Dangerous Consequences

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  “Sydney, is that you, babe?” the familiar yet unidentifiable voice said anxiously. “This is your neighbor, Barbara Brown, from across the street and—”

  “Mrs. Brown, is everything okay?”

  A clear image of her meddlesome neighbor took shape in her mind. Sydney had been raised to respect her elders, but Mrs. Brown constantly tried her patience. If you looked up nosy in the dictionary, Mrs. Brown’s picture would be right there.

  “Hon, your house alarm went off about an hour ago, so I called the police. They’re here now to check it out.”

  Sydney glanced at her watch.

  “I told the police that you and Donathan were out of town and wouldn’t be returning for a few more days, so I—”

  “Mrs. Brown, we came back from Carmel last night. Donathan should be at home right now.”

  “Well, I told Herbert that’s what I thought.” Her voice trailed off as she processed what she’d just said. “But I haven’t seen Donathan since you left.”

  Sydney shook her head in disbelief. She wasn’t in the mood for a dose of Mrs. Brown and her antics today.

  “Well, you gave me this number and told me to call you if there was ever a problem, and I ain’t seen a hair of your husband since you left—”

  “Mrs. Brown, is the alarm still going off? What is it the officers need?” Sydney struggled to keep the impatience out of her voice.

  “Well, they just need to verify things are okay. I didn’t want anything to happen to your house while you were away, so when I heard that alarm go off, I told Herbert I was going to call the police. I didn’t want you to come home and all your belongings be gone.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes upward and sighed. Gone? There was no way anyone was going to get anything out of the house without Mrs. Brown seeing or hearing something. She pulled at the black elastic band that held her hair in a ponytail. It was giving her a headache.

  “Mrs. Brown, thank you for looking out for us; we really appreciate it.”

  “Is there a number for Donathan that you want me to give to them?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m going to hang up and give him a call right now.”

  “All right, then, suga, you do that.”

  Sydney ended the call and immediately dialed her home number. Donathan picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, boo,” she whispered into the phone as she headed down the hallway toward the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. “I just got off the phone with Mrs. Brown. Apparently the alarm went off about an hour ago and she called the police. They’re outside responding to her call.”

  “I set it off when I left earlier, but the alarm company called and I took care of it. I swear, that lady has got too much time on her hands.”

  “I know, but at least she’s watching the house.”

  “More like watching other folks’ business.” He chuckled. “I don’t understand why she called the police; if she heard the alarm going off, she definitely had to hear me leave on the motorcycle. Did you get checked out yet?”

  “I’m starting my rounds now, but I promise to let someone look at me soon.”

  “You know, you could come back home and I’d be happy to check you out thoroughly myself.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to wait until tonight to do my inspection.”

  Sydney giggled.

  “All right, babe. I’m on my way out to talk to the men in blue.”

  After saying good-bye a second time, Sydney hurried down the hall and bumped into Dr. Day exiting the double doors that led to the NICU. Miles was new to the neurosurgery team at Children’s, having only been at the hospital for two months. In that short time he’d had the female nurses taking bets on which one was going to run her fingers through the perfect-sized dreadlocks that rested neatly at the nape of his neck and which one was going to get in his bed first.

  “You’re definitely a sight for tired eyes,” he said warmly. She flashed him a brilliant smile in return.

  His six-foot-four, lean, muscular frame towered over her. He was already dressed in street clothes beneath his lab coat—a Ralph Lauren black T-shirt with its signature red polo horse and expensive black slacks tailored to fall just above his Gucci sneakers. She tracked his eyes as they fastened on the V-neck of her scrubs, skimmed her entire body, then took a slow return trip back to her face. Instinctively, Sydney drew her hand to the bruise across her chest.

  “I appreciate you covering for me.”

  “If the tables were turned, I’m sure you would have done the same.” His eyes focused on the bruise. “Are you okay?”

  “My collarbone is a little tender. When I get a chance, I’ll run down to the imaging department and have someone take an X-ray.”

