Книга - The Truth About Elyssa

The Truth About Elyssa
Lorna Michaels


Brett Cameron was a successful, sexy doctor with an impeccable bedside manner, and he wanted her. Her. Elyssa knew she could never deny the brooding doctor her body, but when it came to her heart, her trust…even if she dared to offer those, would she get the chance?As soon as Elyssa started trying to remember the "accident" that had changed her life, someone started trying to help her forget…permanently. Brett knew the troubled beauty needed to remember her past in order to face her future, and he wasn't about to let her face either one without him by her side.









He wanted to keep her safe.


If he had the right, he would lock her up inside the house and not let her out until she came to her senses and quit this dangerous crusade of hers. Or until whoever was after her was safely behind bars. That made sense.

What didn’t make sense was this absurd longing for her. And where had that insidious thought come from? That crazy idea that he might be falling in…

Absolutely not!

This was an affair. A casual affair. Okay,

it was more than casual, but it wasn’t love.

Couldn’t be, he thought uneasily.

Shouldn’t be.


Dear Reader,

Happy (almost) New Year! The year is indeed ending, but here at Intimate Moments it’s going out with just the kind of bang you’d expect from a line where excitement is the order of the day. Maggie Shayne continues her newest miniseries, THE OKLAHOMA ALL-GIRL BRANDS, with Brand-New Heartache. This is prodigal daughter Edie’s story. She’s home from L.A. with a stalker on her trail, and only local one-time bad boy Wade Armstrong can keep her safe. Except for her heart, which is definitely at risk in his presence.

Our wonderful FIRSTBORN SONS continuity concludes with Born Royal. This is a sheik story from Alexandra Sellers, who’s made quite a name for herself writing about desert heroes, and this book will show you why. It’s a terrific marriage-of-convenience story, and it’s also a springboard for our twelve-book ROMANCING THE CROWN continuity, which starts next month. Kylie Brant’s Hard To Resist is the next in her CHARMED AND DANGEROUS miniseries, and this steamy writer never disappoints with her tales of irresistible attraction. Honky-Tonk Cinderella is the second in Karen Templeton’s HOW TO MARRY A MONARCH miniseries, and it’s enough to make any woman want to run away and be a waitress, seeing as this waitress gets to serve a real live prince. Finish the month with Mary McBride’s newest, Baby, Baby, Baby, a “No way am I letting my ex-wife go to a sperm bank” book, and reader favorite Lorna Michaels’s first Intimate Moments novel, The Truth About Elyssa.

See you again next year!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor




The Truth About Elyssa

Lorna Michaels





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




LORNA MICHAELS


When she was four years old, Lorna Michaels decided she would become a writer. But it wasn’t until she read her first romance that she found her niche. Since then she’s been a winner of numerous writing contests, was a double Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist and a nominee for the Romantic Times Magazine Love and Laughter Award. A self-confessed romantic, she loves to spend her evenings writing happily-everafter stories. During the day she’s a speech pathologist with a busy private practice. Though she leads a double life, both her careers focus on communication. As a speech pathologist, she works with children who have communication disorders. She writes about men and women who overcome barriers to communication as they forge lasting relationships.

Besides working and writing, Lorna enjoys reading everything from cereal boxes to Greek tragedy, interacting with the two cats who own her, watching basketball games and traveling with her husband. This winter she’ll realize her dream of visiting Antarctica. Nothing thrills her more than hearing from readers. You can e-mail her at lmichaels@zyzy.com.


To Linda Hayes

with my thanks

And a note of appreciation to my friend Barbara Rosenberg, who brightens lives through her clowning and who patiently answered my questions




Contents


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue




Prologue


Elyssa Jarmon glanced over her shoulder as her friend Randy Barber’s Toyota Camry maneuvered through the rain-slick streets of Indianapolis. He turned left, and the car behind them followed. The gleam of its headlights cut through the darkness.

Elyssa chuckled. “I’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

“One of the hazards of working in television,” Randy said. “If you’re not on-screen, you’re in front of it.”

“I’m not kidding,” Elyssa continued. “I could swear someone’s tailing us.”

Randy glanced at her sharply. “What makes you think so?”

“The same car’s been behind us since we left the TV station. His right headlight’s flickering. I’m a good reporter. I notice things like that.”

“Look back. Is it a black Chevy?”

Alarmed, Elyssa stared at her friend. Was she imagining things, or had Randy turned pale? “What’s going on?”

“Just check,” he snapped.

Elyssa squinted through the back window. Rain fell harder now, impeding her view. “I…think so.” She turned back, then gasped as Randy suddenly swung into Eagle Creek Park.

“Did he follow?”

“No…yes. Here he comes.” She tightened her seat belt. “What’s going on, Randy?”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have offered to drive you home. I don’t want you involved in this.”

“Involved in what?” She looked behind them. The Chevy was close now, its lights filling the back window.

“Investiga—”

Metal clanged against metal as the Chevy slammed into their rear end. Their car skidded, spun in a circle.

The Chevy hit them again. A scream tore from Elyssa’s throat as they hurtled down an embankment. They seemed to tumble endlessly—rolling, pitching from side to side—then suddenly, with a grinding thud, they stopped.

Elyssa opened her eyes. She was still buckled into her seat, but her right arm hung at an angle, and her head felt as if she’d been kicked by a mule. “Randy,” she whispered. A thin stream dribbled out of her mouth. She licked her lip and tasted blood.

“Here.” His voice was so faint, she could barely hear it over the sound of the storm. Fighting against pain, she turned her head. Randy lay against the door, crushed by the caved-in side of the car.

Though her hands shook, Elyssa managed to unbuckle her seat belt. Forgetting her own pain, she crawled to Randy and touched his face. Her hand came away covered with blood. “You’re hurt,” she choked. “I’ll…I’ll get help.”

“Too late,” he muttered. “Get…the book. It’s…”

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’m calling 911.” She spotted the cell phone on the floor and leaned down. It was broken. She’d have to get out of the car. “I’ll find someone,” she said. “Just hold on.”

“No use,” Randy whispered. “Tell Jenny…tell her…I… love her.” He said nothing more.

“Randy,” Elyssa begged, “don’t die. Please.” Frantically she scrambled across the seat, shoved at the passenger door. It didn’t budge. Her right arm was useless but she turned, leaned her left shoulder against the door and pushed with all her strength. Suddenly it gave and she toppled out.

She cried out with pain, then lay for a moment in a sodden heap, trying to see where she was. Halfway down the brush-covered slope. A small tree had stopped the car from plunging all the way to the bottom. She could crawl up, find help.

She pulled herself to her knees, stared down at the ground. Mud. Glass. And a black boot.

“Thank God,” she breathed and looked up.

A man stood over her. He was tall and broad-shouldered. In the rainy darkness she could just make out his features—fleshy lips, a slightly crooked nose and beetle brows. But no matter what he looked like, he was the most welcome sight she’d ever beheld. “Help,” she whispered.

“No dice, lady.”

Shocked, Elyssa stared at him. Behind him, up the embankment, she saw a black Chevy.

“You…you’re the one who followed us—”

“Right. And now—” He smiled slowly, chillingly. “Lights out, love.”

His booted foot shot out, connected with her cheek. She fell, tumbling over and over, down and down.

The last thing she heard was an earsplitting boom. The last thing she saw was a bright ball of fire as Randy’s car exploded.



“Elyssa, open your eyes.”

She wanted to, but her lids were so heavy. And they hurt. Her whole face hurt.

“Try, please.” Her cousin Cassie’s voice, thick with tears.

I’m trying, she thought and lifted her lids. “Cassie,” she murmured. Her voice sounded shaky, weak.

“You’re awake. Thank God.”

Elyssa blinked, focused. She was in a bed. A hospital bed. Cassie stood beside it, crying. “Your parents just left. I’ll call them.” She sniffled, then tried to smile. “It’s been so long. I was afraid—”

“H-how…long?” Elyssa whispered.

Cassie wiped her eyes. “You’ve been in a coma for fourteen days.”

Two weeks. Coma. Hospital. “Did I have an accident?”

Cassie nodded. “With Randy.”

“Randy.” Saying his name brought unbearable pain. “He gave me a ride.” That was all she could remember. She saw herself getting into Randy’s car, then…nothing. “Wh-what happened?”

“It was raining. Your car must have skidded. It went off the road in Eagle Creek Park.”

“I…we both got hurt?”

Cassie took Elyssa’s hand. “Your collarbone was broken. You had a concussion and…and some cuts and bruises.”

Three days passed before her family gently broke the news of Randy’s death.

They waited another week before they told her about her face.




Chapter 1


Sixteen Months Later

Elyssa Jarmon was doing what she did best—making kids laugh. Decked out in her Lulu the Clown outfit, she entertained a group of youngsters in the cancer unit of St. Michael’s Hospital.

“Watch closely now.” She held out a slender china vase. “Empty. Anyway, it looks empty. Someone want to check?”

Hands shot up. Elyssa zeroed in on one youngster. Arms stick thin, head bald, he had the look of a concentration camp inmate. He’d clearly been absorbed in her performance but he hadn’t clapped or smiled, just stared with huge brown eyes in a pale, drawn face. She thought she’d seen his fingers twitch when she asked for a volunteer. “You,” she said skipping over to him. “What’s your name?”

