The Ruthless Billionaire’s Redemption

by Sandra Marton

  His voice was soft, but it still rang with the old authority. She smiled slightly and turned back towards him.

  ‘To tell the nurse you’re awake. She’ll want to—’

  ‘The guy in the tractor. Is he OK?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. He got away without a scratch.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s how it always goes. Somebody walks away, and somebody pays the price.’ He drew in his breath. ‘Jesus, I really did it this time, didn’t I?’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. That tractor…’

  He looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. ‘I screwed up,’ he said flatly. ‘In every possible way.’ He hesitated. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you.’

  She stared at him. ‘I wasn’t—’

  ‘You must have seen what happened.’

  Danielle touched her tongue to her lips. ‘It was—it was upsetting.’

  ‘Upsetting.’ His voice was toneless, hoarse with exhaustion.

  ‘I mean—I mean…’ What she meant was that she’d almost died herself when she’d seen him lying there. But how could she tell him that?

  The bed creaked as he tried to shift his weight. ‘Do me a favour,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Call the nurse. Tell her I can use whatever happy juice she’s got.’ His breath hissed. ‘And for Chrissakes, hurry.’

  * * *

  The days passed slowly. Val breezed in and out, but Danielle arranged her work schedule so she could spend most of each day at the hospital. Lee didn’t know that, of course. She simply told him there wasn’t very much happening on the set.

  ‘So you figured if Val didn’t need you, I might.’ His voice was flat.

  ‘My French is a hundred times better than yours,’ she said easily. ‘You’d still be trying to tell the nurse that you despise custard if I weren’t here.’

  A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. After a moment, he looked away.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘You’re a big girl.’

  When reporters and photographers showed up in the lounge one day, Lee was reluctant to see them. But Val was there, and she insisted it was necessary.

  ‘They’ll think something’s wrong if you turn them away,’ she said, and finally he agreed.

  ‘Five minutes, not a minute more,’ he said. ‘Just long enough to keep the sharks from thinking they can scent blood in the water.’

  His photo was in the papers the next day, along with a brief story about his accident and his intention to be back on the racing circuit within two months.

  Val’s photo was there, too. Somehow, she’d managed to ease herself before the cameras each time the shutter had clicked.

  Lee’s pain lessened, but not his irritability. He was tired of lying around, he said, tired of being poked at, tired of taking medication.

  ‘I’ll decide when I need shots to ease the pain,’ he growled.

  Val thought that was wonderfully masculine. ‘He’s so macho,’ she said, purring as she touched up her lipstick before going into Lee’s room for one of her visits.

  ‘It is not always beneficial to be so, as you say, macho,’ Dr Bonet said, frowning as stepped into the hall. ‘Things happen in life that require—how do you put it?—a perspectual difference.’

  ‘A different perspective?’ Danielle asked.

  Bonet nodded. ‘Oui. Your friend should be encouraged to see himself as a total human being, not a superman.’

  A little chill of premonition ran along Danielle’s skin. Her eyes lifted to Val’s, and her cousin made a face and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Foreigners shouldn’t try to speak like the rest of us,’ she whispered after the surgeon was out of earshot.

  But Danielle was barely listening. ‘I’m going to talk to Bonet,’ she began, and just then a covey of nurses swooped down on the two women. They wanted Lee’s autograph on the magazine cover with his photo on it, they explained earnestly. Would Mademoiselle Nichols be so kind as to explain their request to Monsieur?

  Danielle glanced down the hall. Bonet was waiting at the lift.

  ‘Mademoiselle? Please, you will talk with him, yes?’

  She looked from the nurses to the surgeon, just as the lift doors opened and Bonet stepped inside. Well, what did it matter? Bonet would be back tomorrow; she could speak to him then.

  ‘Oui,’ she said with a smile, and she led the little group into Lee’s room.

  But she missed seeing the doctor the next day and the day after that. His schedule had changed, she was told by the nurse in charge, he was making his rounds early in the mornings now. Was there, perhaps, a problem?

  Danielle hesitated. There was no problem, not really, and finally she shook her head. After all, Bonet would have said something if there were. Lee was sitting up. Except for the paraphernalia on his legs, he even looked his old self again.

