Anne Mather - Night Heat

Her excitement was blunted somewhat, however, by the sudden reminder of why she was here. If Jeff was making such obvious progress, why had he attempted to take his own life less than two weeks ago? Why, if he could speak so philosophically about his uncle, had Tony told her no psychiatrist could reach him?

She was still pondering this enigma, when the wheelchair squeaked and its occupant rose easily to his feet. ‘Forgive me.’ The tall, lean man who had vacated the seat sent the remains of what he had been smoking shooting away in an arc across the terrace. And as Sara backed away in sudden panic, he came towards her holding out his hand. ‘I should have introduced myself,’ he finished easily. ‘I’m Lincoln Korda. And you, I believe, are a friend of my brother.’

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