  “Would you like me to cover for you a little while longer so you can take care of that?”

  “No. I’ve kept you here long enough. I’ll wait until things settle down a bit, then get someone to take care of it. So, what did I miss?”

  “A baby girl, last name Perkins, born with spina bifida. Birth by C-section, near full term, but she weighed four pounds, one ounce. She was transported here by helicopter from John Muir Medical Center in Walnut Creek. The opening level was an approximate L1 and as you know that means complete lower body paralysis and no control of bowl and bladder functions. The long-term prognosis doesn’t look good,” Miles recited.

  “Have you spoken with the parents yet?”

  “The mother is still hospitalized at John Muir. There was no mention of a father. The baby arrived alone.”

  Sydney felt a sudden sadness. As a pediatric neurosurgeon, having to be the one who shattered parents’ dreams for their children was the most difficult part of her job. She couldn’t imagine being a mother—especially a single mother—learning that her child would face lifelong medical challenges and being helpless to do anything about it. She forced a smile and changed the subject. “How about I buy you an early lunch?”

  A coy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Food sounds wonderful, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I was just about to cancel my Comcast installation for this afternoon, but since you’re here, I think I can still make it to my loft in time for the appointment. I’ve watched the Love Jones and Boomerang DVDs so much in the last two months I know every single word, and that’s scary.” They laughed in unison.

  “A rain check it is, then. Maybe we can go someplace other than the hospital cafeteria and I can bring along my girlfriend, Payton.”

  Sydney watched Miles closely as he smothered a groan and shook his head. He’d transferred here from Chicago, and she guessed his reaction was related to the residual effects of other staff members trying to make love connections for him. Miles certainly didn’t look like he needed any help in that department.

  “I think you’d like her.”

  Miles lowered his head; a hint of a smile exposing his dimples.

  “She’s a very attractive woman,” Sydney said convincingly.

  He held the door to the NICU open, making room for Sydney to pass under his makeshift bridge. Their pagers went off in unison.

  He spoke first. “It’s probably the Perkins baby. C’mon, I’ll help you get started.”

  Sydney shook her head. “Miles, you go home. You’ve already been here for sixteen hours and you look exhausted. If I need an extra hand, Julia can help me.”

  Miles clipped his pager back onto his belt. “I really don’t mind.”

  “Didn’t you just say you had a Comcast appointment to keep?”

  Miles nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I did. But call me if you need me,” he said, before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor.

  As the double doors of the NICU closed behind her, Sydney found herself bombarded with the synchronized sounds of mechanical breathing. The space was large, with a circular nurses’ station situated in the middle of the room. Multicolored lifelines attached to the tiny incubators were visible, and regulated beeps filled the room. He
r eyes locked on a young couple standing over a tiny infant lying on her back. The child was motionless; a girl she guessed by the pink cap that rested beside her in the clear bassinette. Her head was wrapped snuggly with gauze to stabilize the IV inserted in the vein that ran down the front of her forehead. The mother was on one side, gently brushing her finger along the side of the baby’s cheek, the father on the other, resting his index finger in the baby’s tiny palm. Sydney felt sad. Most of the babies in NICU had somebody who cared about them, but there were others who hadn’t been touched or held by anyone other than doctors and nurses in weeks.

  “Over here, Dr. James,” one of the nurses called, seizing her attention.

  Sydney made her way across the aisle, gazed down at the baby, and sighed before removing the stethoscope from her coat pocket. She hoped there was something she could do to make life more bearable for the baby, even if it was only for a little while.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sydney drove from Children’s Hospital to her home in the El Cerrito Hills in record time. It was almost eight in the evening, but daylight savings time had been in effect for a few weeks and there was still daylight. She felt like every nerve ending along her neck and shoulders had a ton of bricks sitting on them. Between cases, she’d gone to the X-ray department for pictures of her neck and shoulder. The diagnosis was nothing more than some ibuprofen, a hot bubble bath, and a glass of wine couldn’t cure.