  But his demeanour was changing, becoming almost grim. The exception was the day a group of men wearing satin jackets emblazoned with his name and his team’s logo swarmed into his room and held court. He was all smiles that day—at least, until they left.

  He said little for the remainder of the afternoon. His temper was short—Val showed up for one of her whirlwind visits and left even more quickly than usual.

  ‘He’s impossible,’ she hissed as she hurried out of the door.

  The next morning, Danielle paused at the nursing station. ‘How is Mr Bradford today?’ she asked.

  The nurse raised her eyebrows. ‘Formidable.’

  Danielle braced herself as she opened the door to Lee’s room. Lee had graduated to sitting in a chair by the window for a brief time each morning and afternoon, and that was where he was now. ‘Hi,’ she said brightly. ‘I got hold of a copy of last Sunday’s New York Times. I thought you might—’

  He turned towards her, his face glowering. ‘I don’t give a damn about the Times. I want to know when I’m going to get out of here.’

  ‘And good morning to you, too,’ she said with forced good cheer.

  ‘I’m not in the mood for fun and games, Danielle. I’m damned tired of asking questions and getting no answers.’

  Her smile faded. ‘Have you asked questions?’

  ‘Damned right I have. Bonet, the nurses…’ He drew in his breath. ‘All I do is ask questions. But everybody gets this blank look and starts examining the ceiling moulding or a floor tile.’

  ‘Well, maybe they don’t understand you.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why I want you to go and find Bonet and talk to him.’

  For some reason, Danielle felt as if the ground were tilting beneath her. ‘Why don’t you give it a day or two?’ she said, turning away and busying herself with fluffing his pillows. ‘You can’t rush things, you know. I’m sure you’ll be up and about soon. Until then—’

  ‘Danielle. Look at me.’ His voice was soft, and she knew she could no more deny him than she could walk on the moon. Her heart turned over when their eyes met. Under all that bluster, there was a darkness in his face that took her breath away. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Find Bonet. Talk to him. I just—I have this feeling that something’s wrong.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You broke your—’

  ‘Dammit!’ Lee slammed his hand on the arm of his chair. He glared at her, then took a deep breath. ‘I know what I did,’ he said in measured tones. ‘Hell, I’ve broken bones before. But I’ve never had to lie around like a—a sack of potatoes while they knit.’

  ‘All right,’ she said softly. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Lee lay his head back. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. ‘Talk to Bonet. Ask him what the hell’s going on. Tell him—tell him I’m going stir-crazy, tell him I have to get out of here…’

  His voice faded away. After a moment, Danielle nodded her head.

  ‘I’ll do the best I can.’

  Her best was not good enough. Bonet avoided her questions. But he finally agreed to let Lee spend part of each day in a whe
elchair.

  ‘As for the rest, tell Monsieur Bradford I will be in to see him tomorrow.’

  Danielle smiled when she brought Lee the news, smiled as she watched a burly attendant transfer him to the wheelchair. But the smile was false. All she could think of, as she wheeled him to the conservatory, was that Lee was right.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  VAL pushed open the door to Lee’s room and smiled thinly. ‘There you are, Danni. I spent the morning looking for you. I had stacks and stacks of mail that needed translating.’ Her smile warmed as it fell on Lee. ‘Hello, darling,’ she purred. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  Lee’s mouth turned down. ‘Tired of issuing medical bulletins, that’s how. Tell me how things are going on the set.’

  Val sighed dramatically. ‘All right, I suppose. Barney’s being a bear—we’re getting ready for the move to Monaco, and he’s raging about everything.’ She tucked her pale hair behind her ear as she sat down on the bed beside him. ‘You’ll be up and about by then, won’t you, darling? On crutches or something?’

  ‘I’d damned well better be. I’ve had enough of sitting on my tail to last a lifetime. I want out of here.’

  ‘Who can blame you? And you will, indeed, leave us soon, Monsieur Bradford.’ Dr Bonet’s voice startled everyone. He smiled politely and inclined his head. ‘Forgive me. I should have announced myself.’

  ‘No,’ Lee said quickly, ‘come in, Doctor.’ He hesitated. ‘Did I hear you right? Did you say you’re going to cut me loose?’

