The Iron Tiara

by Beth Flynn

  Naples, Florida 1978

  Two days later, Anthony stood at his front door and kissed Christy goodbye. The marriage proposal still hung in the air between them like a dirty diaper that nobody wanted to change. It was avoided. Christy, because she didn't want to give Anthony an explanation as to why she said no. And, Anthony, because he no longer wanted an explanation. He wanted an official “yes."

  "You won't leave the house?" he asked.

  "I told you I have no place to go today," she reassured him.

  "I believe you, Owani. I’m only making extra sure."

  After last week's conversation and no further indication that she was still in danger, Anthony knew he had to give Christy some freedom. What she didn't know was that Anthony had been allowing her to make small trips by herself without him because he was having her watched. Unbeknownst to her, a P.I., who was retired from law enforcement, had been following her when she left the house. So far, she'd made a trip to her apartment, a doctor's appointment for her yearly checkup and she even volunteered one day at the preschool where Litzy used to work.

  Anthony hired the man because he not only had the ability to tail Christy without her noticing, but he was able to provide security in the event Van and his cronies still had any misguided ideas about snatching her. Anthony was certain that was no longer a viable threat, but he still wanted to be cautious. He was glad that the P.I.’s services wouldn't be required today. He would've been uncomfortable leaving for the east coast knowing she was driving around, even with the hired man tailing her. He felt better knowing she was home and still abiding by the rule that she head straight to the hidden room in the unlikely event anyone showed up at the house.

  "I can always call Alexander if there's an emergency, right?" she asked, looking up at him, her blue eyes holding him captive.

  "No. X is out of town today." Anthony hadn’t shared with Christy that he’d had a tip on Van’s whereabouts. He wasn’t sure if it would pan out, but he didn’t want to miss any opportunity that might lead him to the man.

  "You go to the room, Christy. You already know this. Turn on the cameras and if something seems suspicious you call the police. We're no longer hiding the fact that you're here with me."

  "I didn't mean that kind of emergency, Anthony. I know who to hide from if I need to. I mean other kinds of emergencies." She bit her lip as she thought. "You know, like a fire."

  He kissed her head and said, "If there's a fire, call the fire department, honey. In the meantime, no leaving the house today."

  She smiled and stood on her tiptoes to nip at his chin. "I know," she told him. "I'm going to clean up our breakfast dishes, take a shower and finish my painting. I might even attempt dinner." She smiled up at him.

  He grinned, his dimple causing butterflies to announce their presence in her stomach. "I'll be late. I have business on the other coast and it'll be all day," he told her. "You go ahead and eat without me. I'll eat on the road." He'd just eaten an omelet that tasted like burnt milk and cigar ashes. He couldn't imagine how she'd managed that, but she had and he did his best to swallow it without choking. He was in love with a woman who was a worse cook than his sister. He should send them both to culinary school. Or better yet, he could teach them a thing or two in the kitchen or do all the cooking himself. He actually didn’t mind it.

  He gave her a long lingering kiss and headed for his truck. After climbing in he realized he'd left his sunglasses in the house. He unlocked the front door and went searching for them. He called to her as he passed her doing dishes in the kitchen.

  "I think you left them in the sunroom," she yelled over her shoulder.

  After he'd bought Christy art supplies, she took over the sunroom and made it her space. He didn't care. He never used it anyway.

  He grabbed his sunglasses from the table and started to leave when he caught sight of her easel. He hadn’t seen her work yet. Unlike him, who'd shared his secret passion with her, she'd insisted that she wasn't ready to share her painting. He knew she painted her fears and guessed that she might've been embarrassed by them. He could hear her banging around in the kitchen. He walked around the easel and cautiously took a look. His eyes widened as he slowly perused the canvas. She was talented. It was a thunderstorm scene, as he knew it would be. The sky was black and areas of it were lit up by the slice of lightning that ran through the center of the picture. He was in awe of how she managed to paint different elements of light and darkness. He stood further back and was able to appreciate the beautiful landscape that served as the backdrop for the storm. It was a mountain scene and Anthony was impressed by the detail.