“Trace.” The word barely reached her.

“Help me, would you, Trace?” She held out the vase.

The youngster peered inside. “Empty,” he whispered.

“Let’s fill it.” She waved her hand, and instantly a flower emerged, then another. Children squealed, applauded. Trace’s eyes widened, and a ghost of a smile appeared.

“Did you put those flowers there?” Elyssa asked with exaggerated suspicion.

Trace shook his head solemnly.

“Aw, I bet you did. Do it again. Come on, wave your hand.”

Slowly the youngster’s hand moved back and forth.

“Nope,” Elyssa said, feigning disappointment, “nothing hap— No, wait. Here…it…comes.”

An even bigger flower sprang into view, and to her surprise Trace grinned. Then he chuckled. The sound was creaky, as if he’d forgotten how, but he managed a laugh nevertheless. Elyssa patted his shoulder, danced back to the center of the room and brought the show to a close.

She waved to the kids as nurses began pushing wheelchairs out of the room, then as she turned to gather her equipment, she swiped a hand over one white cheek. This place was hot. She would stop at the rest room, shed her heavy costume and scrub off her makeup. And when she got home, the first thing she’d do was jump into a cool shower.

She folded a polka-dot scarf, laid it on top of a set of giant playing cards and closed her case. She was about to lift it onto her luggage cart when a deep voice behind her said, “Let me help you with that.”

Startled, Elyssa turned and met the eyes of a tall, broad-shouldered man. She’d noticed him during her show, lounging against the wall and watching her with a half smile on his face. Before she had a chance to answer him, he bent over and hoisted her case onto the cart, then secured the straps.

Elyssa saw a stethoscope protruding from the pocket of his pale-blue lab coat. So he was a doctor.

His hair was light brown. No, it was more gold than brown. In fact, she thought as he straightened and turned to face her, everything about him was golden. Amber flecks in a pair of arresting brown eyes, a patch of golden chest hair visible above the opened button of the white shirt beneath his lab coat, more fine, pale hairs on the backs of his hands. Who was he? In the two weeks she’d been entertaining here, she hadn’t run into him.

“Thanks for your help, Dr. ah…”

“Cameron. Brett Cameron.”

She recognized the name immediately. “You’re the head of pediatric oncology.”

“And you’re Lulu the Clown,” he said, grinning at her.

She answered his smile with her own. “Sometimes known as Elyssa Jarmon.”

“I’d like to talk to you if you have a minute.”

“Sure.”

He pushed the cart into the hall. Before they’d gone far, a nurse hurried up to claim his attention. While Elyssa waited, she studied him again.

Her impression of him as “golden” was apt; she’d heard him referred to as the golden boy of pediatric cancer. Through her access to the hospital grapevine, she knew he was the protégé of Dr. Clark Madigan, the hospital’s chief of staff, under whom he’d trained at Sloan-Kettering. Dr. Brett Cameron was only thirty-four, but he’d already established a national reputation for treating young cancer victims, introducing new chemotherapy regimes and devising innovative techniques for minimizing pain. Elyssa noticed his relaxed yet authoritative manner with the nurse, the way he ruffled the hair of a youngster who walked past him, and decided she approved.

Two years ago she would have been agog at the opportunity to talk to him, perhaps have a chance to interview him on the evening news. But those days—those heady days—of life in the fast lane of television news were behind her.

Instead she wondered why he wanted to meet with her. She hoped he wasn’t planning to discontinue her shows. Her proposal to entertain had been approved only on a trial basis.

She mentally marshaled the reasons for continuing. She was doing the children some good. They enjoyed her shows, joined in and asked for more. She’d even had a phone call from a parent who said her child hadn’t stopped talking about Lulu.

And God knows, Elyssa thought, the shows were good for her, too. If Dr. Cameron wanted her out, he would have a fight on his hands. Circumstances had forced her to give up her career in TV news, but she hadn’t lost the guts and determination that had made her a success.

The nurse turned and hurried away, and Brett ushered Elyssa down the hall past a door with Pediatric Oncology and his name on it. He opened another door, this one unmarked, and led her through a maze of narrow corridors into his office.

A typical physician’s office—she’d seen enough of them recently to know—with medical journals on the bookshelf, framed certificates on the walls and a semilimp ivy plant on a small table. But she noticed a few touches she appreciated—a child’s table with drawing paper and crayons, picture books and a yellow beanbag chair in the corner with a rack of books for older children beside it.

Sunlight from unshaded windows flooded the room. The windows looked out over the emergency room entrance. Elyssa glanced outside just as two orderlies rushed a gurney up the ramp and into the building. “Some view.”

He followed her gaze, shrugged. “It’s temporary.”

That’s right, she remembered. He’d have a different office, presumably with a better view, when the new children’s cancer hospital opened. She remembered hearing that his mentor, Dr. Madigan, had lured him to Indianapolis to head the new facility. Being established here ahead of time would allow him input into the hospital’s development. Sharp man.

Brett gestured toward an armchair. Elyssa sat and he dropped onto the couch across from her and stretched out his long legs. “Elyssa Jarmon,” he said, looking at her thoughtfully. “I recognized your name on the proposal. Channel 9, right?”

“Yes.” Sharp man with a good memory.

“I was a big fan of yours. I used to look forward to seeing you on the news every night. Then I went to a medical conference in Denmark. When I came back, you’d vanished.” He looked at her speculatively.

She stiffened, hearing the unspoken, “What happened?” Because she’d once been a local celebrity, people thought her life was public property. Elyssa disagreed. Even if the person fishing for info had eyes that reminded her of crushed velvet and a voice like velvet, too.

“I made a career change.” That was as much as she cared to say. Quickly she changed the subject. “I noticed you watching the clown show. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much. You’ve been entertaining the kids for a couple of weeks now. Today was your…third visit.”

“You know that?” Elyssa asked, astonished.

“You sound surprised.”

“I imagine for a department head, clown shows must be way down on the list of priorities.”

His lips curved in amusement. “When something matters, I do my homework. Clown shows matter.” He leaned forward. “Laughter’s important. It helps kids get well. I could show you some research—” Her raised brows stopped him. “Nah, you don’t want to read that dry stuff. Just take my word for it, you’re on the right track with these kids. Trace, for instance. Today’s the first time I heard him laugh.”

“I was beginning to wonder if he could.”

“It’ll be easier for him now. You’ve given him a start.”

“Thanks. I hope so.” Relieved, she settled back in the chair. He obviously didn’t intend to cut out the shows.

He looked at her thoughtfully, then asked, “Could you do more? I’d like to have you here twice a week, unless you have another job that takes your time.”

“No,” she said. “Clowning Around is a full-time business. I do birthday parties, clown classes, magic classes.”

His expressive brown eyes lit up. “Clown classes—that’s what I want. A way for you to work closely with a few kids at a time. Would you be interested?”

She stared out the window and thought about his suggestion. She’d like to say yes. She enjoyed working with these children; they tugged at her heart. But could she afford to take another afternoon away from her business? Turn down lucrative jobs?

She looked back to find his eyes on her. He studied her intently as if he wanted to learn everything about her. Caught in his gaze, she couldn’t look away. The room seemed to heat up around her.

Gracious, the man was sexy, with that lazy, relaxed veneer over a core of energy and intensity. She glanced surreptitiously at the ring finger of his left hand. It was bare.

Time was when she would have been delighted to think he might be available, might have hoped something would develop between them. But that time was past.

The accident had changed her. She wasn’t disfigured—her nose was just a tad crooked and only a crisscross of tiny scars marred her cheek—but her face wasn’t the flawless one that had graced thousands of television screens. And the scars inside were deeper. In the past sixteen months she’d absorbed some hard facts about male-female attraction. She was a fast learner; she didn’t need another lesson.

“What do you say?” Brett asked softly.

She realized she’d been staring at him in mute fascination for long seconds instead of answering his question. She told herself to douse the sparks of attraction she once might have welcomed and to concentrate on business. “I’ll do it,” she said.

“Great.” His smile made his eyes crinkle. “We’ll find some grant money to pay for your time. When can you start?”

She knew her schedule by heart. “Next Tuesday.”

“I’ll have Jean, my secretary, fax you a list of kids you should work with.”

They rose and faced each other, a good three feet apart. It felt much too close.

Ordering herself to be polite and impersonal, she put out her hand. His closed over it—warm, firm and much too personal. “I’d like to talk to you afterward,” he murmured. “Save half an hour, okay?”

“Okay.” Darn it, her voice sounded too breathy.

He walked her out, and Elyssa started down the hall. A small boy on crutches came toward her. His eyes brightened as he passed her, and she turned to watch him slowly make his way toward Dr. Cameron. “Hey, Doc, look at me,” he called and hobbled to the tall doctor’s side. Brett’s face softened.

As he squatted beside the youngster, Elyssa felt a tug on her sleeve. She pivoted and saw a solemn, freckle-faced girl of about eight. “I liked your show. Will you come back?”