  Bonet nodded. ‘Oui. I see no reason not to let you go within a few days. Being, as you say, up and about, however, may take some time.’

  ‘I don’t expect to run a marathon,’ Lee said. He smiled, and Danielle thought it was the first real smile she’d seen on his face in days. ‘All I want is to get up on some crutches or a cane or—’

  ‘I am afraid that is not possible just yet, my friend.’

  Lee puffed out his breath. ‘Listen, Doc,’ he said pleasantly, ‘I know you guys get some kind of perverse kick out of keeping people bedridden. But this is only a broken leg, not some rare disease. You’re just going to have to—’

  ‘It is a fractured ankle, not a fractured leg.’

  ‘Simpler still. Which is why there’s no reason I can’t—’

  ‘This was a compound fracture, monsieur. There was nothing simple about it.’ Bonet stepped into the room and closed the door. ‘You have broken this ankle before, yes? Three, perhaps four years ago?’

  ‘So?’

  Bonet nodded thoughtfully. ‘And then there is the knee injury, too. The ligament damage.’

  ‘You told me all this already, Doc. I’m impressed, OK?’

  ‘Monsieur, I think it is time we spoke of your injury in some depth.’ He looked from one woman to the other, and raised his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘Perhaps you would like the ladies to leave?’

  Lee’s laughter was strained. ‘On the contrary. I think I’d better have them here as witnesses. Five minutes ago, you said I could check out of the hospital, but now you’re waffling all over the place. Which is it, Doctor? Are you going to discharge me or aren’t you?’

  Bonet folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. ‘I am going to discharge you, yes. If all continues to go well, you will be released within a few days.’

  Lee’s face lit with pleasure. ‘All right!’ he said, slapping his hand on his thigh. ‘Val, tell Wexler I’ll be on the set in Monaco within the week. And—’

  Bonet shook his head. ‘No, monsieur.’

  ‘Ten days, then. And this cast has to come off within six weeks. I’ve a race in—’

  The doctor cleared his throat. ‘Monsieur Bradford, I think we do not understand each other. The cast is not a problem. It will come off, as you say, in six weeks, perhaps eight. You will need surgery in a year or so, to remove the plate and screws.’

  ‘Come on, Doc. You don’t expect me to sit on my hands for a year!’

  ‘As to the knee,’ the surgeon said, as if Lee hadn’t spoken, ‘the ligament was torn. I have sutured it. But—’

  ‘Dr Bonet.’ Lee’s voice was quiet but it cut through the surgeon’s words like a whip. ‘Get to the bottom line. When do I get back on my feet?’

  Danielle looked at the surgeon. Was it her imagination, or was Bonet hesitating, choosing his words very carefully before answering?

  ‘You can begin to move around, on crutches,’ he said finally, ‘when the knee shows signs of healing.’

  Lee grasped the bar in front of him with both hands. The muscles in his upper arms bunched beneath his tanned skin as he hoisted himself up in the bed. ‘And when can I get back to my life, Doctor?’ His voice was ominously soft. ‘Because that’s what we’re really talking about, aren’t we?’

  Silence fell across the room. Danielle stared at the doctor. It wasn’t her imagination, she thought suddenly. There was a grimness to the man’s mouth that sent a warning chill racing along her spine. Something terrible was coming. Instinctively, she moved closer to Lee.

  At first, Bonet’s answer made no sense. ‘There were reporters here last week, Monsieur Bradford. There was talk of you and a film, and I thought you must be an actor.’

  Lee laughed, but the sound was forced. ‘Not very likely, Doc. So if you’re afraid to tell me that this scar over my eye is—’

  ‘I know now that you are not an actor but a race-car driver. That is correct, no?’

  ‘Yes. I race Formula One cars.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘Oui,’ he said, smiling a little. ‘I have watched the sport often, monsieur, at Monaco. It surprises me that I did not associate your name with your profession.’ He gave a Gallic shrug. ‘I suppose it is that I think of my patients by ailment and not by name. You were the medial ligament of the left knee and the right ankle fracture. It is an unfortunate habit, but—’

  ‘Doctor.’ Lee drew in his breath, then let it out slowly. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Cut the crap and get to it.’