  He started to walk away and something caused him to look back. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He stood in front of the painting and took two steps back. He closed his eyes and opened them quickly. He was now certain of what he was seeing. Painted into the landscape was a man's profile that blended perfectly with the shape of the mountains. He couldn't mistake the strong jaw, straight nose and long black hair. He was seeing himself. Christy was painting her fears and apparently, he was one of them.

  It was a slow afternoon at Memorial Regional Hospital so when the man with the deep cut down the center of his palm walked into the emergency room, he didn't have to wait long. The nurse on duty took his information and ushered him to the back where she cleaned his wound and told him the doctor on duty would be in soon.

  She passed Dr. Dubois and told the pretty surgeon, "You might want to wear a mask. The guy in bed one reeks to high heaven."

  Dr. Veronique Dubois didn't reply as she headed toward bed one and pulled back the curtain. Looking at the clipboard she was holding, she addressed her patient without looking up.

  "Mr. Diamond, seems you've done a number on your hand. Says here that you cut yourself slicing bread?"

  "Yeah, that's what happened, Doc. I was holding a big fat loaf of French bread in my hand and went to pull the knife through it and didn't realize how soft it was. Sliced right through the bread and my palm."

  She finally looked up and took in the man's appearance. By the looks of him he was homeless and she highly doubted he cut his hand slicing bread. His clothes were filthy, he needed a shave and when she glanced at his hand, his fingernails were caked with dirt. And the nurse was right. She should've worn a mask. He smelled like human excrement and the worst case of perspiration she'd ever encountered. She would stitch him up and get him out of her emergency room as quickly as possible.

  After giving him a tetanus shot, she pulled up a chair and went to work. He talked nonstop and barely paused for air. She was glad. She didn't want to make small talk. After a few moments he said something that caught her attention.

  "I recognize you. You're the lady doc that used to come to Camp Sawgrass," he said. "You're Dr. V."

  She stopped mid-stitch and looked up.

  She was surprised when he gave her a brilliant white smile. "I know you don't recognize me. You never fixed me up, but I saw you work on some of the guys out there."

  She took a deep breath and quietly said, "You must have me confused with someone else."

  He lowered his voice. "You don't have to pretend with me, Doc. I'm not going to get you in trouble. I appreciate what you did for us guys out there."

  Ignoring him she went back to stitching his hand and stifled a gasp when he added, "Even if Anthony didn't."

  "How would you know what Anthony does or doesn't appreciate," she said in a whisper, still not meeting his eyes.

  "I guess I don't know. What I do know is that you ain't come around for a while and I guess he hasn't noticed since he's shacking up with someone new."

  Veronique’s head snapped up. He nodded. "Everybody knows you're his woman...or at least you were. Is that why you don't come to the camp anymore? Because he found someone new?"

  She took a deep breath and tried to bite her lip to stop the next words from coming out, but they spilled out anyway. "What do you mean by shacking up? Because if you mean that he has someone
else in his bed, I'm not surprised."

  "She's not just in his bed," the man laughed. "She's living at his house. As in full-time, setting up house, living together. Heard he was going to marry her. Might already be married."

  Dr. Dubois didn't say another word but made quick work of sewing up the man's hand. She secretly fumed and couldn't get him out of her ER quick enough. After he was gone and she washed up, she headed for the nurses’ station.

  "I have a personal emergency," she told the head nurse. "You'll have to page whoever is on call for back up. I don't know when or if I'll be returning today." She started to head for the door when the woman called her.

  "Aren't you going to wait until Dr. Patten arrives?" the stunned nurse asked. "What if we have someone come in before he gets here?"

  "I'm sure you can handle it," she called out as she headed for the door.

  Dr. Veronique Dubois seethed as she drove home. Anthony Bear had a woman living in his house? A woman that he was going to marry? Impossible, she convinced herself but knew she wouldn't be able to think of anything else until she confronted him. And she needed to do it in person.

