An Open Heart

by Harry Kraus

  Glad for the large dog at her side, she ignored her oglers and continued to her neighbor’s house. She didn’t release the leash until she was inside the enclosed backyard. Bo could be ultraprotective, and if a loyal friend was to be had, it was the mastiff.

  It hadn’t been that long ago that Bo had sensed the tension in a moment she’d shared with Jace.

  It had been a Friday, and Jace, taking a rare day off, had slept in. Heather was up, grooming Bo, readying him for a walk. Jace appeared in the doorway to her “dog room,” looking sleepy.

  Heather tried to keep her voice calm. “You were out late.”

  “My office charts took me longer than normal.”

  She kept brushing through the mastiff’s hair. “I’ve already put in a load of wash, Jace.” She studied him for a response, feeling anger rise within her.

  He rubbed the back of his neck.

  When she spoke, she couldn’t keep the spite from her voice. “I could smell her on your shirt.”

  He shook his head. “Smell her?”

  “The governor’s wife. She uses that expensive French perfume, her signature aroma.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “You deny you were with her?”

  “For Pete’s sake, Heather, back off!”

  Bo growled. Heather closed her hand around his collar.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of confidentiality? It’s not like I can tell you about patient encounters.”

  “Oh, so now she’s your patient?”

  “She came by the office with a tachycardia. I did an EKG, okay?”

  “I thought you had nurses for that.”

  He stepped forward, raising his voice. “This has got to stop! You’re acting crazy!”

  Bo leapt at him, tearing free from Heather’s handhold on his collar. He knocked Jace against the wall. Jace’s head bounced with a thud against the doorframe, then his feet slid out from under him, and he sank to the floor. The dog growled, baring teeth, inches from Jace’s nose.

  “Bo, no!” Heather commanded, bounding around the grooming table to grab the dog’s collar.

  Bo backed off a step as Heather moved in, evidently satisfied that the threat had been neutralized.

  “Jace,” she cried, picking up his head. She looked into unfocused, glassy eyes. “Jace!” She pulled her hand from the back of his scalp, already sticky with blood. “You’re bleeding.”

  She grabbed for a towel and pressed it against the wound as Jace aroused and his temper flared. “Don’t use that drool towel!”

  “Do you want to bleed to death? This is all I’ve got.”

  He stared at Bo. “Get that monster off me!”

  Jace struggled to his feet, exploring with one hand a gash on the back of his head. “I’m going to need suturing!” He frowned and stumbled out into the hall, pushing the drool-slinger towel against his scalp.

  Once he was out of earshot, Heather handed Bo a doggy treat and scratched behind his ears, marveling at the speed and efficiency at which he’d come to her aid. “Good dog, Bo,” she whispered. “Good dog!”

  Now, in her neighbor’s backyard, she unclipped the leash from the dog’s collar.

  Her cell phone signaled an incoming text message. She fished the phone from her pocket. It was from Lisa Sprague.

  Making progress on fact finding. Some things don’t add up. Can we meet for lunch to discuss?

  Heather felt her stomach tighten. Now that I’m closing in, I find myself fearful of the truth.

  She reminded herself of the woman she wanted to be. Trusting. Forgiving.

  She typed a response.

  Strawberry Street Café. Tomorrow. Noon. Okay?

  She wound the dog leash into a small circle. “Bye-bye, Bo.”

  She turned to leave. God, give me grace to accept the truth.

  Jace finished the surgery on Mohamed Omar, deftly going on and off bypass, removing the bullet fragment, and patching the small hole between the atria in a time that would rival the best of cardiac teams in the United States.

  He took a deep breath as he tied the last knot in the skin suture. “There. What’s the time?”

  Evan looked at the wall clock. “A quarter past,” he said. “No worries.”

  “When can you pull his tube? I want to talk to him.”

  Evan shrugged. “He’s young and strong. The pump run was brief. I’d say, give me an hour or two and I might have him off the ventilator.”