  Bonet cleared his throat again. ‘Let us start with the ankle. It has already been weakened, yes? The bones of the leg—the fibula and tibia, and the malleolus processes—are just above the astragalus—’

  ‘Damn it, man!’ Lee leaned forward, his eyes locked on the surgeon’s face. ‘Just say it.’

  Bonet seemed to draw himself together. ‘I am afraid you shattered the bones at the ankle joint, my friend. We were left with nothing but fragments.’

  Val’s chair clattered against the wall as she shoved it back and rose to her feet.

  ‘I’ll be outside,’ she said, but no one looked at her. Danielle moved closer to Lee and put her hand on his shoulder. The tension in him drove into her flesh like an electric current.

  ‘Fragments,’ the doctor said, ‘which, try as we might, could not be put back together as God had made them. If it had only been your hip, monsieur—we have a very fine hip replacement today, as good or perhaps better than the orig—’

  Lee’s breath hissed in his throat. ‘Are you telling me I’m not going to walk again?’

  ‘No,’ the doctor said quickly. ‘No, my friend, you will walk.’ He paused, and his eyes sought Lee’s. ‘You will limp,’ he said, very deliberately. ‘But you will walk.’

  Lee’s mouth twisted, and then he gave a tight smile. ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘But your ankle will be locked in one position.’ Bonet’s voice was cold and professional, although Danielle thought she had never seen greater compassion in a man’s face before. ‘It will not rotate, it will not flex. As for the knee—the ligament will heal. But the knee will not be strong. It will not be able to take any abuse at all. Walking, yes. But prolonged stress…’ He spread his arms in a gesture of supplication. ‘Do you understand?’

  Danielle felt Lee’s body grow rigid beneath her hand. She looked at him and then at the surgeon. Bonet had promised an explanation of Lee’s injuries, but this had gone too far. One look at Lee’s t
ortured face was enough to tell her that.

  She wanted to speak up, to say that she didn’t understand. But she was an intruder here. Bonet’s words had somehow destroyed Lee, and it seemed almost obscene that she should witness it.

  The sound of Lee’s indrawn breath rasped in the sudden silence. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said flatly. ‘There are other doctors, other treatments.’

  ‘I wish that were true, my friend. But there are not. Even if I had known your profession, I could have done nothing more.’

  Lee twisted free of Danielle’s hand. ‘When can I get out of here?’ he said harshly. His face, under its tan, was as white as the bed linen.

  ‘As I said, there is no sense in keeping you hospitalised, Monsieur Bradford. You will probably mend more quickly away from our sterile surroundings. Perhaps there is a quiet place to which you can go and someone to help you?’

  ‘A nurse to wipe my bottom? Is that what you mean?’

  Bonet’s eyebrows rose. ‘I know this is not the news you would have wished for, monsieur. But there are those who do not survive crashes such as the one you had. You should be grateful that—’

  ‘Spare me the speeches, Doctor.’

  ‘Monsieur Bradford, I understand how you feel. But—’

  Lee’s eyes blazed with cold fury. ‘Don’t patronise me, Bonet. You have no idea how I feel.’

  ‘But I do. I have given you a bleak prognosis, and—’

  ‘Just get out of here,’ Lee said, pulling away from Danielle’s hand. ‘Go on, get out.’

  There was no mistaking his anger. But Danielle could hear something else in his voice, pain or perhaps something more. She leaned towards him, her eyes searching his face.

  ‘Lee,’ she said, ‘please…’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? I said to get out.’

  The doctor’s hand pressed lightly on Danielle’s shoulder. After a moment, she turned reluctantly and followed him into the hall.

  Val stepped forward as the door to Lee’s room swung shut. Her eyes were shiny with excitement. ‘I heard it all,’ she whispered, looking from Danielle to the doctor. ‘But I don’t understand. Why is he so upset?’

  Bonet sighed as they walked down the corridor to the lift. ‘Racing is a very demanding sport. Perhaps you do not think of the driver as an athlete, but that is what he is.’ He hesitated. ‘And the legs—the legs must be strong. The right foot moves from accelerator to brake, the left operates the clutch. Smoothly, yes? And quickly.’