  She made it to her townhouse in record time. She took a shower, reapplied her makeup and blew her hair dry. She dressed in her favorite outfit. A professional number that somehow reeked of sensuality and showcased the green eyes that were enhanced by perfectly arched brows. She was ready to head out the door when something occurred to her. There was no way she would show up letting Anthony and his supposed fiancée think that she wasn't capable of having a man in her life. She went to her jewelry box and pulled out the diamond engagement ring that had been given to her by the man she was involved with before she'd met Anthony. He'd never asked for it back, and she’d never offered. She put it on and headed for Anthony's house.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Naples, Florida 1978

  Christy was washing up at the utility sink, rinsing out her brushes when she was positive she heard a car. Anthony told her he wouldn't be home before dark. Maybe he'd finished up early. She shut off the faucet and quickly made her way to the front of the house. She peeked through the open doorway of Anthony's office and saw through his huge window that an expensive sports car was pulling into the driveway. She couldn't see the driver and was getting ready to go lock herself in the hidden room when the car made its way around the circular drive, giving her a view of the license plate. It was a personalized one that read LADYDOC.

  She knew she was supposed to go to the hidden room, but her curiosity got the best of her. Anthony had once mentioned the woman who not only provided aid to his men at the camp, but had sewn him up after he was stabbed. She wanted to see what the surgeon looked like. She wasn't sure what she expected, but she knew it wasn't the tall, beautiful creature that exited from the car. She moved with a gracefulness that exuded confidence, intelligence and raw sexuality. Christy's insides twisted.

  She watched the woman pass the office window and knew she would be walking up to the front door. She closed her eyes and hoped that she didn't have her own key. If she did, she would know that this woman was more than just the doctor Anthony's had on call.

  A soft knock broke through her thoughts. The doctor didn't have a key. Christy smiled.

  Veronique stood at Anthony's front door and mentally rehearsed all the scenarios that she could think of. She had to emotionally prepare herself for a confrontation with him and possibly even the woman that her patient, Benjamin Diamond, had hinted was living here. She'd noticed a Volkswagen when she pulled in, but figured it belonged to Anthony's cleaning lady. She'd never met the woman but knew she was older. Was it possible Mr. Diamond had mistaken rumors about a woman who was supposedly living with Anthony for the cleaning lady who obviously spent time in Anthony's home? Of course he has, she thought. Anthony Bear would never allow a woman to share his home. Never.

  She had to mask her surprise when a young, petite, and extremely attractive blonde opened the door and smiled kindly at her. Veronique had never taken an acting class in her life but knew she'd have to pretend to play the part of concerned doctor and friend to be believable and not have the blonde slam the door in her face.

  "Hi," she said, giving Christy a warm smile. "I'm Dr. Veronique Dubois." She held out her hand, and Christy shook it. "Is Anthony here?"

  Christy knew she wasn't supposed to answer the door, but couldn't see the threat in letting a female doctor know she was there alone. Doctors were in the lifesaving, not life taking business.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. He's not," Christy told her. "Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked the smiling woman.

  "Well, I guess so. First, I wanted to make sure he was still doing okay. I sewed him up a while back. Do you know if he's having any issues?" she asked. Her eyes showed real concern. Before Christy could reply she added, "I haven't made it out to the camp in a couple months, so I haven’t had the chance to ask him."

  "Oh, I've not heard him complain, and I've seen the scar I think you're talking about. It looks fine." The admiration in Christy's voice was noticeable. "You're obviously good at what you do."

  Veronique's optimism was instantly deflated. Somewhere deep inside she'd hoped that the young woman had replaced Anthony's older cleaning lady. But Veronique knew that a housekeeper would never have the opportunity to see Anthony's scar. Unless he showed it to her. This woman was Anthony's lover. She had to tamp down the storm that was brewing in her brain. With a dazzling smile, she added, "I'm so glad to hear that!"

  Without allowing time for an awkward pause, she said, "I checked on him once or twice here and I realized that I may have left something."

