‘That was good work with Mr Williams,’ Jack told her as he came in scrubbed up for the next procedure. ‘I thought we were going to lose him.’
Becky wasn’t used to his praise, and even though it had been handed to her somewhat grudgingly, she still felt a warm wave of something indefinable pass through her at his words and brief glance in her direction.
‘Thanks,’ she said, and turned to the patient she was monitoring.
‘Right,’ Jack said, turning to the rest of the gathered staff, ‘let’s get this mastectomy under way.’
The rest of the list passed routinely, the mastectomy followed by a laparoscopic adrenalectomy, thyroidectomy and two laparoscopic cholecystectomies before theatre management pulled the plug on the last case. No time overruns were being permitted, and any cases left over had to go onto the next scheduled list.
Becky could see the frustration on Jack’s face as he stripped off his protective gear. He was a hard-working surgeon who hated the bureaucratic red tape that tied up the public operating system into neat orderly nine-to-five working days.
She’d often wondered why he didn’t shift his skills to the private sector, where the financial gains were far more substantial. His father, Emery Colcannon, was one of Sydney’s best-known private cosmetic surgeons and it had always seemed a little strange to her that Jack, his only child, had chosen to become a staff specialist in a cash-strapped public hospital.
But, then, who was she to talk? Here was she, a twenty-nine-year-old staff anaesthetist who hadn’t quite made up her mind whether to take the step into a lucrative private practice arrangement or continue as she was.
Maybe she and Jack weren’t so different after all, she thought as she followed the last patient out to Recovery.
‘Jack?’ Becky entered the doctors’ room half an hour later.
He looked up, closing the folder he’d been writing in and pushed it to one side as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Yes?’
She closed the door softly behind her, trying not to be put off by his curt and dismissive attitude as her eyes met his.
‘I’m sorry for being so rude to you this morning,’ she said, looking down at her hands resting on the back of the chair she’d instinctively grabbed for support. ‘I didn’t realise you’d had a bad night and I wanted to—’
He got to his feet in one fluid movement, which seemed to instantly shrink the size of the room. She lifted her head and encountered his hard green gaze, her stomach doing a little reshuffle in the process.
‘If you think you’re going to get out of a damages claim then you are very much mistaken,’ he said. ‘I’ve already contacted the assessor. I’ll post you the bill as soon as I receive it.’
‘I wasn’t apologising about the car,’ she said. ‘That was truly an accident. But I am sorry about the way I reacted. You were upset and I didn’t think—’
‘Leave it, Rebecca.’ He picked up the folder from the desk. ‘I don’t need your apologies or your excuses. What I need right now is the flat surface of a bed for at least six hours—seven would be heaven.’
‘I—I didn’t really mean the bit about the personality bypass,’ she said as he strode towards the door.
Jack turned around to look at her, his hand still on the doorknob, his expression cynical. ‘Didn’t you?’
But before she could answer the door had opened and closed, and all that was left of him in the room was the faint trace of his aftershave lingering in the air that she began to draw somewhat raggedly into her lungs.
CHAPTER TWO
BECKY wasn’t sure what woke her during the night. She wasn’t normally a restless sleeper but she hadn’t really settled all that well into the rented flat in Randwick. It was on a noisy street, and late-night revellers often wandered past, kicking over bins or vandalising cars.
She’d been saving for her own property but real estate was expensive in the inner suburbs, and she’d been hesitant about committing herself to borrowing such a large sum of money until she finally decided what career direction to take.
She lay listening for a moment without moving a muscle, doing her best to keep her breathing steady as she strained to hear whatever sound had woken her.
There it was again—the sounds of stealthy footsteps coming down the hall towards her bedroom, making every single hair lift up on her scalp in fear.
Becky didn’t like to think of herself as a coward, but her level of expertise in terms of self-defence was of the vase-and-baseball-bat type. The only trouble was that her one and only vase was full of bright yellow roses in the kitchen, and she didn’t, and never had, possessed a baseball bat.
She slipped out of bed as quietly as she could and, scrabbling around in the dark, picked up one of her shoes off the floor, holding the four-inch heel poised as she waited by the side of the door, her heart pounding like a hammer behind the wall of her chest.
Her breath stalled when the bedroom door was slowly pushed open. She flattened herself against the wall, wishing she could see through the darkness properly, but she’d pulled the blind down before going to bed in order to block out the streetlights. The tiny finger of light that found its way underneath the edge of the blind was only enough to fill the room with leaping shadows, which did absolutely nothing to ease her terror.
She clutched her shoe a little tighter for reassurance but her hands were damp with increasing panic and she knew it wouldn’t take much for her drop it and run off screaming like the coward she was.
Ben would think it pathetic of her, of course. When the bravery genes were handed out in the Baxter family, her big brother had turned up first and taken the lot.
She watched in silent horror as a tall dark figure approached her bed slowly, cautiously, as if expecting her to leap out of the jumble of bedcovers and fire a weapon at him. The intruder switched on a tiny torch about the size of a pen and shone it over the bed and bedside table before turning around and training it right on her face.
