by Joya Fields
She didn’t know the area well, but she had a GPS to guide her back to her motel.
Easing off the gas, she veered onto the side road. Shadows danced through the billowing palm trees as if paying homage to the moon. Brooke took a deep, cleansing breath and let herself start to unwind.
She thought about her conversation with Garrett.
“How can he blame himself?” she mumbled aloud.
Sure, if he’d been there earlier, he would have seen Melanie going under, but the diving instructor should have been watching her. Why did Garrett blame himself when there were so many other factors involved?
Headlights in her rearview mirror caught her attention. She glanced down at the speedometer and noticed she was driving under the posted twenty-five mile-per-hour speed limit. She pressed the accelerator.
The car moved close to her bumper.
Her gut clenched as she approached a curve. The narrow two-lane street left no room to pull off the road to let the other driver pass. The road was too curvy to pass safely. The shadowy, billowing trees that had been so attractive when she’d turned onto this road suddenly confined her.
Her palms grew sweaty. She didn’t feel safe going any faster.
She focused on the road ahead, hoping for a driveway to turn into as soon as the tree line broke. She gripped the steering wheel tight. Her car jolted, and her head snapped forward, then back. The driver had purposely rammed the car into hers.
She fought against the wheels as they skidded to the right and narrowly missed hitting a huge palm tree.
She was going faster than she felt comfortable, just trying to keep the car from gaining on her. A quick glance in the rearview mirror told her the chance of getting a tag number was pretty slim. She couldn’t risk taking a hand off the wheel to reach for her cell phone, either. Besides, her hands were shaking so badly, she probably couldn’t even dial the numbers.
“Stay calm, deep breaths,” she reminded herself.
She straightened in her seat and raised her chin as anger grew inside like hot volcanic ash. As soon as she found a residential area, she’d lay on her horn to attract attention. If a car approached from the opposite direction, she’d flash her high beams to signal her distress.
Just as she began to think the houses were further away than she’d remembered, she spotted lights ahead—a row of waterfront colonials. Help was in sight.
She forced herself to breathe and focused on the sanctuary those lights in the distance offered. When the car rammed her again, it hit so hard that her back end fishtailed, sending her front end directly toward a giant concrete light post.
Jerking the wheel, she willed her sweating hands to hold tight, and steered in the direction of the skid. She straightened the car just enough to regain a little control.
She slammed the brake pedal with every ounce of energy she possessed in her right leg and skidded into a driveway between the two concrete light posts. She missed hitting one by only a few inches.
Before she could turn to get a license plate number, the car squealed out of sight and down the road. She opened her car door, jumped out, and caught a glimpse of a dark sedan as it tore down the road. She forced herself to resist the temptation to chase it, knowing it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do.
Her breath came in short gulps. Her heart banged so hard against her ribs she thought it would never again beat its regular rhythm.
“No way this is a coincidence,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
It would be stupid to go to her motel. Someone wanted her out of the way of this investigation. She couldn’t keep fighting them off by herself. She’d been lucky on the boat, and she’d been lucky just now. What if luck wasn’t on her side the next time? With a sinking feeling, she realized that there would be a next time.
She moved back inside the car and locked the doors. With a sigh, she dropped her head against the steering wheel and weighed her options. She could stay with Garrett. She could take his spare room for a night or two. It didn’t make sense to risk her safety just because she wanted to be independent. Especially when she had a friend—a cop friend—who was offering a place to stay.
At the moment, she didn’t care if taking Garrett up on his offer would mean she was depending on someone else. She had to keep herself alive. What good would she be to Linda or Jeff…or to the search for Tessa, if she got hurt too? She needed to find out why somebody wanted her gone. For now, independence would go on the back burner. She’d stay with Garrett, but she would still pursue the option to offer herself as bait. Now more than ever, she wanted this creep caught.
As an elderly couple walked out the front door of the house in bath robes with worried looks on their faces, she opened her cell phone and punched in Garrett’s number.
****
The man banged the steering wheel with his fist. He wanted the three outsiders dead. At first, it had been a matter of keeping them off his trail. But now, it was getting personal.
Nobody messed with him and got away with it. Nobody escaped from him.
Tessa had tried to get away from him. She’d ended up in a box in the ocean.
He steered onto the highway and slowed. If the bitch had called police, she was probably too shaken to describe his car. But he wouldn’t take any chances. He’d drive slow enough to blend in with the late-night traffic.
He smiled. He had to admit it. The chase was part of the fun. But he was tiring of the effort. Too many other things he needed to do.
And that reminded him…
He had the expertise to get rid of these pests once and for all. He knew how to do something that many others did not.
Explosives. Fun stuff. He drove along and started whistling again, picturing three bodies as they floated in pieces amidst the fire.
****
Tap-tap-tap.
With supreme effort, Brooke opened her eyes. She didn’t want to wake up. Early sunlight danced across the cream-colored wall beside the bed and created relaxing shadows. With a jolt, she sat and pushed the soft cotton sheet off her body.
She’d overslept.
The tapping noise again, this time followed by Garrett’s voice. “Brooke? You awake?”
