Debra Webb - Person of Interest

Joe sighed. “Doc, this situation isn’t the same. You came into this knowing the mission.”

Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “Did I really?”

He had to smile. “To the extent you needed to know, yes.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” she countered, refusing to give an inch. “Would you have resorted to seducing me if necessary?”

“I had my orders, Doc, and seducing you wasn’t included.” When she would have turned to leave, he caught her wrist once more and drew her back. “Had I not been restrained by my orders, I can’t say I wouldn’t have tried. But the effort wouldn’t have been about the mission.”

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There are people in our lives we encounter who make their marks. Those who leave some indelible influence on who and what we will become.

But if we’re really lucky, there are those whose presence in our lives makes a difference that goes so much deeper than the skin that our life would not have been what it was destined to be without them. This book is dedicated to one such person with whom I have had the pleasure of love and laughter and the overwhelming sorrow of loss and grief.

To my baby brother, John Brashier. You are my soul’s twin.

Never forget how very much I love you.

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345 or visit her Web site at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Joe Hennessey—One of the CIA’s finest field operatives. He makes Elizabeth restless in her own skin but she recognizes him for what he is, another dangerous man.

Elizabeth Cameron—The best restorative cosmetic surgeon in the country. But has her secret work for the CIA merely created a target list?

Director Calder—Director of the CIA. Elizabeth is one of his greatest assets. He will do anything to protect her.

Director Allen—Director of field operations with the CIA. He has only one goal: stop whoever is behind the hits on his agents.

Agent Craig Dawson—Elizabeth’s CIA handler. Safe, quiet, those are the two words that best describe Dawson. Elizabeth wonders why she can’t be attracted to a man like him.

Agent David Maddox—The man who broke Elizabeth’s heart even after his death. There are so many things she should have said to him…and obviously a few he should have said to her.

Agent Mike Stark—A competent agent who guards Elizabeth with his very life.

Dr. Jeffrey—One of Elizabeth’s colleagues at her private clinic. Another example of just the right kind of guy she should be falling for. They have worked together for four years.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Finished.

With a satisfied sigh, Dr. Elizabeth Cameron surveyed the careful sutures and the prepatterned blocks of tissue she had harvested from inconspicuous donor sites. For this patient the best sites available had been her forearms and thighs which had miraculously escaped injury.

The tailored blocks of harvested tissue, comprised of skin, fat and blood vessels, were tediously inset into the face like pieces of a puzzle and circulation to the area immediately restored by delicate attachment to the facial artery.

Lastly, the newly defined tissue was sculpted to look, feel and behave like normal facial skin, with scars hidden in the facial planes. In a few weeks this patient would resume normal activities and no one outside her immediate family and friends would ever have to know that she had scarcely survived a fiery car crash that had literally melted a good portion of her youthful Miss Massachusetts face.

She would reach her twenty-first birthday next month with a face that looked identical to the one that had won her numerous accolades and trophies. More important, the young woman who had slipped into severe clinical depression and who had feared her life was over would now have a second chance.

“She’s perfect, Doctor.”

Elizabeth acknowledged her colleague’s praise with a quick nod and stepped back from the operating table. With one final glance she took stock of the situation. The patient was stable. All was as it should be. “Finish up for me, Dr. Jeffrey,” she told her senior surgical resident.

Pride welled in her chest as she watched a moment while her team completed the final preparations for transporting the patient to recovery. Yes, she had performed the surgery, but the whole team had been involved from day one beginning with the complete, computerized facial analysis. This victory had been achieved by the entire team, not just one person. A team Elizabeth had handpicked over the past three years.

In the scrub room she stripped off her bloody gloves, surgical gown and mask, then cleaned her eyeglasses. She’d tried adjusting to contacts, but just couldn’t manage the transition. Sticking to the old reliables hadn’t failed her yet. She was probably the only doctor in the hospital who still preferred to do a number of things the old-fashioned way. Like working with a certain team day in and day out. She’d worked with Jeffrey long enough now that they could anticipate each other’s moves and needs ahead of time. It worked. She liked sticking with what worked.

Exhaustion clawed at her. The muscles of her shoulders quivered with fatigue, the good kind. This one had been a long, arduous journey for both patient and surgical team. Weeks ago the initial preparations had begun, including forming a mold from a sibling’s right ear to use in building a replacement for the one the patient had lost in the accident. The size and symmetry had worked out beautifully.

No matter how painstakingly Elizabeth and her team prepared, she wasn’t fully satisfied until she saw the completed work…until the patient was rolled to recovery. The time required to heal varied, three to six weeks generally with this sort of tissue transplanting. The swelling would lessen, the red lines would fade. And the new face would bloom like a rose in the sun’s light, as close to nature’s work as man could come.