‘G-get out of my b-bedroom or I’ll shoot,’ she said, holding her shoe out like a pistol.
She thought she heard a snicker of laughter but her heart was making such a racket and there was a heavy roaring in her ears, so she wasn’t sure if she imagined it. The intruder wore a full balaclava and gloves, his tight-fitting dark clothes making him appear all the more menacing.
‘W-what do you want?’ she asked, desperately hoping he wasn’t the serial sex offender the police were searching for.
The intruder didn’t answer but stood with his torchlight trained on her eyes so she couldn’t see. Becky could feel herself cracking. She wasn’t used to this amount of adrenalin flooding her system. Give her a flat line heart monitor any day. She could deal with that. But this was something else. Her legs were giving up on her and her hands were shaking so much the shoe dropped to the floor at her feet with a soft little thud.
The intruder turned off the torch and melted away in the darkness, closing the bedroom door with a tiny click as he left. Becky stood for endless seconds, unable to believe he’d gone without harming her, relief flowing through her like a tidal wave when she heard the front door open and close on his exit.
She lunged for the phone by her bed and pressed in the emergency code, her heart ramming her breastbone as the operator answered.
‘Police! Get me the police!’ she cried.
She was switched through to the local police and as soon as the officer on the end of the line spoke she blurted out her story. ‘There was a man in my bedroom! You have to get over here and catch him.’
‘What is your name, ma’am?’ the officer asked.
‘My name is—Hey, didn’t you hear me?’ Becky said. ‘There was an intruder in my bedroom! He’s probably still in the area!’
‘What’s your address?’ the officer asked in the sort of bored tone that suggested he’d had one too many of this type of call that evening.
She forced herself to take a calming breath, answering in a controlled tone, ‘I live at 4/56 M
arigold Place, Randwick.’
‘And your name?’
‘Beck—Rebecca Baxter,’ she said. ‘Dr Rebecca Baxter.’
‘I’ll send a car as soon as one is available,’ the officer said. ‘In the meantime, is there anyone you could call to stay with you until we send someone over to take a statement?’
The only person Becky wanted to call was her brother, but when he was on assignment he was unreachable even by email. During those times it was like he had completely disappeared off the face of the earth. Her parents were on the other side of the earth, which left her with the last man on earth she wanted to call. But he lived close by, and her parents and brother had always insisted he was just like one of the family…
‘Yes,’ she answered a little lamely.
‘Call them now, and hopefully our guys will get there before he or she does,’ the officer said.
Becky stared at the phone for a moment before pressing in Jack’s home number, which she knew by heart from all the times she’d had to call him on patient-related matters.
‘Colcannon,’ Jack said somewhat groggily.
Becky glanced at the bedside clock and winced when she saw it was just after three a.m.
‘Jack? It’s me, Becky.’
She heard him smother a groan and the protest of the bed as he repositioned himself.
‘Rebecca. I take it this isn’t a social call?’ She heard the sound of his hand scraping over the unshaven roughness of his jaw. ‘Please, don’t tell me one of today’s patients has had a major bleed or—’
‘There was a man in my bedroom,’ she interrupted him bluntly.
There was a tiny silence.
‘And you felt the sudden need to confess that to me?’ There was more than a hint of satire in his tone.
‘He was wearing a balaclava,’ she bit out, stung by his mockery.
‘Kinky.’
She let out her breath in a hiss. ‘Will you listen to me, for God’s sake? I told you there was an intruder in my flat and you’re making a big joke out of it and I…I…’ She gulped back a sob.
Jack bolted upright, brushing his hair out of his eyes, his hand tightening on the receiver. ‘An intruder? What sort of intruder?’
‘T-the usual s-sort, dressed all in black with gloves and—’
‘Hell, Becky,’ he said as his gut clenched painfully. ‘Are you all right? Did he hurt you, or—?’
‘I—I’m fine,’ she said. ‘The police are on their way.’
‘I’ll be right over,’ he said, reaching for his neatly folded trousers. ‘Stay there and don’t answer the door unless you are sure it’s me or the police, got that?’
‘Y-yes.’ She gave him the address, and put down the phone, and chewed her nails and waited.
She wasn’t all that surprised when Jack arrived before the police. She heard his car roar up the street and watched as he parked behind her Beetle with the effortless ease she’d always envied.
She opened the door to his knock and stood before him uncertainly.
‘You called me B-Becky,’ she said and, stepping towards him, promptly burst into tears.
Jack held her trembling form against him without speaking. He knew she wouldn’t have called him if Ben or her parents had been in town, but somehow knowing she’d thought of him as next in line made him feel inexplicably warm inside.
He’d always done his best to keep her at arm’s length, not wanting to compromise his relationship to her brother with an affair with her that would have no future. He wasn’t planning on getting married and Becky was nothing if not the marrying type. She’d already been engaged three times as it was. He’d seen the magazines she pored over during long operations where the monitors did half the work for her. Brides and babies were her thing. She even had names picked out, for heaven’s sake!
No.