She groaned. How much sleep had she gotten last night? Two hours? Three? By the time she’d talked to Garrett and the other police officers he’d called in—making sure they understood that since Jeff was in a coma, he couldn’t possibly be the person trying to run her off the road—it’d been past two a.m.
Garrett pushed the door open a crack and stuck his hand through the opening. “My eyes are closed in case you’re not decent. I have coffee.”
She smiled and caught a whiff of the strong brew. “Probably not a good idea to walk with a hot coffee and closed eyes,” she said. “I’m decent. Come on in.” As decent as she could be in his t-shirt and a pair of his cotton boxers.
He wore pressed khaki’s and a button-down shirt and a giant smile split his tanned face. Great. A morning person. Just her luck.
She glanced around for a clock and didn’t find one. “What time is it?”
“Five forty-five. Time enough to get you up, feed you breakfast and get you to the doctor.” He handed her a big red mug. “It’s black, nothing added.”
“Thanks.” She wrapped both hands around the warm mug and took a sip of the steaming brew, flattered that he’d remembered the way she took her coffee. “Perfect.” With a sigh, she let it warm her throat and her stomach. She ran a hand through her hair and tried to rake the strands into shape.
Wait. He said the doctor. Did he think he was taking her to the doctor? Memories of all the times Jonathan had put his plans aside flashed through her head. He’d taken off work, canceled appointments and rescheduled his life based on her doctor appointments. She would never again ask someone to put their life on hold for her.
“No,” she said.
She must have said it a little too loudly. He raised a brow and stepped back.
His wet-from-the-shower dark h
air and the curve of his lips made her wish she could let herself lean on him. If only to be close to him.
“Sorry.” She offered him a smile, hoping to soften her words. “You don’t need to drive me to the doctor.”
He narrowed his eyes and stared at her as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Suddenly the room felt very small.
“After last night, I think you need someone with you at all times.”
He was probably right. But she couldn’t ask that of him. “Look, I know I put myself harm’s way last night. Taking the back way home, regardless of how relaxing it might have been, was stupid.” When he opened his mouth, she cut him off. “I’ll be fine alone today, in the daylight, on main roads and in crowds.”
She reached out and laid a hand on his upper arm, not realizing that the contact would throw her senses into overdrive. Time for honesty. Garrett meant well. She had to return the favor by telling him why she couldn’t do it his way.
“Here’s the thing,” she began, suddenly feeling shy. His nearness, the warmth of his skin against hers, made her brain swim. But she needed to be clear.
She drew in a deep breath and looked at him. “I spent a lot of time being driven to doctor appointments, counting on other people for simple things. I’m sorry, but I need to do this myself.”
He raised his brows and lifted his chin just enough to let her know he understood.
“Okay. On to breakfast and a shower, then.”
He’d given up on that fight easily. She studied him for a long moment. Why did she get the feeling he was still going to find a way to keep an eye on her regardless of her wishes?
****
Brooke’s neck muscles tightened with tension. She lifted her shoulders and dropped them again to rid herself of the stiffness. She flipped through a magazine, but didn’t even notice the pictures and words. She wiggled her foot and inhaled deeply to control her anxiety.
Until this morning, she hadn’t realized how nervous she was to meet with Dr. Merrick. He could squash her dream or make it come true. He could make her a new prosthesis—one that looked and responded like a real leg—or tell her she wasn’t a good candidate for the like-real skin. Her fears built like a volcano ready to erupt with each passing minute.
She tossed the magazine on the end table and scanned her surroundings. Framed pictures of beautiful women and men adorned the sleek maroon waiting room. All other areas of the hospital were stark white and beige, while Dr. Merrick’s office boasted bold, flamboyant colors.
The young receptionist must have noticed her interest. “All patients of Dr. Merrick’s.” Her scoop-neck peach stretch tee shirt clung tight and hung low.
Dr. Merrick—who’d started his medical career at age twenty-two—was now a well-known and sought-after plastic surgeon. He’d ruffled more than a few feathers on his climb up the medical ladder because of his young age. Brooke heard he was popular now not only with people who’d heard of his genius, but with movie stars as well. Rumor had it that he was plastic surgeon to many Hollywood actresses. And even though he’d received offers from many larger, more prestigious hospitals in big cities, he stayed in Florida because he liked the weather and the fishing.
“You were lucky to get an appointment so fast.” The receptionist lifted her coffee cup and leaned forward with her elbows on the desk. For being such an in-demand doctor, Dr. Merrick’s receptionist didn’t seem to have much to do, and his waiting room was empty except for Brooke. Then she remembered he opened early just to see her.
Brooke nodded and gestured to the photos with her hand. “They’re so beautiful. Are they all movie stars?”
The receptionist laughed, her white-blonde bob-cut hair swaying with her body. “No. He works on regular people too.” Then she leaned further across the desk, giving Brooke a full view of the inside of the peach shirt that barely contained her plastic surgery and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “I’ve met some of the women though…the stars.”
