by mutual affection and caring. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Reese finished off the piece of French toast he was nibbling. Taking breakfast together once a week was a tradition his
mother had begun years ago, when both their schedules were hectic beyond belief. He still liked keeping it up.
“Mom, that’s the kind of thing I’m supposed to say to people.”
Just barely into her fifth decade, Rachel Bendenetti was still an attractive woman by anyone’s standards. Her dark hair had a few streaks of gray, but her skin was still smooth and her eyes were as lively as ever. She was a woman who enjoyed life no matter what curves it threw at her.
She turned those lively eyes on her only son now as she slipped another piece of French toast onto his plate.
“Ever hear the one that goes Physician, Heal Thyself? They’re not hinting that he should perform surgery on himself, Reese. Just see to his own needs.” Her eyes narrowed as she refreshed his empty cup with aromatic coffee, then tended to her own. “Just the way you should.”
He took his coffee black, his optimism light. He laughed before taking a sip. “And put you out of business?”
Rachel became serious. She knew he didn’t take advice, but she was bound to try. He was working long hours at the hospital and keeping up with his own private practice. That amounted to burning the candle at both ends. Granted, she’d done it herself for far less pay, but that was her and this was Reese. The difference to her was enormous.
“There’s no reason for you to work yourself into a frazzle, Reese. You’re not the only surgeon around.”
He drained his cup and placed it back on the table. “Yes.” Rising, Reese pretended not to notice that there was a new piece of French toast on his dish. He was stuffed as it was. Outside of these once-a-week get-togethers, breakfast was a haphazard affair that was comprised of anything coming out of his refrigerator, taken cold. “But I am one of the best.”
“The best,” she corrected firmly and with a great deal of motherly pride, “but that’s not going to do anyone any good if you’re dead.”
Coming around the table, Reese bent over and kissed her cheek. “That’s what I love about you, Mom, your flair for drama.”
She wasn’t sure if he was referring to what she’d just said or to her concern for him, but she honed in on the latter. “No, I’m just looking out for my only son.” She pushed aside her own half-empty cup. There was time enough for coffee later, before she went to the shelter. “Take some time off, go on vacation.” As long as she was shooting for the moon, she might as well go all the way. “Meet a girl. Make me a grandmother.”
M.D. Most Wanted Page 5