“Sure will,” Elyssa said in her Lulu voice. “Next week.”

She waved at the now-smiling girl and started to walk on, then paused and turned, her eyes once again drawn to Brett Cameron.

He was headed toward his office, his back to her. As if he felt her gaze, he swung around, and their eyes locked. His lips curved into a smile of such potent male charm that Elyssa caught her breath. She felt a flutter in her stomach that traveled all the way down to her toes.

Brett raised a hand in farewell, and his mouth formed the word, “Tuesday.”

Elyssa nodded. “See you.”

Yes, that would be okay, as long as he didn’t see her.



That evening Elyssa picked up Jenny Barber and her two children at the hotel and headed to a local pizzeria. Randy’s widow had moved back to her hometown in Tennessee shortly after his death. She and Elyssa kept up with each other by phone and e-mail, but Elyssa had been looking forward to Jenny’s first visit here.

They’d become friends during Randy’s tenure at Channel 9, though they were an unlikely duo. Elyssa stayed firmly focused on her career goals; Jenny was inclined to take in the sights along the way. Although she worked as a pre-school teacher, Jenny was a nester. She’d have been content to stay at home, raise her children and tend a garden. Elyssa was endowed with Midwestern drive and tenacity; Jenny was easygoing and as Southern as corn bread and collard greens. And yet, they’d become close.

While they ate, Elyssa studied her friend. Jenny had lost weight. Once softly rounded, she was now slender, almost bony. And the sparkle in her eyes had dimmed. That was natural, Elyssa guessed, considering the shock and loss she’d experienced.

Between bites of pizza, Elyssa told Tara and Amy, ages seven and five, about Lulu’s magic tricks. Then, enticed by the video games across the room, the girls ran off to try their luck.

Elyssa smiled. “Those games’ll keep them busy for a while. Now we can really talk. Is living in Knoxville working for you?”

“Yes,” Jenny said, staring down at her plate. Her slice of pizza untouched, she twisted a strand of light-brown hair around her finger.

Elyssa frowned. Jenny without an appetite? And nervous? She’d never seen that before. “Really?”

Jenny looked up and smiled, but Elyssa thought the smile seemed forced. “Really. My folks and Randy’s have given me so much support, and of course, Randy’s buried there. It’s as close as I can get to him.” Her wide brown eyes filled with tears, and she grabbed a clean napkin and wiped them away. “Sorry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about Randy without sniffling. His death was so…so vicious.”

Vicious was a strange way to describe it. The crash was a quirk of fate, yet Jenny was talking as…as if…

“You make the wreck sound like someone caused it. Like it was deliberate.”

“I think it was.” Jenny’s eyes glittered with dark fury.

Stunned, Elyssa stared at her friend. “It was an accident,” she insisted, then her voice trailed off. She groped for breath. Everyone—her family, friends, the police—had said Randy’s car skidded on wet pavement. She’d accepted that. Because she couldn’t remember anything different. She fumbled for her glass, took a swallow of tea. “You think someone killed Randy?”

“Sure as I’m sittin’ here.”

Elyssa reached for her friend’s hand. It was ice-cold. “Jenny, why would anyone want to do that?”

“He was working on a story.” Jenny leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He wouldn’t talk about it, but I know he was preoccupied, even obsessed by it. I’d wake up at night and he’d be up pacing or scribbling in a tablet.” She raised her eyes. “You were his best friend at the station. Do you know what the story was about?”

“No. He didn’t say anything to me.” Or did he? That last night. The memory stayed tauntingly just out of reach. “Are you sure about this, Jenny? Maybe you’re reading something into—”

“I found some notes.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and held it out.

Elyssa’s hand shook as she took the note. She recognized Randy’s handwriting and, seeing it again after so many months, felt a sharp stab of pain. Before her lay a to-do list. She began to read:

Pick up cleaning, get oil changed. Nothing menacing there. But then she saw: Install home security system, make out will. “Will?” she gasped. Randy had been only twenty-eight.

Jenny nodded. “Men his age don’t usually think about wills. I found this, too.” She held out another paper.

An application for a gun permit, dated the day before Randy’s death.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” Elyssa asked. “When did you find these papers?”

“Last week. I finally made myself start goin’ through Randy’s things.” She reached for a napkin, began tearing it into shreds. “After I found this, I remembered how edgy he seemed in the weeks before he died. Whenever we went somewhere, he’d be lookin’ over his shoulder. That wasn’t like him.” She brushed the mutilated napkin out of the way. “I started thinking about the story he was working on and how closemouthed he was about it, when usually he told me everything. There has to be a connection.” She leaned across the table and gripped Elyssa’s hands hard. “Do you remember anything? I have to know.”

Elyssa felt as if an electric current were racing through her body. She heard a buzzing in her ears, then a memory surfaced, but so faintly, so fleetingly, she couldn’t hold on to it. It swirled away, lost in blackness. There’s something, she thought, something I ought to know. But she knew nothing….

“Did you talk to Derek?” she asked. “He would have known what Randy was working on.” She hated mentioning Derek’s name, hated even thinking about him. Derek Graves, news director at Channel 9. Ex-lover. Prize jerk. How could she ever have thought she was in love with him?

“I called him,” Jenny said, “but you know how Derek can be.”

“A first-class jackass,” Elyssa mumbled.

“Right,” Jenny agreed. “Took you long enough to realize it. Anyway, he practically laughed in my face when I asked if Randy was working on something dangerous. He said Randy had covered the school board meeting that week. They were debating whether or not to buy more buses. Sounds tame, doesn’t it?” She bit her lip. “Then why was Randy so nervous?”

“I wish I knew,” Elyssa said. “If I could only remember…”

They both started as Amy appeared beside them. “Mama, can we have more quarters?”

“No, sugar. It’s time we were gettin’ back to the hotel.”

“Aww.”

“There’ll be another day. Now go get your sister.”

Pouting, Amy plodded across the room. Jenny turned back to Elyssa. “I shouldn’t have brought this up, but—”

“Don’t be silly,” Elyssa said. “I’m just sorry I can’t help.” The frustration of not remembering, not knowing, gnawed at her. Surely if she could recall that last evening, she could put Jenny’s mind at rest.

“If you do remember anything, you’ll call me, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Jenny said. “By the way, I brought you something.” She reached into her canvas bag and pulled out a book. “I wanted you to have something of Randy’s. He was reading this just before he died.”

“Everyone is Entitled to My Opinion by David Brinkley. I’ve always admired him. Thank you for thinking of me.”

While Jenny went to round up her dawdling children, Elyssa glanced at the cover of the famous broadcaster’s book. But she was barely aware of what she held. Her mind was caught up in a question she’d never imagined she would have to ask. Was it possible that Randy’s death—and her own misfortune—hadn’t been accidental after all?




Chapter 2


Brett checked his watch. Five-twenty. Elyssa should be here in ten minutes, twenty at most.

He remembered when he’d seen her on TV for the first time. He’d been in Indianapolis a week, maybe two, and for once he’d gotten home early enough to watch the ten o’clock news. He’d grabbed a beer from the fridge, settled back on the couch and pressed the remote.

A face filled the screen, a voice reached out to him, and he sat up straight to watch and listen. He didn’t recall the news story she’d reported, only his impression of her. Sharp, confident, the consummate TV reporter.

But there was more. Beneath the persona of dynamic newswoman, he sensed another kind of magnetism—purely sexual. He imagined those softly tinted lips forming a kissable pout; those eyes misty, dreamy; the skin beneath that trim business suit flushed with desire. He was surprised at himself. He was a man grounded in reality, not given to flights of fancy. Not accustomed to mooning over a face on the TV screen.

Yet he’d watched her often after that and indulged in a few more private fantasies. He remembered he’d been especially partial to the one that took place on his examining table.

Then she disappeared, and eventually he’d all but forgotten her. Now their paths had crossed, and the fantasies had emerged again, in full bloom. Now he wanted to find out if the emotions she stirred were real.

And if they were, what difference would it make?

A serious relationship was out of the question for him. He’d had that once with Denise—begun a love affair, then a marriage, with his heart full of hopes and dreams. How quickly they’d vanished.

Oh, he’d been warned. An older colleague had told him, “Marriage and medicine don’t mix. Being a doctor is like joining a monastic order. You don’t have to be celibate, but you sure as hell don’t have time to make a relationship work.” At the time, with a diamond sparkling on Denise’s finger and a wedding soon to follow, Brett had laughed off the bitter words, attributing them to his friend’s two divorces. Later he’d learned how prophetic that statement was.

The marriage was rocky from the start. They’d been too young, and Denise, he guessed, had been too needy. But when their life together had ended in tragedy, he’d blamed only himself. Would always blame himself. He and his commitment to medicine were solely responsible. He’d never risk a serious relationship again.

Instead, he poured his heart and soul into his work. And in place of intimacy, he opted for superficial affairs—a few laughs, a lot of sex, no commitment.

So why was he sitting here, filled with anticipation, waiting for Elyssa Jarmon? He didn’t have time now to get involved with her, even on a casual basis. When the receptionist called to announce her, he opened the door, fully intending to heed his own advice.