She took Brooke’s silence as a cue to continue. “Of course I’ve met Cindy D’Alberto—you know, his girlfriend—the actress. And I met her mother. Her mother’s the one who cut her finger off making chicken soup. Dr. Merrick fixed the finger up just like new. That’s how Rodney—I mean Dr. Merrick—and Cindy met.” She leaned back, smiled, and glanced toward a closed white door.
“I’ve met some other stars too.” She leaned forward again and shuffled some papers on her desk. “But I really can’t say any names. And, of course, Dr. Merrick’s been in TV shows lately. Small parts, but he might get some bigger ones soon. You should get his autograph. I don’t know how he does it all and helps those kids from Mexico, too.”
“Right,” Brooke replied. She’d forgotten about his charity work. He offered plastic surgery to kids from poverty-stricken areas.
Brooke was glad when the phone rang and the girl busied herself talking to someone.
Brooke had visited lots of surgeons’ offices. But none were quite like this. Most prosthetists worked only with amputees. But Dr. Merrick combined the functionality of a prosthesis with the art of plastic surgery. Amazing, really, that nobody had made the connection before.
The more Brooke thought about it, the more excited she started to get. Dr. Merrick’s prosthesis was covered in a special synthetic material so real that it reacted to sunlight. It could get darker in the summer; lighten back up in the winter. Just like a real tan.
The receptionist chattered on the phone to what sounded like a pharmacist, and Brooke glanced out the window and thought about Linda. She’d seemed better this morning when Brooke called her. But oddly enough, needy. It wasn’t like her to let people fuss over her.
Linda had asked her mom and dad to leave the room and as soon as they left, she pleaded with Brooke. “I’m going stir crazy. I need you here so they’ll go away for a while. I’m already worried sick about Jeff, and they’re making me batty! They’ll only leave me if you’re with me. Please Brooke. Stay with me this afternoon,” she’d begged.
Who could say no to Linda? Not Brooke. But she’d already promised Garrett to dive again. She hoped he’d understand. Maybe she could dive tomorrow.
The receptionist hung up and the door to the office opened. Tall, thin and wearing what looked like a very expensive suit partially covered by a white smock, the curly-haired blond man smiled and walked across the room with his hand extended. “Brooke Richards?” When she stood, he reached for her hand and gave it a half-hearted shake. “I’m Doctor Merrick,” he said, looking down at her legs.
“Thanks for rescheduling my appointment.”
“Which one, right or left?” He turned toward his office door and gestured for her to follow.
“Left leg,” Brooke said, moving to his office and feeling self-conscious after his long stare.
He closed the door behind them and turned to face her. “You came a long way to see me.”
Brooke nodded and chewed her bottom lip, suddenly tiring of small talk. This was it. She’d find out if she was a candidate for the best leg out there.
“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to a small white leather chair in front of a gleaming mahogany desk. He stepped behind the desk and settled into a high-backed white leather chair, steepling his fingers as he stared at her.
Brooke guessed he stared at patients all the time. She sat up straighter, determined to meet his stare, taking in his features while he studied hers. His face was without wrinkles. She guessed that even at his young age, he’d had, as they say in Hollywood, “some work done.”
She couldn’t help comparing him to Garrett’s natural good looks.
“So…” he began, “You’re an amputee? You want to be fitted for my artificial skin?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, looked at her left leg, then up at her face. “That’s a really long dress you’re wearing. Ever wear shorts?”
She shook her head.
He smiled, stood up. “Well, when I’m done, you’ll want to wear shorts in th
e winter.”
She smiled, wanting that to be true more than almost anything.
****
Brooke tensed as Dr. Merrick’s hands skimmed the tape measure along her residual leg.
“You’re a candidate for the procedure,” he said. His face remained expressionless, and he scribbled on a clipboard.
She let out a breath she’d been holding. “What exactly does the skin feel like?” she asked, picturing it rolling on her prosthesis like a pair of nylons.
Merrick’s eyes widened and sparkled.
He opened the drawer of a nearby storage cupboard and used both hands to gently pull out a slim fabric bag. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.
She fiddled with the string, trying to untie it. It was the type of bag you’d put fine jewelry in, or a precious stone.
He stood beside her and rubbed his hands together with eyes riveted to her hands as she unfolded a small plastic paper. The skin was about the size and thickness of a fruit rollup. A silken, flesh-colored piece of flawless skin.
She licked her lips to keep her mouth from suddenly going dry. “It’s beautiful.” Tears threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. This could be the one thing that would make her feel like her old self again. She laid it in her palm and stroked it gently with her index finger, trying to picture what it would feel like on her leg.
Merrick’s lips turned up into a small smile. “Smooth as a baby’s butt, isn’t it?”
Her eyes connected with his and she felt a tear drip down her cheek. “It’s amazing.”
“You will be, too.” His face turned serious. “Let’s get a mold of your residual leg now.” He scribbled on the clipboard again and kept his head down. “You will come back day after tomorrow, get fitted for the skin.”
“A few days?” she gasped. She’d never dreamed that her life could change so fast. She hopped off the table and gave into the impulse to hug him for the possibilities he offered her.
****
Brooke strode down the hospital corridor with a renewed hope in her footsteps. If everything else in her life could fall into place as nicely as her new leg, life could be taking a turn for the better.