  Christy's eyes widened, but she didn't say anything.

  "My grandfather gave me a stethoscope when I graduated from medical school. He was a doctor and it was his. I can't find it anywhere, and it occurred to me that I might have had it when I was out here doing a wellness check on Anthony. Have you run across it anywhere?"

  Christy shook her head. "Um...no. But I also haven't been looking for it."

  "Would it be possible for you to take a look now? Or perhaps let me look with you? Anthony may have found it and shoved it in a drawer," she told Christy, her beautiful green eyes hopeful.

  Christy looked hesitant and Veronique could see the girl’s apprehension. I’ve overplayed my hand, Veronique thought. I have to reel this in and appear vulnerable, not overconfident.

  “I could come back when he’s here,” she blurted out as she swiped her hair to the side. “Of course, this drive is so inconvenient.” Veronique bit her lip in an attempt to look unsure of herself and the situation. “Then again, I might not be able to. I have two surgeries scheduled for tomorrow and then I’m going out of town.” She was rambling, trying to give Christy the impression that she was exasperated. And it worked.

  "It’s okay. Come in," Christy said, stepping aside. She caught a whiff of the attractive woman and recognized the scent. It was the same one her grandmother used to wear. A designer brand that was expensive to a fault. Christy was secretly relieved it wasn't the perfume she'd detected in Anthony's truck over three weeks ago.

  Veronique chatted with Christy as she casually perused the house. She mentioned her upcoming wedding and how her grandparents would be visiting. She couldn't bear to tell them she'd lost her grandfather's stethoscope. After noticing the rock on Veronique's finger, any doubts Christy may have had about Anthony and the gorgeous doctor vanished.

  Veronique caught Christy's glance at her hand and noticed relief in her eyes. Mustering up the strength to look sincere, she pasted on a phony smile and said, "I'm so happy to see that Anthony has someone serious in his life."

  Christy didn't say anything as a blush crept up her neck.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," Veronique apologized. "I assumed you live here with him. I saw the car out front and with him not being here and you answering the door..." Her words trailed off as she feigned embarrassment.

  "It's okay," Christy told her. "You'r
e right. I am living here with him."

  Veronique broke into a wide grin. "Good! And hopefully, he'll make it official soon," she said, glancing at Christy's naked ring finger. "He needs to settle down."

  Christy looked away shyly. "Well," she paused, not sure how much she should tell the woman. "He actually did ask me, but I haven't said yes." She couldn’t fathom why she would share such an intimate detail with a stranger. Then she remembered. This woman saved Anthony’s life. Dr. Dubois wasn’t the enemy.

  This was a conversation Veronique no longer wanted to engage in. Her grin was so forced it pained her cheeks to keep smiling. She changed the subject. Nodding her head toward the hallway, she asked, “When I last checked on him he was confined to his bed. Do you mind if we look in there?" Her voice was sincere and held respect that Christy appreciated.

  Christy smiled and motioned for her to follow. Once in the bedroom, Veronique motioned toward the nightstand and asked, "May I check in there while you look in drawers that he might consider more private? I doubt he'd want me going through them, and if my fiancé's nightstand is any indication of what guys keep close to the bed, it's probably full of useless junk."

  "Sure," Christy said with a smile as she headed for Anthony's dresser. Christy knew there was nothing of importance in Anthony's nightstand. Even though she didn’t think the doctor was doing anything besides trying to find her stethoscope, Christy didn’t feel right letting her rifle through Anthony’s dresser.

  Veronique opened the nightstand drawer and stopped herself from visibly stiffening. Her jaw clenched when she saw them. The last time she'd been in Anthony's bed she'd brought ten condoms with her. They'd used two and she remembered specifically leaving eight in the drawer. Eight condoms that were still inside his nightstand. An intense anger and hatred invaded and she could feel her blood coursing through her veins. If he was sleeping with this tramp, he wasn't using protection. Protection she knew he insisted on using with every woman he'd ever slept with. Veronique included.