But there she stood in her costume—blue checked dress with a white pinafore, yellow pigtails tied with bright blue bows, a turned-up smile, and freckles painted across her nose. She looked like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Adorable. And no, he hadn’t imagined a thing. The attraction was still there. Stronger, in fact.

“Hello,” he said, ushering her in. “How was the afternoon?”

“Great. I have a lot to tell you.”

“Why don’t we talk over dinner at The Orchard?” he suggested, forgetting what he’d told himself only minutes earlier. “I’ll wait while you get out of your costume.”

She stiffened. “No!” Then as if realizing how rude she’d sounded, she added, “I don’t have my street clothes with me.”

“Bring them next week. For now, how about the cafeteria here? In costume.”

“All right,” she said, but she seemed none too thrilled. In fact, she appeared downright uncomfortable.

Her reaction puzzled him. Even if she was involved with someone, dinner in the cafeteria to discuss working with his patients shouldn’t make her uneasy. And if she wasn’t involved…

Last week he thought he’d sensed attraction on her part, too, but maybe he’d been wrong. He would work on changing her mind. He always enjoyed a challenge.

She shoved her cart into a corner, and he followed her out the door. She might look as if she belonged on the Yellow Brick Road, but she smelled like… Oh, God, he thought as his blood heated, she smelled like sex. Slow, sweet sex on a star-laced summer night. Her scent teased him all the way downstairs.

This early, the cafeteria was nearly empty. A couple of interns who looked as if they were about to fall out of their chairs from exhaustion were guzzling coffee. A dazed-looking man, probably the father of a newborn, sat nibbling a sandwich and grinning at no one in particular. A trio of nurses rested their feet and snacked on doughnuts.

Brett and Elyssa moved through the cafeteria line, chose a table and unloaded their trays. Brett took a bite of spaghetti sauce that tasted as if it had come straight out of a can. “Could be better,” he remarked. “But then, hospital food is—”

“Lousy,” Elyssa finished, the corners of her painted mouth turning up. “I know.”

Of course, everyone knew that hospitals served inedible food, but the way she spoke made Brett wonder if someone in her family had recently been ill. Instead of asking a too-personal question, he said, “Tell me about your session with the kids.”

Her eyes—he’d thought they were blue, but they were violet—lit up. “I painted their faces, and they loved it. I gave them each a Polaroid snapshot. You’ll have to look when you visit their rooms. But the pictures don’t begin to show the kids’ enthusiasm. Even Trace participated. He started talking about a circus book he’d read, then about rodeo clowns. I could hardly get him to stop.”

“With his face painted, he could be someone else. Someone other than a sick little boy.”

Elyssa stared at him, then dropped her gaze. “A little greasepaint makes a big difference.” She toyed with a teaspoon for a moment, then began discussing the other children.

When she finished, Brett got them fresh cups of coffee. As they drank, he asked. “What made you give up broadcasting and become a clown?”

“My cousin and I worked several summers for a woman who did birthday parties. We were clowns—Lulu and Coco. It was fun, and last year I decided to start my own business.”

He studied her thoughtfully. She’d only answered the second half of his question.

“Did you go in with your cousin?” he asked.

“No, but she helps me out sometimes.”

Something didn’t fit. Elyssa was beautiful, brainy, articulate and in his nonprofessional opinion, a woman who’d been headed straight for the top, reporting from the White House or the international scene. Why had she changed careers? And why especially had she chosen to play a clown?

Clearly, she got along well with kids. Why hadn’t she gone into, say, child psychology? He’d watched her long enough last week to notice her self-assured manner with the staff, and he sure hadn’t missed the confident way she walked. Yes, she belonged on some professional fast track. “Where did you go to college?” he asked.

“Northwestern.”

“That’s a tough school.” You didn’t get into Northwestern with mediocre grades or stay without high ambitions. “Then why a birthday party business?” he asked.

“Why not?” she said coolly.

“I picture you making your mark in network TV.”

The long fake lashes she wore veiled her eyes, but he heard the edge in her voice when she answered. “I tried that route.”

No trespassing, he thought but plunged on anyway. “And?”

“And I decided I needed a change.” She raised her eyes, and now he saw the harsh glint of anger. “What are you,” she asked, “a cop? I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry.” Though in truth, he had. He was silent. Then with a grin he suggested, “Let’s talk about me.”

She stared at him with a startled expression for a minute, then laughed. “This time I get to be the cop.”

“Shoot.”

“Ohh, bad pun,” she chided. “Where did you go to school?”

“University of Pennsylvania for undergrad, and Harvard Medical School.”

“Ivy League,” she said, tapping a finger on the table. “Why’d you choose medicine?”

“It’s a challenge. And I like doing hands-on work.”

“Why cancer?”

It still hurt to say the words. “My cousin Aaron died of leukemia when he was eleven.”

Her eyes filled with sympathy. “That must have been terrible for you.”

He nodded. “He was my best friend.”

“You’d have been lonely…and scared.”

He’d been devastated. To his surprise Elyssa understood.

She propped her chin on her hand. “And so you became a dragon slayer.”

No one had ever put it quite that way, but she was right. Cancer was a beast, and every day he tried his damnedest to defeat it. How had she recognized so easily what he’d struggled to articulate and never could? Amazed, he stared into her eyes. Eyes that seemed to see straight into his soul.

He wanted to touch her, make the connection he felt tangible. But he didn’t, and the moment passed.

“Did you ever consider any other career?” she asked.

“When I was seven I wanted to be a pilot. At four, I considered becoming a trash collector but gave up on that.”

“Wise decision.”

Her eyes glowed with interest, he noted. She’d done this before in her work as a reporter, and she enjoyed it. Move over, Barbara Walters, he thought. But she wasn’t Barbara Walters anymore, he reminded himself, and again wondered why.

“What do you want to be doing in ten years?” she asked.

“Still working in the field I’m in and making the new hospital the best damn pediatric cancer facility in the country.”

“Any personal aspirations outside your career?” she asked.

Once he’d have answered yes. He’d have said he wanted marriage, a family. Not anymore. “Not at the moment.”

“I suppose, with the new hospital almost underway, your life is full enough,” she said.

It had been once. Remorse, as familiar as his breath, washed over him. But he’d had plenty of practice in hiding his emotions, so he nodded, then smiled at her. “When we open, you can be our resident clown.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Dr. Cameron.”

“Call me Brett, since we’ll be working together.”

“All right…Brett.” She gave him the gift of a smile, and they continued talking. He hadn’t spent an hour like this in a long time, relaxing and enjoying the company of a charming woman.

They’d do it again. Somewhere quiet and elegant with good food and wine and soft music playing in the background. Then they’d take the next step.

Not that he was in the market for anything serious. Just a light, carefree relationship with pleasant evenings, leading to even more pleasant nights. No strings.

When they went upstairs so Elyssa could get her things, he asked. “What’s the plan for next Tuesday?”

Violet eyes sparkled. “Magic.”

“Sounds intriguing. Will you tell me about it afterward?”

She hesitated long enough for him to think he’d scared her off again, but to his relief she said, “Sure.”

When she left, he read charts, then his pager sounded. One of his patients had been rushed in and was in the E.R., barely clinging to life. Adrenaline flowing, he dashed out of his office, bypassed the notoriously slow elevators and took the stairs.

Three hours later, with the youngster finally stabilized and the parents’ fears calmed as much as possible, he grabbed a cup of coffee in the doctors’ lounge. With luck, the caffeine would keep him awake long enough to drive home, where he could snatch a few hours sleep. A message on his voice mail informed him that he was due at a meeting of department heads at 7:00 a.m. He could crash here, but he preferred a shower and his own bed.

He found he didn’t need the caffeine buzz. Thoughts of Elyssa—her voice, that sassy walk, that wildly arousing perfume—kept him up even after he fell, naked and still damp from the shower, into his bed.

He was a damn fool. Slaying dragons, as Elyssa had put it, drained every ounce of his energy, claimed every moment of his time. Especially now, with the groundbreaking for the new hospital building only weeks away. He had no business starting even a superficial relationship, provided Elyssa wanted one. And judging from her response to his dinner invitation, she didn’t.

Best to forget it, he thought as he drifted into sleep at last. They’d both…be…better off….



“Dinner?”

“Coffee. In the cafeteria. Dutch.”

Over the past four weeks, this had become Brett and Elyssa’s routine. On Thursdays, when she entertained the children, he was away from the hospital. But, on Tuesdays, after her clown class, they would meet in his office, then he’d ask her out for dinner at a restaurant and she’d refuse. Always pleasantly, but always firmly.

Every week he told himself he wouldn’t ask again. But he needed to eat, didn’t he? And he’d enjoy something better than unappetizing hospital chow. But that seemed to be all he’d get if he wanted to spend time with Elyssa.

Every week he became more captivated by her. Each time he saw her, his longing for her increased. He had to force himself not to lean across the table and taste her. He wanted to pull off that wig and bury his face in her hair, inhale its scent, feel its texture. He wanted to take her home, take her to bed. But what he wanted didn’t seem to matter because she damn well wouldn’t give him the chance.