  Jace pulled off his gloves, folding one inside the other and stretching the latex out to slingshot the gloves across the room into a trash receptacle. “Nice work, Gabby.”

  She looked at him in all seriousness. “Now, Jace, I’ve done what you asked. I’m calling British Air.”

  “You have to stay tonight. What if there is a complication and I need you?”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “But tomorrow, I’m on a plane.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She shook her head. “You two need to come with me. Something bad is going on in this place. I’m afraid for you.”

  Evan spoke to the intern. “See if you can find an extra person to help lift him.” He turned to Gabby. “I’m with you.” He paused. “Jace, you need to come with us.”

  “So you’re afraid for me now too?”

  He nodded. “Frankly, yes. Things have gotten too weird for me. Someone or something isn’t happy about you being here.”

  Jace finished applying a dressing over his patient’s sternum. “I can’t just operate and run.”

  “You can if you’re in danger,” Gabby said.

  Jace touched his patient’s shoulder. “Maybe this guy will give me an answer.”

  “So now you’re expecting messages from beyond?”

  Jace threw up his hands. “I don’t know what to expect anymore. But I’m listening.”

  “I’m calling about flights. I’m going to reserve three seats.”

  Jace sighed. “Maybe you’re right.” He paused, looking out the window toward the cemetery. “But I can’t help feeling I haven’t done what I was supposed to do here.”

  “You’ve got one night,” Gabby said, forcing a laugh. “Whatever business you need to settle, you’d better do it fast.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go with you. Buy the tickets.”

  Governor Franks waited until Ryan Meadows sat before closing his office door. “So what is so urgent that you needed to see me face-to-face?”

  “It’s about Jace Rawlings.”

  “You found a way to get a DNA sample?”

  “Not exactly. At least not in the way you’d expect.”

  Stuart Franks hadn’t been happy thinking that he’d let Jace Rawlings slip through his fingers. And Ryan Meadows hadn’t been successful in figuring out a way to force Kenya to extradite him. “So what’s the situation?”

  “Did you know that Rawlings had his own ID badge so he could get in and out of here through the service entrance?”

  The governor shrugged. “I knew. Jacobs from security asked me to sign off on it. I wanted my physician to have easy access to me.”

  Ryan smiled. “Or Anita.”

  Stuart Franks sighed. “Maybe some of that was my fault.” He stared from the window. “But this office is so demanding.”

  Ryan leaned forward and ran his fingers over the back of a large mahogany carving of a Cape buffalo, a gift from the Kenyans. It stood two feet high, and the governor had placed it next to his desk.

  “So what did you need to tell me?” Franks asked.

  “Rawlings is coming home. Airline security notified me this morning. He has a reservation for a flight to Heathrow tomorrow and on to Dulles the next morning.”

  “Call the chief of police. Have him contact the magistrate with what we know. I want him arrested on arrival.”


  Ryan raised his eyebrows. “What about if I tip off the paper?”

  Franks sighed. “One person. Do you owe someone an exclusive?”

  “There is a young lady I’d like to please.”

  The governor huffed. “I don’t want a circus.”

  “Oh no, sir,” he said. “We wouldn’t want that at all.”

  Stuart Franks chuckled. “Welcome home, Dr. Rawlings.”

  With that, Ryan Meadows slipped quietly from the governor’s office, leaving him alone.

  That evening, Jace studied the bedside chart of his most recent open-heart patient, Mohamed Omar Abdullahi. Everything was “euboxic,” as they liked to say, meaning every value was inside the normal “box.”

  He leaned close as his patient began to speak. Mohamed’s voice was weak, and Jace strained to hear among the beeping of the monitors and the clamor of clinical noise in the HDU.

  “I had a dream while you were operating.”

  Jace nodded.

  “I saw Issa, the one you call Jesus.”

  “Yes.”

  “He was not dressed like a prophet, but came as a God.”