  Sydney sighed heavily as she turned her Range Rover on to Terrace Drive. She was glad this day was almost over and happy to finally be home. Idling in front of her driveway, she waited for the wrought-iron gate to slide open. She heard her name being called in the distance.

  “Sydney, Sydney, baby.”

  In her rearview mirror, she saw her neighbor, Barbara Brown, carefully stepping down the straight flight of stairs that led from the street to her front door, carrying something. Sydney’s face warmed with annoyance; the words I don’t need this right now echoed in her head.

  Engine still running, Sydney took her time getting out of the car. She was tired and the last thing she felt like doing was listening to Mrs. Brown ramble on about the neighborhood gossip. Hearsay was her specialty, and Sydney knew that was exactly what she’d do. The older woman, who had naturally wide eyes that made her look as if she was always surprised about something, approached her wearing a pale yellow housedress with an apron secured tightly around her waist. She was carrying a pie, which she handed to Sydney.

  “Baby, are you all right? That truck of yours looks like you’ve been in a car fight, and it don’t look like you won the altercation.” She craned her head around Sydney to get a better look at the Range Rover.

  Sydney blew out a haggard breath and shifted her weight from one foot to the other; the warm dish melted away her annoyance. The aroma of Barbara Brown’s purple sweet potato pie enticed Sydney to shed her impatience and be more cordial to her neighbor.

  “No, ma’am; I was in an accident this morning, I have a splitting headache and all I want to do is lay down.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to hear that. I want to apologize to you again about calling the police this morning,” Barbara Brown said, rubbing her hand up and down Sydney’s arm. “Your alarm was screaming like a newborn baby and I just didn’t know what to do. I was afraid a couple of those thieving rascals don’ snuck up in there and was takin’ ya stuff.”

  Although Sydney’s head continued to throb, a slight smile turned her lips upward. Barbara Brown really did mean well and there had been a few burglaries on the street. Sydney was grateful she not only had a state-of-the-art alarm system to protect her home but also the best neighborhood watch lady in the country. At least Mrs. Brown’s nosiness was good for something.

  “It wasn’t a problem, Mrs. Brown, and I want you to know that Donathan and I both appreciate you looking out for us.”

  “Oh, baby, I don’t mind. It’s no trouble at all,” she said, embracing Sydney in a hug that lingered uncomfortably long. She stepped back and released Sydney from her grasp. “Well, get you some rest, suga. I got to get back to my baking for the church auxiliary. Enjoy the pie.”

  Sydney briefly watched as Barbara Brown ascended the stairs a lot quicker than she’d come down them. Once she disappeared into the house, Sydney returned to her car and drove through the gate.

  When she entered the front door, a whiff of grilled salmon aroused her senses. “Donathan,” she called before she rested her tote bag on the entry table and hung her jacket on the coatrack affixed to the inside of the foyer closet door.

  “In here, babe,” he called as she moved toward the kitchen and the wonderful smell.

  Donathan was standing over their Wolf stove, barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt, with a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. She placed the pie dish on the granite countertop, her eyes lingering on his smooth, milk-chocolate skin. This morning he’d had the three-day stubble she was so fond of, especially when it tickled the insides of her thighs, but now he was clean-shaven except for the neatly trimmed goatee. He reminded her of a mature Lance Gross. He looked up and smiled, his dark brown eyes closing almost to slits.

  “Come here and taste this,” he said, summoning her to the raised spoon, his hand acting as a ladle to catch any overflow.

  “How did you know I was starving?” she asked, blowing on the spoon before taking a bite. “Ummm.” She inhaled, closed her eyes, and dropped her head back as the food danced across her palate.

  “’Cause it’s my job to know,” he said, backing her into the countertop, kissing her gently on her neck. Her body stiffened. Donathan raised his head, making uncompromising eye contact with her. There was no mistaking the question in his stare.

  “Yes, I got X-rayed; nothing is fractured, just bruising and muscle strain.”