Until now, he’d controlled his frustration. He’d been patient and polite. Too patient, too polite. Now was the time to push. Lightly, for starters. “Ouch. An arrow through the heart. You’ve turned me down four times in a row.”

Elyssa cocked her head. “I doubt your heart is the least bit wounded.”

“Trust me, it is. You can’t see the damage.”

She gave him a smile, a friendly but impersonal one, and started down the hall ahead of him.

In two quick strides he caught up with her. “Elyssa—” Two residents left the nurses’ station and fell into step behind them, trailing them into the elevator and all the way to the cafeteria. Exasperated, Brett held his peace until he and Elyssa were seated at a table in the corner, away from interested ears and wagging tongues. The hell with pushing lightly. “Are you involved with someone?” he asked.

“No.” Emotion flashed in her eyes but disappeared before he could read it. “You’ve caught me at an inconvenient time, that’s all.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m doing a birthday party at The Hungry Caterpillar at six. I have to stay in costume.”

“I always seem to catch you at an inconvenient time.”

She shrugged as she stirred creamer into her coffee. “What can I say? I have to take care of business.”

“Business,” he muttered. “What about pleasure?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’ll ask you out again,” he said. “Expect it.”

Her eyes gleamed with that unreadable emotion again. “No, Brett, don’t.”

“Don’t, what?” The frustration he’d concealed boiled over. “Don’t think about you? Don’t want to be with you?”

“Brett—” She pushed away the sweet roll she’d barely tasted and stood up.

He caught her wrist. “Don’t go. At least explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain.” But she sat down again. “This is a critical time for me. I’m trying to get my business off the ground.”

“All work and no play—”’

“Easy for you to say. You’ve already made your mark. Look, Brett.” She leaned forward, and the scent of her perfume teased his nostrils. “I like talking to you, but I don’t want to get involved with anyone just now.”

He’d thought he didn’t, either, but he couldn’t seem to let go. He waited until her eyes locked with his. Then he said quietly, “I’m a determined guy. I’ll work on changing your mind.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t think so.” He smiled slowly, confidently, a challenge in his tone. He took a card from his pocket, scribbled on it and put it into Elyssa’s hand, folding her fingers over it. “Here’s my home number. When you change your mind, call me.” He deliberately emphasized the “when.”

This time, when she stood, he let her go.

When he returned to his office a few minutes later, he sat at his desk, ignored the stack of messages his secretary stuffed into his hand and thought about Elyssa.

She mattered. Without intending to, she drew him, made him yearn. He knew she was driven, energetic and intelligent. She liked kids, read mysteries, never missed an episode of E.R., and tolerated hospital coffee. But he wanted to learn more about her, to learn…everything.

Telling him he was wasting his time wanting to be with her was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

He would keep reminding her he was interested. Step one, he thought, and reached for the telephone.




Chapter 3


Elyssa opened her front door and pushed the cart inside. She wasn’t surprised to see her cousin Cassie seated cross-legged on her living room floor. They weren’t roommates, but Cassie had a key and popped in whenever she pleased.

Clad in a skimpy white camisole, purple nylon running shorts, thick athletic socks and no shoes, Cassie bent forward, brushing the underside of her strawberry-blond hair. When Elyssa walked in, Cassie straightened and flipped the damp hair over her shoulder. “Hi, I used your shower.”

Elyssa pulled off her wig, tossed it on the coffee table along with her purse and dropped onto the couch. “Fine, as long as you left some cool water for me.”

“Why are you still wearing your costume in this heat? Don’t you usually change before you leave the hospital?” Cassie said.

“I was running late.” If she reminded Cassie that she’d quit taking off her costume and makeup since she’d been meeting with Brett, her cousin would launch into a blistering lecture, fiery enough to make the hot August day seem like December. Instead, Elyssa kicked off her black patent leather Mary Janes and changed the subject. “How was your day?”

Cassie grimaced. “One of the kids at Billy Henderson’s birthday party pinched me. Actually pinched me. Right here.” She leaned sideways and rubbed her bottom. “Can you charge a five-year-old with sexual harassment?”

“Not and make it stick.”

“Too bad.” Cassie rose gracefully from the floor. “Go change. I’ll get us some iced tea.” Long-legged and limber, she crossed the room. Elyssa’s gaze followed her cousin as she disappeared into the kitchen. An aspiring actress who’d recently been accepted to the city’s prestigious professional repertory company, Cassie drew eyes as if the spotlight perpetually shone on her. That had always been true.

Elyssa remembered how she’d envied her cousin in high school. People noticed Cassie. Compared to her, Elyssa had felt invisible. Oh, she’d been smart, an A student. She’d participated in activities—had been a reporter on the school paper from her freshman year on. She’d gone on dates, but boys hadn’t gone starry-eyed over her the way they had over Cassie. Of course not. Even in her early teens, Cassie had curves; Elyssa’d had angles. The only time she’d felt special was when she’d performed as Lulu.

“You’re a late bloomer. You’ll find your niche,” her mother used to console her. And in college she had bloomed. The angles softened, her braces came off and her skin glowed. After a couple of false starts, she’d chosen a radio/TV major and by the time she’d finished her second year of college, she’d begun to shine. After graduation, she’d spent a couple of years at a small TV station, then landed a spot with KIND News. By age twenty-seven, she was their rising star.

Thinking of that, and of how abruptly the glitter had faded, Elyssa went upstairs, took off her makeup, shed her costume and slipped into a robe. No wonder she’d resurrected Lulu, she thought. She needed her alter ego to feel special again.

“How was the hospital?” Cassie called as Elyssa started down the stairs.

“Okay.” Tying the sash on her robe, she returned to the living room.

Cassie appeared, carrying two glasses of iced tea. She frowned. “Just okay?”

“Mmm.” Elyssa forced a brighter tone. “Trace really participated. He wanted to know about different kinds of clown costumes. I had to tell him the whole history of clowning.”

“And how’s Dr. Dreamboat? Still saving the world?”

“Working on it, I guess.”

Cassie handed Elyssa a glass and sat on the chair across from her. “You’ve been having coffee in the cafeteria with him for a month now. When are you going to let him take you out?”

Elyssa picked at a loose thread on her robe. “I told him not to ask me again.”

“Elyssa! You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. It’s wasted effort.” Chin thrust out, she glared at her cousin. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Why not give the guy a break? Give yourself one, too.”

“It’s useless, Cass. The first day I met him, he said he’d seen me on the news. He expects me to look like Elyssa Jarmon of two years ago.” Automatically, her hand went to her cheek and traced the scar. “And even after plastic surgery, I don’t.”

“Close enough.”

“It wasn’t close enough for Derek.”

Cassie’s generous, usually smiling mouth, turned grim. “Derek,” she muttered. “If I could, I’d strangle him with my bare hands.” She leaned forward and grabbed Elyssa’s hand. “Don’t judge every man by Derek. He’s a scumbag. He didn’t appreciate what he had in you.”

Elyssa opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, Cassie continued, eyes flashing. “You had a rough time after the accident, but you’ve put your life back together. You’ve never been a quitter. Why now?”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, I don’t. You’re not disfigured, are you? You have a few scars, so your face isn’t as perfect as it used to be. I’ll grant you it’s enough to keep you off the air—”

Elyssa’s chin shot up again. “I handled that.”

Cassie nodded. “And very well, too. But we’re talking about your personal life. You can’t stop living. There’s a man somewhere—maybe the man you just brushed off—who won’t give a damn about your face. Listen to me. You can’t avoid having Brett see you, not forever. And why should you? He isn’t Derek.”

Derek hadn’t been the only one who’d reacted badly to her less-than-perfect face, but she hadn’t told anyone, not even Cassie, about the others. And she didn’t intend to.

Cassie slammed her hand on the coffee table. “Dammit, give the guy a chance.”

A chance to hurt her? “I can’t. I told you, he has expectations.”

“How do you know that?” Cassie countered. “Does he walk around with a sign tattooed on his forehead that reads, I Have Expectations?”

Elyssa grinned at the image, then sobered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s—”

They both started as the doorbell rang. “I’m not expecting anyone,” Elyssa said, frowning.

“Sit. I’ll get it,” Cassie said. She opened the door and poked her head out, exchanged a few words with someone, then turned, holding out a flower arrangement.

Two white orchids.

“What in the world? The deliveryman must have the wrong address,” Elyssa said. “Call him back.”

“Card says Elyssa Jarmon.”

Cassie set the vase on the coffee table, and Elyssa reached for the card. As she read, her cheeks heated, her heart began to thud. “They’re from Brett.”

“Well, well,” Cassie said, grinning. “Dr. Cameron’s a guy with class.” She leaned over Elyssa’s shoulder. “What’s the card say?”

“His name.” She slid her fingers over the rest of the message: “I’ll keep waiting for a yes.”

“Now you’ll have to go out with him,” Cassie said.

“No, I won’t.” Elyssa brushed a finger over the dark-green leaves, then yanked her hand away. “Brett’s an ambitious man, the kind of man who needs a gorgeous wife who gives elegant dinner parties and chairs benefits for the symphony.”

“Wife!” Cassie shuddered. “We’re talking about a simple dinner in a restaurant, not a lifetime commitment. Gawd, matrimony,” she said in her Lauren Bacall voice and sighed dramatically. “What a crock.”