  “Did He speak to you?”

  Mohamed shook his head. “He only touched my heart. I believe He has brought healing to my body.”

  “Okay,” Jace said.

  “Muslims are taught that Issa was a prophet, not God, and certainly not above our Muhammad, peace be upon him.”

  Jace nodded, and his patient continued. “I have friends, smart Muslim men, who cannot be converted to Christianity through intellectual arguments, but this—” He halted, breathing deep behind his oxygen mask. “This dream has made me think of Issa differently.” He looked about, as if nervous that his Muslim friends may be near. “I think Issa wants me to be a Christian.”

  The surgeon shifted on his feet.

  Mohamed touched Jace’s hand. “Can you pray for me?”

  “I—uh, no.” Jace shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not the one for that.”

  “Issa also had a message for you.”

  “I thought He did not speak to you.”

  “He didn’t, but He showed me something, and I feel I am to tell it to you.”

  “What it is?”

  “I saw the minister of health, a man named John Okombo.”

  “I know him.”

  “Warn him,” Mohamed said. “I saw him giving a speech, and he was shot.”

  “What about me? Wasn’t there a message for me?”

  Mohamed shook his head. “Only what I have said. Will you warn him?”

  Jace mumbled a response, but did not share his true feelings. Maybe I would be better off if Minister Okombo were dead.

  42

  Lisa Sprague leaned toward the waitress across the small table at the Strawberry Street Café. “I’ll have the quiche.”

  Heather smiled. “Just salad bar for me.”

  The waitress, a student at Virginia Commonwealth University, sported three earrings in her left ear. She pointed at an old porcelain bathtub that housed the salad. “Feel free to get your salad anytime.”

  Heather waited until the waitress retreated toward the kitchen. “So what have you found out?”

  “A little.” Lisa shrugged. “I interviewed the hotel manager down at the Jefferson. His timeline is a bit off from the one Ryan Meadows gave you.”

  “How so?”

  “Mr. Baker said he escorted Jace to Anita Franks’s suite after eleven. You said Ryan Meadows said ten.”

  “I thought his timing was off,” Heather responded. “I remember because Jace and I had been to the theater that evening and we didn’t even get out until after ten.”

  “Mr. Meadows must have been confused.”

  Heather nodded and stayed quiet. She thought about canceling her order for salad. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “There is something else,” Lisa added, twirling her blonde hair and lifting it behind her ear. “I talked to a friend at the ME’s office.” She slid a piece of paper across the table. “Anita’s sexual partner was a secretor.”

  “So…”

  “So we need to know Jace’s blood type to know if he is ruled in or out.”

  Heather studied the paper. “I’ll contact Gabby. Maybe she’ll know. Jace hasn’t been responding to my emails.”

  Lisa nodded and sipped her water.

  Heather kept her voice quiet. “I remember the night of the accident like it was yesterday. Jace and I had a real blowout.”

  Lisa kept quiet and Heather kept talking.

  “Jace got a text as we were exiting the theater. The movie was romantic, and I wanted him home with me.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I could tell by the way he acted that the text was from her. He wouldn’t let me see it. He said he needed to swing by the office and would be late.

  “I grabbed his phone and turned my back to him. We were in a crowd in front of the theater, so he couldn’t make a scene. I read the text.” She imitated Anita’s feminine voice. “I need to see you tonight. I need help. Call me.”

  “What happened next?”

  “He exploded. He grabbed my elbow and forcibly walked me away from the crowd. It’s the first time he ever laid a hand on me like that. Jace was always so gentle.” Heather’s voice thickened. “He wrenched the phone from my hand and blamed me. He said I didn’t trust him. It was patient-related, and he would be home soon. I looked at him and told him not to bother. Why keep acting out a lie?”

  Heather stopped talking while the hostess passed with a young couple. They were twenty-somethings and seemed totally absorbed with each other.

