Jenna Ryan - Dream Weaver

She checked the monitors. “Looks good from here.” She thanked her assist and the rest of the team. “I love it when an operation goes well.”

“You love that Nick remembered to bring your Ella Fitzgerald disk down.” One of the other nurses wheeled the instrument tray aside. She grinned under her mask. “Not that I’m complaining. I had two surgeries with Dr. Bergen yesterday. He likes opera. If we hadn’t been so understaffed, I’d have developed a stomach bug and gone home to my squabbling kids.”

Nick retrieved the disk while Meliana made one last check of the patient. “This guy won’t be in recovery long,” she predicted. “He looks like a fitness freak to me.”

“If he gets a look at you,” Nick predicted, “he’ll rip his stitches out so you have to do it again.”

“You men are so superficial.” She removed her gloves and followed the gurney through the swinging door. “I never fell in love with any of the doctors I knew growing up, and two of them were incredibly hot. My mom’s chiropractor looked like a soap star.”

Nick preened. “I’ve been told I could model.”

“I have some charts to update, Nick. Let’s do the coffee thing later, okay?”

“No problem.”

He pulled off his cap. White-blond hair spiked up as if by magic. He was what Julie would call a pretty boy. At twenty-eight, he had more peach fuzz on his face than whiskers. His eyes were lake-blue, his features verging on soft, his spiky hair, minus a serious amount of gel, baby fine.

“Mel?”

She turned at the sound of her name, spotted Johnny and felt her amusement kindle. He still had clothes at their town house. He’d dug out fresh jeans and a blue T-shirt that was faded almost to white. His sneakers actually matched today, though she had no idea how he’d managed that.

“I see you found a hairbrush,” she said by way of a greeting. “Johnny, have you met Nick? He’s one of our best surgical nurses.”

“Best nurse works with best doctor. I’m here until seven tonight if you change your mind about that coffee. Nice to meet you, Mr. Maynard.”

Neither Meliana nor Johnny corrected him, but Johnny did send the man a speculative look as he walked off. “Does every guy you know have a thing for you, Mel?”

“I doubt if Nick has a thing for any female, Johnny. Rumor is he’s gay.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, darling. Why is it so cold on this floor?”

“Because the AC system’s been acting up, and until yesterday it was eighty-two degrees outside.”

“It’s sixty-two now and dropping. Did I hear your nurse friend mention coffee?”

Meliana removed her cap. “There’s usually a pot in the doctor’s lounge. Five’s warm, we can go up there.” She started for the elevator. “Did you talk to the people in Charlie’s apartment block?”

“Running the list, that would be a cat lady named Summer, a guy who makes his own vitamins, a bus driver, a stripper and two old women who’ve lived in the building since they were twenty.”

“Isn’t there a man who studies reptiles?”

“He’s in New Mexico until Thanksgiving. No sublet. Only the cat lady had anything to tell me, and it wasn’t about the writing on my windshield.”

“Please don’t say one of her cats got run over.”

“Went missing.” Johnny offered her a smile. “I’m under strict orders as an agent of the government to whom she pays her taxes to keep an eye out for a fur ball named Fluff.”

“Did you get a description?”

“I got the hell out of there. She has twenty-seven felines, Mel, in a one-bedroom apartment. Eight of them were abused by their previous owners. They don’t like men, and five of them have claws like grizzly bears.”

“At least Summer’s heart’s in the right place.” Meliana glanced back along the corridor as the elevator door slid open. “I think Nick took my disk.”

“Ella?”

“Her greatest hits.”

“Maybe he’s planning to return it to you tonight, at home.”

“And maybe you’re looking for ulterior motives where none exist. Nick’s more likely to want you than me.”

“Thanks for that.”

She pushed five, then patted his cheek. “Take it as a compliment.”

“I took the card that was attached to Lokie’s collar to the police today, but I’m not holding my breath they’ll be able to make anything of it.”

“It looked computer generated. Obviously this guy wants to remain anonymous. Would you rather go to my office for coffee?”

“Why? Do I seem uncomfortable here?”

She laughed. “You act in hospitals the way I act around open heights.”

“White-knuckled.”

She pressed seven. “I want this to be nothing, Johnny. I could’ve convinced myself it was if I hadn’t seen the writing on your windshield last night. He followed us to Charlie’s place.”

Johnny leaned against the wall while the large elevator worked its way upward. “He was warning me last night, Mel, not you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better. And don’t say you’re trained to deal with stuff like this. No one’s ever really equipped to handle an unstable person. It’s like playing dodgeball with a bottle of nitro.”

The doors opened. Warm air flooded in and with it the smell of lavender.

“Better than disinfectant,” Johnny remarked. “How do you stand it? All the death and sickness and open wounds.”

She turned left. “You put it into perspective and remind yourself you’re here to help people feel better, to make sure they live instead of die.”

“And when they die anyway?”

“Then you try and remember the ones who didn’t.”

“Sounds like a tall order to me.” His brows came together. “Did you change offices?”

“I got a window when Dr. Morrison retired. He left his coffeemaker. It usually works.” She regarded him in mild concern as he scanned the desk, the filing cabinet and her new lake view. “I think you should go back to Blue Lake, Johnny. Today. This guy, whoever he is, probably won’t do any more than he’s already done.” She hoped.

“In other words, you think I’ll flip out if I stay in Chicago much longer.”

“The unofficial recommendation was for you to avoid work-related stress for a while.”

“It’s been six months, Mel.”

“You were undercover for two years.” And the eight brief times she’d seen him during that period had shown a marked deterioration, both in his attitude and his demeanor. He’d been less and less Johnny Grand and more and more John Garcia, cold, hard and abusive. Not to her, at least not physically, but in every other way.

“I was…” Johnny began, but Meliana set a finger on his lips and glanced at her pager.

“I have to go to the nurses’ station. Coffee’s in the cabinet under the machine. I might be a few minutes.”

“I’ll wait.”

He had that stubborn look on his face. She’d seen it too many times to bother arguing. There were other, more effective ways to get around Johnny when he dug in.

“Oh, good, Dr. Maynard, you’re here.” The desk nurse came to the counter. “Mrs. Lund’s been rescheduled for three o’clock. There’s a cyst on two that Dr. Hilton wants to go over with you, and this came up an hour ago from Main Reception.”

She handed over a padded brown envelope.

“No return address,” Meliana noted.

“At least you can figure you’re not being sued. Law firms make sure their names are front and center. Anyway, I think this was hand delivered.”

Meliana glanced toward her office. Then she thanked the nurse and took the envelope along the hall to the solarium.

There were two patients in wheelchairs enjoying the plants and filtered sunshine. Meliana kept her hand steady as she opened the flap. There was no street name on the mailing label, no stamp or express post tag. Had it come from inside the hospital or out?