Elyssa chuckled. Her cousin—independent, outspoken and in the rest of the family’s opinion, outrageous—could always make her laugh.

“You know my philosophy on marriage,” Cassie added.

Elyssa knew it well. Love affairs were acceptable, but Cassie believed that marriage and a career could not mix; hence, marriage had to go. Elyssa had never agreed with her cousin, but now… “My head’s too muddled to think about this.”

“I don’t blame you.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “Talking about marriage gives me heartburn. Nevertheless, you should consider dating this man. White orchids, oh my.”

They sat admiring the flowers, then Cassie checked her watch, frowned and shook her arm. “Stopped. What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

Cassie jumped up. “Omigosh, I’m due at rehearsal at seven.”

“Rehearsal! You got a part.”

Cassie grinned. “Nope, I’m the assistant to the assistant stage manager.” She turned her purse upside down on the coffee table and began pawing through the mess that spilled from it. “But I will get a part, one of these days. Aha!” She grabbed her car keys, waved them triumphantly and shoved everything else back into her bag. “See you.” She headed for the door. Over her shoulder, she added, “If Dean calls, tell him I’m on my way.”

Dean called. So did Dave…and Mario. Despite her views on matrimony, Cassie attracted men like honeysuckle attracted bees. How did she keep them all straight?

Shaking her head, Elyssa picked up the iced-tea glasses and carried them to the dishwasher. She’d always been a one-man woman. Of course, now she was a no-man woman.

She was glad she hadn’t thrown Brett’s card away. She’d intended to, but something had made her tuck it into the pocket of her costume, then into her robe. She took it out and called his home number. She’d be stern with him, she decided as his machine came on. “The orchids are beautiful, but I haven’t changed my mind. Let’s keep on being friends.”

Oh, Lord! She sat down hard on the chair by the phone. She’d been in broadcasting long enough to know what she’d just done. Her words had said one thing, but her voice—her soft, husky tone—had said something totally different.

Disgusted with herself, she marched upstairs to the bathroom, yanked off her robe and tossed her underwear in the hamper. She turned on the cold water in the shower but didn’t get in. Instead, she stared at her nude body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

Her figure was the same as before the accident, maybe a little thinner. The gash on her thigh had healed and the scar was beginning to fade. It was pink now, perhaps as light as it would ever be. Her nose looked almost straight. Even the scars on her cheek had dimmed a little. But without the clown makeup, the marks were still visible, clear reminders of that night she could never quite recapture.

What would Brett Cameron think if he saw her as she really was? A picture of him flashed in her mind—tall and tanned with a killer smile and a gentleness that almost brought tears to her eyes. A longing so sharp it nearly buckled her knees rushed though her. She knew just how his lips would taste, how his body would feel against hers.

He was a doctor, used to scars. And, compared to most, hers were minor. Maybe…maybe he wouldn’t care.

But maybe he would.

She wouldn’t risk a rejection from him. She’d insist she meant what she said on the phone. They’d just be friends. With a last look at her reflection, she got into the shower.

But later she took the orchids into her room and set them on the nightstand by the bed. So lovely, so romantic… The man had her on the verge of tumbling into a situation that would only cause her grief. She had to think of something else.

She reached for the book by David Brinkley that Jenny had given her. Stretching out on her bed, she opened it and flipped through the pages, reading snippets here and there. Her attention was caught by doodles and notes scribbled at the end of a chapter: “The committee, 5, 1066, March 2.” Beneath them was a drawing of a skull and crossbones.

Elyssa shivered. March 2 was the day before their accident.

For a moment she could only stare at the cryptic notes, then she sat up abruptly and grabbed the phone. With shaking fingers, she punched in Jenny’s number in Knoxville.

“H’lo,” Jenny said sleepily.

“Jen, did Randy usually make notes in his books?”

Jenny yawned. “Elyssa?”

“Yes. Did he?”

“No, he was very careful with books.” More alert now, she asked, “Why?”

Quickly Elyssa explained what she’d found. “Does it make sense to you?”

“No, but the date—”

“I know. Jenny,” she said slowly, “maybe this is important. I’ll check and get back to you.”

“Be careful, Elyssa. Be really careful.”

“I will.” She hung up and paged through the rest of the book. No more notes. What she’d found could be meaningless doodles…or it could explain what Randy had been frightened of.

As much as she hated the idea, she knew Derek Graves was the person to ask. She didn’t have to look up his phone number; she knew it by heart.

Her former lover. The man who’d dumped her after the accident, when her self-esteem was at its lowest ebb. The man who, in his professional capacity as news director at the TV station, had coolly informed her that she was being offered a spot at KIND-FM, Channel 9’s sister radio station. Still reporting, he’d hastened to say. He hadn’t needed to add “off camera.” After all, a news reporter with a ruined face would hardly contribute to a TV station’s ratings. Elyssa had taken all of thirty seconds to turn down the move. She’d resigned from her job and hadn’t seen Derek since.

The thought of hearing his voice again brought a sour taste to her mouth. But she had to find out what Randy’s notes meant. And if Derek could help, she’d swallow her pride and call him.

Reaching for the phone, she dialed his home number.



For the first time in seventeen months, Elyssa pulled into the parking lot of the television station that had been the center of her life for three years. Here she’d been part of the frenetic scramble to get the news out. Here she’d pinned her hopes of making a name for herself in her career. And here she’d found camaraderie, friendship and love. Or what had passed for love at the time.

She glanced at the names posted at assigned parking spaces as she crossed the lot. Arthur Nixon. The chief meteorologist still drove his beloved Ford pickup. Susan Dalrimple had her own space now. She’d snagged the six o’clock anchor position that had been destined for Elyssa. And here was Derek’s space. He’d moved up, too. A shiny BMW had taken the place of his Honda Accord. He must have gotten a whopping raise.

Elyssa entered the building and approached the reception desk. Lindsay Cramer, the receptionist, looked up. Surprise widened her brown eyes. “Elyssa!”

“I have an appointment with Derek.”

Lindsay called him on the intercom, relayed the message. “He says to come on back. Great to see you, Elyssa.”

“Thanks.” As Elyssa started down the hall, she glanced back and saw Lindsay punch in another number, saw her lips moving and the excited sparkle in her eyes. Spreading the news, Elyssa thought. Probably thinks I’m here to ask Derek for my old job back. Or maybe Lindsay thought she’d come to get Derek back. Nope, Lindsay, I’m not that dumb. Elyssa missed a lot of things about this place but Derek wasn’t on the list.

She reached his office, knocked and opened the door. Looking wary, he rose to greet her. She hadn’t told him why she was coming. Let him sweat a little longer. She shook his hand, then took her time settling in her chair and arranging her skirt.

“Well,” he said a little too heartily, “it’s been a while.”

“Mmm, yes,” she murmured, though she was tempted to ask if he couldn’t do better than that for an opener. But she didn’t want to antagonize him. Derek was easily provoked.

She studied him dispassionately as he sat behind his desk. He’d gained some weight since she’d last seen him, but he carried it well. Most of it had turned to muscle, she supposed; Derek was fanatic about his daily workout. His blond hair was precisely cut and combed. His jacket—the style just right, not too conservative, not too flashy—fitted perfectly across his broad shoulders. He wore a light-blue shirt with a crisp collar and a red-and-navy tie. Funny, those fashion touches she’d once found attractive now seemed fake. Derek, she decided, was a cubic zirconium trying to pass as a diamond.

“I hear Channel 9’s news at six is number one in its time period,” Elyssa said.

“I’ll take credit for that,” he said, preening a little.

“You deserve it, I’m sure.” Nothing like a compliment to soften Derek up. “Susan Dalrimple is a sharp gal.”

Derek, who had started to relax, stiffened. Probably afraid she’d remind him that the six o’clock anchor spot was once supposed to go to her instead of Susan. She wondered if he thought she was here to threaten him. With a lawsuit perhaps? For discrimination against the facially challenged?

She decided to end his misery. “I came for some information about Randy Barber.”

Relief showed in his eyes. “Ask and it’s yours.”

“You told Jenny that Randy covered a school board dispute over new buses before he died.”

“Right.” Comfortable now, Derek leaned back in his chair and smiled expansively. “It wasn’t a big story. In fact, it never developed into much of anything.”

“What about his next assignment?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t remember. You know, a year and a half is like a century in the life of a news director.”

Did he think she didn’t know that? That she’d forgotten that news focused on today? “Jenny thinks he was working on something big.”

Derek chuckled. “Yes, she told me that herself. I didn’t want to disabuse Jenny of her illusions, but Randy was a novice. He wasn’t experienced enough for the, quote, big story.”

Didn’t want to “disabuse” her? Pretentious jerk. Derek knew damn well that Randy had been a good newsman, even for a rookie, but he obviously felt he could get away with saying that now. Who, after all, would Elyssa tell? Certainly not Jenny. “Whatever Randy was working on made him nervous. Jenny says he thought he was being followed.”

“Really, Elyssa, Jenny is being paranoid. Or Randy was. School buses are not the stuff of diabolic plots. Besides,” he added slyly, “if anyone would know, you would. You were with Randy when he died.”