  “Good girl.” He rested his hands on her hips. “Why don’t you go take a hot bath, and by the time you finish, dinner will be ready?”

  “But I’m hungry now, boo.” She pouted.

  “I know, but the pasta needs to boil for a few more minutes and I need to finish making the salad.” He took a sip of Chardonnay, then handed his wineglass to her. “Take this and go,” he said, then playfully patted her behind and shooed her out of the kitchen. “I need about twenty more minutes.”

  After Sydney climbed the stairs and entered the bathroom, a shower was all she could muster. The rhythmic droplets of hot water massaged her aching body and made her forget about the day’s events. Afterward, she dried and oiled her body, wrapped herself in a towel, then made her way through the vanity area, headed toward her bed, with the intention of resting her eyes for a minute.

  A wide grin spread across her face when she noticed a few surprises on her nightstand—two gift boxes covered in black satin and organza ribbon and a black envelope propped against another glass of wine. Without a second thought, she hurried over and tore open the envelope.

  Do you like champagne? Put on the items from the boxes, drink your glass of wine, then slip on the blindfold and wait for me . . .

  Within a few seconds, she’d found a champagne-colored Millesia Diablesse silk demi-cup bra with raised embroidery, a matching thong panty, and a pair of Christian Louboutin patent-leather pumps.

  “Good choice,” she purred, admiring the color of the lingerie. It reminded her of the nail polish on her toes: chocolate frost, her favorite, the one she picked on most visits to the nail salon.

  Donathan had a thing for expensive lingerie and shoes and she had an extensive lingerie and shoe collection to prove it. His one requisite: that she wore them for the first time for him. He had told her on many occasions that silks, satins, and embroidered laces next to her skin got his dick hard and she could definitely understand why he liked the combination.

  Before stepping into the thong, Sydney rushed into the bathroom to quickly wash up. Her breathing slowed at the feel of the silk against her skin. She admired the satin ties that rested on her hips, then placed her arms through the two-stra
nded bra straps and hooked the front clasp between her breasts. She glided her oiled feet into the four-inch pumps and fell back onto the bed, the 1000-thread-count sheets pressed against her back. Everything felt so good, so smooth, and so cool. With the blindfold twisted between her fingertips, she closed her eyes for what seemed like only a moment and opened them to the sound of Donathan placing a serving tray on the nightstand. Her lashes fluttered as she struggled to keep her eyes open. He picked up her wineglass and looked intently at her.

  “You look beautiful,” Donathan said, marveling, his voice husky and low.

  “Thanks, baby,” she said, her eyes now wide open and taking in the full view of her handsome husband. She loved the way he looked at her. He sat down on the bed beside her, balanced the wineglass in his left hand, and traced circles around her erect nipples with his right.

  Sydney felt his finger rest a moment on the bra closure between her breasts, then with a feathery stroke he drew a curvy line downward toward the triangle of champagne fabric peeking from between her legs. Her breath caught in her stomach as he moved his finger further south, maneuvered her panty to the side, and started fingering her. Sydney moaned as he dipped his finger in and out of her wetness.

  “So wet,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

  “I can’t wait for you to taste me either,” she responded as she scooted to the center of the bed.

  Donathan continued his gentle assault, the silence in the room broken only by her oohs and aahs. He licked his way down and then up again, taking his time before he unhooked her bra and released her perfect D cups in the process. She untangled her arms from the straps, then welcomed Donathan’s wet, sultry kisses on her erect nipples, which sent jolts of pleasure cascading through her body. Now on his knees, positioned between her legs, he pulled his T-shirt over his head, his muscular biceps flexing, then removed her panty and planted a trail of butterfly kisses that made her stomach flutter. First he nibbled and licked, then tasted Sydney, masterfully exploring the wetness between her thighs until she ached. Sydney rhythmically chased the euphoric sensations, begging him not to stop. “Oh, baby, that feels so good,” she murmured. “Right there . . .”