He wasn’t going down the same pathway of his parents who, even twenty-four years after their acrimonious divorce, were still not on speaking terms. For years they had used him as a go-between until he’d finally put a stop to it by limiting his contact to birthdays and Christmas. Thank God he was on call this year, which meant for once he wouldn’t have to choose between them.
The police announced their arrival and Jack eased Becky out of his arms to answer the door. He stood to one side as Becky gave her statement, his blood chilling as he heard the details.
‘Did he say anything to you?’ the female officer asked, pen in hand.
‘No.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘I thought I heard him laugh.’
The officers exchanged glances.
‘What sort of laugh?’ the male officer asked, looking at her intently.
‘A sort of little chuckle.’ She gave them a grimace of embarrassment. ‘I might have imagined it. I was very frightened…’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘About four months,’ Becky said. ‘I used to live in Mosman but my flatmate got married. I had to find somewhere else to live in a hurry.’
‘Have you any known enemies?’ the female officer asked. ‘Perhaps an ex-boyfriend or partner who might have found it hard to let go?’
If only, Becky thought wryly. Every one of her ex-fiancés had had absolutely no difficulty whatsoever in letting her go. Two of them hadn’t even waited around long enough for her to return their engagement rings.
‘No.’
‘What about through work?’ the male officer asked, glancing at his notes. ‘You said you’re a doctor. Have you ever had a patient who was overly interested in you?’
‘I’m an anaesthetist.’ Becky’s mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Apart from my initial assessment before surgery, my patients are all asleep.’
‘What about a colleague?’ the female officer asked. ‘Anyone you don’t particularly like?’
Becky was very conscious of Jack’s silent figure standing close by. She shifted from foot to foot and ran her tongue over her lips, but she had difficulty locating her voice.
‘Dr Baxter?’ the officer prompted, watching her closely.
Becky shook her head. ‘No, there’s no one I don’t get on with.’
‘Do you have anything of particular value in your flat that the intruder might have been after? Drugs or cash, or a prescription pad or jewellery?’
‘I have a prescription pad in my bag but no cash or jewellery of any value. He didn’t seem to be looking for anything. He just stood there, looking at me.’
‘Do you think you’d recognise this man in a line-up?’ the female constable asked.
Becky caught her lip between her teeth for a moment as she thought about it. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Did he have any distinguishing features?’
‘He was tall,’ Becky said.
‘How tall?’
‘Six foot or so.’ She looked at Jack briefly. ‘Not as tall as Jack but similar build. It was hard to see—it was dark—and he was dressed in black clothing, including gloves and balaclava.’
‘Yes, we haven’t got any prints off the doorknobs so he certainly knew what he was doing,’ the female constable said. ‘Does anyone apart from you have a key to this apartment?’
Becky shook her head. ‘No, not that I know of.’
‘You haven’t given anyone a set of keys at any time?’ The constable flicked her gaze in Jack’s direction before returning to look at her. ‘Perhaps when someone was staying over for the night?’
‘No.’ Becky felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. She hadn’t even had a girlfriend stay for a sleep-over, let alone a man. Hell, how desperate and dateless had she become?
‘Well, if you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact us,’ the male officer said. ‘And, of course, always lock your door and windows. We’re still hunting for a serial sex offender and until we find him you can’t be too careful.’
‘Right.’ Becky gave them both a weak smile as she led the way to the door. ‘Thank you for your help.’
&nbs
p; ‘No problem.’ The male officer met Jack’s eyes. ‘It might be an idea if you stayed the rest of the night with her, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Sure,’ Jack found himself agreeing.
‘And it would be a good idea to get the locks changed as soon as possible,’ the female officer advised. ‘There was no sign of a forced entry so unless you inadvertently left the door unlocked, this guy probably has a key.’
The door closed on the officers’ exit and Becky turned to look at Jack, her chocolate brown eyes still shadowed with residual fear. ‘You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.’
Jack drew in a breath of resignation. ‘Your brother would kill me if I let anything happen to you in his absence.’ He scraped a hand through his dark hair, leaving finger-sized comb marks in the shiny black strands. ‘Not to mention your parents.’
Becky felt a little resentful that he was only offering to stay on behalf of her family. Why couldn’t he be doing it for his own reasons?
‘I’m sure you have much better things to do than babysit your best mate’s kid sister,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest.
‘As long as I can lie flat and sleep, I don’t care if I’m babysitting Godzilla’s god-daughter.’ He looked around the room, his gaze coming to rest on her small sofa. ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare bedroom in this matchbox of an apartment, do you?’
‘I have one bed,’ she said, her mouth pulled tight. ‘Mine.’
‘Want to toss for it?’ he asked, taking a coin out of his pocket and turning it over in his fingers.
Becky’s mouth tightened even further.
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ he said. Glancing at the sofa, he added over one shoulder, ‘Have you got a spare pillow I could borrow?’
She went to her room, snatched one off her bed and brought it back to him, shoving it at his chest. ‘Here. Sweet dreams,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t snore.’
‘I haven’t had any complaints so far,’ he said. ‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
A small smile lurked around the edges of his mouth. ‘Have any of your previous partners complained about the noise you make in bed?’
A Surgeon Worth Waiting For Page 2