Elyssa shut her eyes. “I still can’t remember anything after we got in the car. Maybe I never will.”

Derek leaned across his desk and patted her hand. “I’m sorry. I know how tough this is for you.” His voice softened. “Jenny was thoughtless to put you through this.”

Elyssa fixed the carefully manicured hand covering hers with a hard stare until Derek removed it. The fact that she’d once welcomed his hands on her body made her want to shudder. “Jenny didn’t put me through anything,” she said. “I came on my own.”

“Don’t tell me you’re becoming paranoid, too.”

With an effort Elyssa controlled the urge to walk around the desk and slap the condescending smile off Derek’s face. “I found some notes dated the day before Randy’s death. I thought you might know what they mean.” She took out the paper on which she’d copied Randy’s scribbles and handed it to Derek.

He glanced at it, then gave it back. “Looks like a kid’s secret code,” he said in an amused tone. “Where did you find it—buried in Randy’s backyard?”

Something told Elyssa he wasn’t as amused as he tried to appear. “Does it mean anything to you?”

Derek shook his head.

“Could it be related to a news story?”

“It could be related to something, but I don’t know what. What is all this, sweetheart? Have you taken up a new career? Elyssa Jarmon, girl detective?”

This time her temper did flare. “Don’t patronize me, Derek. And don’t—don’t ever—call me sweetheart.” She rose from her chair. “Thanks for your time.”

Elyssa took a deep breath as she walked into the hall. She shouldn’t have lost her temper, but damn! Derek was such a slime. She glanced over her shoulder. Through the half-open door she could see him staring after her, a troubled expression on his face.



Elyssa spent two fruitless hours in the library, hunting for the meaning of Randy’s note. She left with barely time to hurry home and get into costume for her Tuesday-afternoon clown class.

She clamped down on her anger and shut out thoughts of Derek as she worked with the children. She’d given each of her students a magic trick to learn and perform today for the others.

Trace was last. He looked good today, Elyssa thought, with a hint of color in his usually sallow cheeks. He hung back after the other children left the conference room. “Dr. Cameron says I might get to go home pretty soon.”

“Really! That’s great news.” She hunkered down beside his wheelchair. “I’ll miss you, though.”

“I thought maybe I could get my grandma to bring me by on Tuesdays if…if I could still be in the class.”

Elyssa swallowed. “Of course you can. In fact,” she added, smiling at the youngster, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t come back. You’re good at magic.”

“You think so?” His eyes brightened. “Maybe I could do some shows if I go back to school. One year I played soccer, but…but it’s too late to try out for fall leagues.”

She tried to imagine Trace on a soccer field, with his stick-like legs that barely supported him for walking, and winced. “Magic would be a great hobby for you,” she said. “Next week I’ll bring some information about the Junior Magicians.”

“Cool.” His smile seemed to take up his whole face. He gave her a thumbs-up and guided his chair out the door.

Would he get well? Get another chance to play soccer, go to school with his friends? Would he grow up, have a girlfriend, an after-school job? Elyssa prayed he would. She knew she shouldn’t get emotionally involved with these kids, but Trace had touched her heart.

She made herself a note to look up the information on Junior Magicians, then packed her equipment and headed for Brett’s office. Her heart, dammit, fluttered in her chest.

Jean Torry, the receptionist, looked up when she came in. “Dr. Cameron’s not available.”

“Oh.” She’d told him not to ask her out again, hadn’t she? Apparently, he wasn’t interested in settling for half a loaf. Trying to conceal her disappointment, she backed toward the door.

“He had an emergency up on three,” Jean continued. “He said to tell you he doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”

She shouldn’t have felt relief at the explanation, but she did. “Tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”

Since Brett wasn’t there, she’d go back to the library, she decided. Maybe she’d overlooked something. But she had to get out of her costume. Should she change here? Risk running into Brett? Jean said he’d be upstairs a long time. She headed for the ladies’ room.

Inside the rest room, she discarded her wig and false eyelashes, creamed her face and removed the makeup, then changed into navy slacks and a rose-colored blouse.

She brushed her hair and pulled it into a pony tail, applied lip gloss and stepped back, still thinking about her visit with Derek. She’d always had a good instinct for interviews. Derek hadn’t told her everything. This wasn’t the first time he’d acted that way. It was just like him to hold back, the jerk.

She supposed he could be stonewalling because someone at the station had recently gotten a tip about Randy’s death and was checking it out. That was unlikely, but if it had happened, Derek wouldn’t want to hand over a sensational story to her and ruin Channel 9’s chance for a scoop. Tough! To the station, Randy’s death would be one story out of hundreds; to her it was the most important story of her life.

Bundling her costume into her case, she slammed it shut and stepped back into the hall. She passed the small lounge area and the staff elevator. Its doors slid open and two doctors in green scrubs stepped out.

One of them was Brett.

Her heart dropped to her toes. She couldn’t let him see her.

She quickened her steps. He wouldn’t notice her, she told herself. He hadn’t seen her since the accident without her wig and makeup. Why should he recognize her? Besides, he was deep in conversation with the other doctor. Just keep walking.

“Elyssa.”

If she didn’t stop, he’d think he made a mistake. A few more steps and she’d be around the corner.

“Elyssa, wait.”

His voice was closer now. A hand touched her shoulder.

She stopped, felt every muscle from her neck down freeze. Rooted to the spot, she heard Cassie’s words playing in her mind: You can’t avoid having him see you, not forever.

No, she couldn’t. Dreading what she’d see in his eyes, she turned and faced him.




Chapter 4


Elyssa’s grip tightened on the handle of her cart. When he hurt her—as she knew he would—she wouldn’t let him see it.

Warily she searched his face for revulsion…but saw only pleasure. His expression was as warm and admiring as ever.

He pressed the elevator button and when it opened, beckoned her forward. Dazed, she stepped inside. The door slid shut, and he pressed the Stop button. “Why were you running away?”

“I wasn’t. I—”

“Elyssa.” His voice was quiet, firm.

All right, no use to pretend any longer, no use to deny. She looked past him, focusing on the panel of buttons by the door. “I didn’t want you to see me.”

“Because of this?” he asked softly, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. A gaze that was so tender, Elyssa felt a lump rise in her throat. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Brett shook his head, then slowly, gently, he brushed his finger over her scarred cheek, touching her as if her skin were the finest silk.

Wide-eyed, Elyssa stared at him. His touch was whisper soft, but it meant so much. No one had touched her there since the accident.

He stepped closer. “How could you think the scars would matter?”

“I…”

“They don’t.” His gaze was steady. “Don’t run away from me again,” he murmured. “Please.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Good.” He smiled now, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Would you join a starving man for dinner?”

“I would.” A laugh bubbled up. And she felt the first crack in her frozen heart.

He released the elevator. “I’ll wind up things here and come by for you in an hour. Give me your address.”

She scribbled it on the slip of paper he pulled from his pocket and stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor. As she walked down the hall, she found herself smiling at everyone she passed. On the way home she didn’t notice the heat, only the brightness of the sun. The raucous honking of horns on the busy streets sounded cheerful. Even her next-door neighbor’s basset hound, who usually eyed her with suspicion, seemed almost friendly today.

She parked in her garage, hurried inside and called Cassie. Her cousin’s machine picked up. “Cassie here. Leave your number and message and I’ll ring you back.” The accent, which changed weekly, was presently British upper crust—Eliza Doolittle after Professor Higgins transformed her from a guttersnipe to an English lady.

“I’m having dinner with Dr. Cameron,” Elyssa said. “I ran into him without the makeup, and it turned out okay.” She was certain she’d have a reply on her machine when she got home, knew just what Cassie would say: “I told you so.”

The laughter she’d restrained earlier came out free and full as she went to get ready.



Brett frowned as he drove through Elyssa’s neighborhood. He wondered who had rejected her and how the guy could have been such a fool. Why couldn’t he have seen past a couple of scars to the beauty inside? A wave of anger surged through him. Whoever he was, the bastard had hurt her. Badly.

Lucky he and Elyssa had run into each other in the hall this afternoon or he’d never have convinced her to go out with him. She’d have stayed in costume, hiding behind her clown face indefinitely. Thank God for chance meetings.

He pulled up before a two-story Victorian set back on a quiet street. Oaks shaded the front yard. Pansies planted on either side of the porch steps nodded a welcome. On the porch were two wicker rocking chairs with a small wicker table between them. Did she sit there on summer nights, watching the stars?

She opened the door to his knock. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he answered, then simply stood and looked his fill. She wore a pale blue silk blouse and matching pants. Shiny silver loops dangled from her earlobes, and she wore a trio of thin silver bracelets on one arm. Her soft-brown hair hung loose, flowing in glorious waves to her shoulders. On television she’d worn it pulled back in a sleek twist, but this… God, he wanted to run his hands through it, then run them on a long, thorough journey over the rest of her.

She flushed under his intent gaze. “You didn’t say where we were going. Is this okay?” She glanced down at her outfit. For the first time since he’d known her, she sounded uncertain.