  “I don’t curse, Lisa. But that night, I watched Jace stomp off toward his car and I sat in mine and just pounded the steering wheel and let it fly. I didn’t even know I knew how to say those words, but I managed. And you know what? They tasted like they belonged there. I was just so bitter.”

  “Did he come home?”

  “It was the night of his accident. I’m not sure he even remembers our fight.” She paused, folding and refolding her napkin. “I went home and packed. I was leaving. I couldn’t stay with him another day. I had my keys in my hand, Lisa. I was on my way out the door when my phone rang. It was the hospital. ‘Your husband’s been in an accident.’” Heather’s voice choked and she halted.

  Lisa reached for her hand. “You couldn’t have known, Heather.”

  “You know what’s horrible?” She paused and stared past her friend. “When they told me he’d been in an accident, my first thought was, I hope he dies.”

  Lisa squeezed Heather’s arm. “That’s normal. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you’re going to feel the love all the time, especially after a rocky time.”

  Heather shook her head slowly. “I never left him. After the accident, I felt so bad for him that I decided to stay a few more weeks. Then he started talking about leaving for Africa, and I knew that would be it. At that point I was too hurt to want him to stay. I asked him not to come back.”

  “So much for that, huh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lisa squinted. “You don’t know?”

  Heather shook her head.

  “Jace is coming home. He’s flying to London tomorrow, then on to Dulles the next day.”

  “He’s coming home?”

  Lisa nodded. “Ryan Meadows tipped me off. He said the police will be waiting for him at the airport. They’re going to arrest him, Heather.”

  Heather covered her mouth. “For what?”

  Lisa leaned forward again. “For an attack on Anita Franks. Maybe they know something we don’t, but the governor is supposedly behind this. He wants Jace in custody.”

  That evening, as Jace approached his house, he noticed the front door was already open. He looked for his guards, unsu
re whether they would be around before dark.

  He slowed and placed his hand against the front door. “Hello?”

  As soon as he stepped inside, someone appeared in the doorway behind him, a tall uniformed man. Jace turned toward the sound.

  “Dr. Rawlings, we were expecting you.”

  Jace backed into his kitchen. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  In the living room, his guards sat on a small couch, at the will of three other men, all uniformed, muscular, and carrying automatic weapons.

  Jace looked right and left. “What’s going on?”

  “We need you to come with us.”

  “Where? Who are you?”

  “We are men with the job of keeping you safe. You are in danger here. We need to take you to a secure location.”

  Jace shook his head. “I don’t feel unsafe.” He paused, looking at their weapons. “Your guns make me feel unsafe.”

  “Get your things. We’re leaving now.”

  “Have you talked to my medical director? I’ve got responsibilities. I’m on call.”

  An older man stepped forward. “Shut up and pack a bag.”

  Jace pointed at his guards, the police officers that the MP had arranged to watch his place at night. “These men can guard me. I need to stay here for my work.”

  “We cannot ensure your safety here any longer.”

  “Who is behind this? Who are you working for?”

  A muscular young man with a large gap in his lower teeth grinned. “We are under orders from the minister of health.”

  That jolted Jace’s memory. “Is the minister of health giving a speech any time soon?”

  “Get packing. What is that to you?”

  “I need to speak to Minister Okombo.”

  “Move, Dr. Rawlings. We need you to move.”

  Jace stood his ground. “I need to get a message to Minister Okombo.”

  One of the men came out of Jace’s bedroom. “I packed your things,” he said, throwing a suitcase onto the floor.

  “Someone is going to shoot Minister Okombo during a speech. You have to warn him.”

  “Shut up.” Jace felt a sharp sting on the back of his head. He stumbled forward, watching in horror as one of the new men moved behind the guards sitting on the couch and quickly slit the throat of the first guard and shoved him sprawling to the floor. The second guard leapt to his feet, only to be clubbed by the attacker with the butt of the automatic weapon. The guard staggered, and the man slit the guard’s throat just as he had the first one.