Tess Gerritsen - The Surgeon

“Do you think she’d remember her other two lab partners?”

“There’s a chance.” Kahn picked up the phone and called Student Affairs. “Hey, Winnie? Do you have a current contact number for Emily Johnstone?” He reached for a pen and jotted the number, then hung up. “She’s in private practice in Houston,” he said, dialing again. “It’s eleven o’clock her time, so she should be in…. Hello, Emily?… This is a voice from your past. Dr. Kahn at Emory…. Right, anatomy lab. Ancient history, huh?”

Moore leaned forward, his pulse quickening.

When Kahn at last hung up and looked at him, Moore saw the answer in his eyes.

“She does remember the other two anatomy partners,” said Kahn. “One was a woman named Barb Lippman. And the other…”

“Capra?”

Kahn nodded. “The fourth partner was Andrew Capra.”

Catherine paused in the doorway to Peter’s office. He sat at his desk, unaware she was watching him, his pen scratching in a chart. She had never taken the time to truly observe him before, and what she saw now brought a faint smile to her lips. He worked with fierce concentration, the very picture of the dedicated physician, except for one whimsical touch: the paper airplane lying on the floor. Peter and his silly flying machines.

She knocked on the door frame. He glanced up over his glasses, startled to see her there.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked.

“Of course. Come in.”

She sat down in the chair facing his desk. He said nothing, just waited patiently for her to speak. She had the impression that no matter how long she took, he would still be there, waiting for her.

“Things have been… tense between us,” she said.

He nodded.

“I know it bothers you as much as it does me. And it bothers me a lot. Because I’ve always liked you, Peter. It may not seem so, but I do.” She drew in a breath, struggling to come up with the right words. “The problems between us, they have nothing to do with you. It’s all because of me. There are so many things going on in my life right now. It’s hard for me to explain.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s just that I see us falling apart. Not just our partnership, but our friendship. It’s funny how I never realized it was there between us. I didn’t realize how much it meant to me until I felt it slipping away.” She rose to her feet. “Anyway, I’m sorry. That’s what I came to say.” She started toward the door.

“Catherine,” he said softly, “I know about Savannah.”

She turned and stared at him. His gaze was absolutely steady.

“Detective Crowe told me,” he said.

“When?”

“A few days ago, when I talked to him about the break-in here. He assumed I already knew.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“It wasn’t my place to bring it up. I wanted you to feel ready to tell me. I knew you needed time, and I was willing to wait, as long as it took for you to trust me.”

She released a sharp breath. “Well, then. Now you know the worst about me.”

“No, Catherine.” He stood up to face her. “I know the best about you! I know how strong you are, how brave you are. All this time I had no idea what you were dealing with. You could have told me. You could have trusted me.”

“I thought it would change everything between us.”

“How could it?”

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I don’t ever want to be pitied.”

“Pitied for what? For fighting back? For coming out alive against impossible odds? Why the hell would I pity you?”

She blinked away tears. “Other men would.”

“Then they don’t really know you. Not the way I do.” He stepped around his desk, so that it was no longer separating them. “Do you remember the day we met?”

“When I came for the interview.”

“What do you remember about it?”

She gave a bewildered shake of her head. “We talked about the practice. About how I’d fit in here.”

“So you recall it as just a business meeting.”

“That’s what it was.”

“Funny. I think of it quite differently. I hardly remember any of the questions I asked you, or what you asked me. What I remember is looking up from my desk and seeing you walk into my office. And I was stunned. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound trite or stupid or just plain ordinary. I didn’t want to be ordinary, not for you. I thought: Here’s a woman who has it all. She’s smart; she’s beautiful. And she’s standing right in front of me.”

“Oh god, you were so wrong. I didn’t have it all.” She blinked away tears. “I never have. I’m just barely holding it together….”

Without a word he took her in his arms. It all happened so naturally, so easily, without the awkwardness of a first embrace. He was simply holding her, and making no demands. One friend comforting another.

“Tell me what I can do to help,” he said. “Anything.”

She sighed. “I’m so tired, Peter. Could you just walk me to my car?”

“That’s all?”

“That’s what I really need right now. Someone I can trust to walk with me.”

He stood back and smiled at her. “Then I’m definitely your man.”

The fifth floor of the hospital parking garage was deserted, and the concrete echoed back their footsteps like the sound of trailing ghosts. Had she been alone, she would have been glancing over her shoulder the whole way. But Peter was beside her, and she felt no fear. He walked her to her Mercedes. Stood by while she slid behind the wheel. Then he shut her door and pointed to the lock.

Nodding, she pressed the lock button and heard the comforting click as all the doors were secured.

“I’ll call you later,” he said.

As she drove away, she saw him in her rearview mirror, his hand raised in a wave. Then he slid from view as she turned down the ramp.

She found herself smiling as she drove home to the Back Bay.

Some men are worth trusting, Moore had told her.

Yes, but which ones? I never know.

You won’t know until push comes to shove. He’ll be the one still standing beside you.

Whether as a friend or a lover, Peter would be one of those men.

Slowing down at Commonwealth Avenue, she turned into the driveway for her building and pressed the garage remote. The security gate rumbled open and she drove through. In her rearview mirror she saw the gate close behind her. Only then did she swing into her stall. Caution was second nature to her, and these were rituals she never failed to perform. She checked the elevator before stepping in. Scanned the hallway before stepping out again. Secured all her locks as soon as she’d stepped into her apartment. Fortress secure. Only then could she allow the last of her tension to drain away.

Standing at her window she sipped iced tea and savored the coolness of her apartment as she looked down at people walking on the street, sweat glistening on their foreheads. She’d had three hours of sleep in the last thirty-six hours. I have earned this moment of comfort, she thought as she pressed the icy glass to her cheek. I’ve earned an early night to bed and a weekend of doing nothing at all. She wouldn’t think of Moore. She wouldn’t let herself feel the pain. Not yet.

She drained her glass and had just set it on the kitchen counter when her beeper went off. A page from the hospital was the last thing she wanted to deal with. When she called the Pilgrim Hospital operator, she could not keep the irritation out of her voice.

“This is Dr. Cordell. I know you just paged me, but I’m not on call tonight. In fact, I’m going to turn off my beeper right now.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Dr. Cordell, but there was a call from the son of a Herman Gwadowski. He insists on meeting with you this afternoon.”