“Perfect,” he said hoarsely, his eyes drawn to the dainty pearl buttons on her blouse. He’d like to unfasten them one by one…

The hell with dinner; he wanted to take her to bed.

Firmly he stifled that thought. They’d taken a major step today, and she wasn’t ready for the next one. He’d wait. He was a patient man. Oh, he could be rash at times, but when something really mattered, he knew how to bide his time, how to take care. He did that every day, when he battled disease, beating it back inch by inch. He’d do that now, too. “I’ve made reservations at The Orchard,” he said, and took her arm.



The restaurant was quiet and elegant, with subdued lighting, attentive service and a menu food critics consistently applauded. A perfect setting for the evening he’d been waiting for since the first time he’d seen Elyssa.

As the maamp2;ˆtre d’ led them to their table, someone called his name. Brett turned and saw a group of senior staff members from St. Michael’s. He stopped to greet them.

“Well, I see Clark lets you out sometimes,” Dr. Herbert Raines said.

“Not only that, but he recommends restaurants.” Brett grinned as he met the eyes of Clark Madigan, the hospital chief of staff, who’d convinced him to leave Duke University Hospital and come here.

Madigan returned the smile. “Dr. Cameron deserves an evening out at a fine restaurant now and then. He’s doing a first-rate job.”

Brett acknowledged the smiles and nods from around the table, then said, “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Elyssa Jarmon. She’s been entertaining the kids in the cancer unit.”

To his surprise Madigan’s eyes cooled. He shook Elyssa’s hand but said only a curt hello. Not his usual style. Clark Madigan was charm personified. But not tonight.

None of the other doctors were particularly cordial, either. But Brett put that out of his mind. He wasn’t here to speculate on his colleagues’ moods. The evening he’d been longing for had finally come to pass, and he wanted to focus on Elyssa.

“Sorry for the interruption,” he said when they were seated.

“I don’t mind.” Her eyes teased. “I’m enjoying being with a famous doctor.”

“You’re pretty well-known yourself.”

She flashed a wry smile. “Former celebrity.” She paused, then said, “Brett, I want to tell you about my accident.”

The waiter hovered, order pad in hand. When they’d made their choices, Brett said, “I know about the accident,” then, noting her surprise, added, “but not the details. I ran into the coordinator of volunteer services the other day, and she told me you’d offered your services because you were grateful for the care you’d gotten at St. Michael’s after your wreck. That’s all I know.”

Elyssa picked up her water goblet, set it down. “It happened last year in March. Randy Barber, a friend from the station, gave me a ride home from work. Someone ran into us and Randy was…killed.” Her lip trembled, and Brett quickly reached over and covered her hand with his.

“I was in a coma for two weeks,” she went on. “When I woke up, I didn’t remember anything about the wreck. I still don’t.”

“Not remembering’s a way to protect yourself from something too painful to face. You may be better off if you don’t.”

“No.” The intensity with which she spoke surprised him. “Last month Jenny Barber, Randy’s wife, told me she believes what happened wasn’t an accident. She wanted to know what I could remember. She wanted my help.” Her face was stark with anguish. “I couldn’t give it to her.”

Wanting to soothe, he stroked her hand. “It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe I’m not trying hard enough to remember,” she said, and he saw that the thought brought her pain. “Since Jenny talked to me, I keep wondering if I could have done something that night, something that would have kept Randy alive.” Her free hand fisted on the table. “And if what happened wasn’t an accident, if someone deliberately ran into us, then I need to know who and why. I have to find out.”

Her words made him uneasy. He didn’t like the idea of Elyssa investigating a possible murder. But surely she didn’t intend to conduct a serious inquiry, not on her own. Or did she? “That’s a job for the police,” he said.

“The police report said the wreck was accidental.”

“Well, then.”

“I think they’re wrong.” Her eyes flashed, and he suddenly saw the determined reporter.

“You won’t learn much a year and a half after the wreck,” he pointed out.

“Maybe not, but I have to try. Yesterday I found some notes Randy made the day before he died. Under them he drew a skull and crossbones. I’m researching the notes, but so far I haven’t come up with anything. I’ve started asking questions, too.”

Brett felt a prick of alarm. “Be careful.”

“I will. I’ve done investigative work before.” She touched her cheek. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that wreck ended my career. That’s reason enough for me to try to find out who caused it.”

“I understand how you feel,” he said, “but watch your step. And get some help if you need it.”

While the waiter served them, Brett studied the crisscross of tiny lines on Elyssa’s cheek. An idea occurred to him, but he needed to present it tactfully. “Some cancer patients have scars,” he said carefully. “You could help them come to terms with that.”

She frowned. “How?”

“By visiting them, talking to them, letting them see that you’ve gone on with your life in spite of the injury.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“The Department of Social Work has a training program for breast cancer survivors who talk to patients. I could give them a call, tell them what I have in mind…if you feel up to it.”

“How can I help people ‘come to terms’ as you call it when I’m not sure I have?”

“Coming to terms—healing—is a process,” he said. “You’re building a new career, doing something with your life. You’re farther along the road toward healing than most.”

“I’ll think about it.” Her expression was solemn but he saw the spark of interest in her eyes. She’d say yes, he thought, and by helping others heal, would help herself.

He steered the conversation to lighter topics—the summer’s blockbuster movie, politicians she’d interviewed, a forthcoming book by a former senator that was expected to set Washington on its ears.

When their plates were removed, he reached for her hand, toyed with her fingers. A faint flush lit her cheeks. He touched her wrist and noted with satisfaction how her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. No matter what he and Elyssa said aloud, below the surface another conversation took place: I want you. Soon. Want me back.

They continued talking, lingering over coffee and dessert. Brett barely noticed the time passing until he glanced around and saw that the restaurant was nearly empty. Their waiter stood in the corner, eyeing them balefully. Brett beckoned to him. “I think he wants us out of here.”

Elyssa took one last bite of cheesecake and set down her fork. “That was delicious.”

“We’ll come again.” Often. Patience was a virtue, but so was persistence.



A sliver of moon glinted in the star-dusted sky as they climbed Elyssa’s porch steps. The daytime heat had abated, but the air was still thick and muggy. In the oak trees crickets buzzed, the only sound that broke the stillness.

Elyssa got out her key. “I enjoyed the evening.”

“So did I. Here, let me get the door.” He took the key from her, unlocked the door and followed her inside.

“Do you want some coffee?”

He shook his head. “I’m doing early rounds. What I want—” he stepped closer, put his arms around her “—is this.”

She only had time to register that this was the move of a confident man, before his lips covered hers.

She’d imagined kissing him more times than she could count, but now it was real and she was lost. Lost in the pressure of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the warmth and rhythm of his breath. She felt his heart beat in tune with hers.

She kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his. She could hold him like this, kiss him like this forever.

“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth.

Oh, I want you, too. So much. But she’d learned to be cautious. She’d learned how easy it was to go with your emotions and end up paying the price.

She drew back and put a hand to his chest. “Brett, we’re moving too fast.”

“Not nearly,” he whispered, sprinkling kisses along her jaw.

“For me we are. I need some time.”

He sighed. “I’ll give it to you then…grudgingly.” His lips curved in a half smile. “But don’t make me wait too long.”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure how much time would be long enough.

“One more kiss,” he said and pulled her close again.

When they drew apart, his eyes were as dazed as hers.



Brett kept strictly to the speed limit as he drove home. He didn’t trust himself to drive too fast; his blood still pounded from Elyssa’s kisses. They’d packed a punch he’d never expected.

“Whoa,” he told himself. This didn’t feel like the lighthearted affair he had in mind. This felt…serious.

But he knew his limitations. He couldn’t let this relationship become anything but casual. “Back off, Cameron,” he ordered himself. “She’s right. You’re moving way too fast.”



Still under the spell of Brett’s kisses, Elyssa wandered through the house. She measured coffee into the coffeemaker for tomorrow, turned off the downstairs lights and slipped off her sandals. Dangling them by the straps, she climbed the stairs.

In her room she glanced at the bed. If she hadn’t stopped Brett—stopped herself—they’d be there now. She’d done the right thing, she told herself firmly, as she ran her hand over the pillow. She needed to probe her heart and mind before she took the next step.

She went into the bathroom and slowly undressed. How would it have been to undress for Brett? To watch him undress? To feel flesh against flesh?

Her lips still tingled from his kisses. Her skin was still warm. She looked in the mirror. Dreamy, half-closed eyes gazed back. She touched her lips. How long since someone had kissed her like that? Never before, she thought. Never.

She slipped into a nightgown and was strolling back into the bedroom when the telephone rang. She jumped, then laughed. Probably Cassie, dying to hear all the details of her evening. Or maybe Brett was calling to say good-night.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

“Elyssa Jarmon?” The male voice sounded faraway, disembodied.

“Yes.”

“This is a warning.”

Her hand tightened on the receiver. She checked her caller ID. “Anonymous.” Nervously she glanced out the window. The blinds were open, and she stood in a revealing gown, exposed to any eyes that cared to look. Hand trembling, she reached over and shut the blinds.

“Stick to clowning.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

He laughed. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You keep following in Randy Barber’s footsteps, you’re in trouble.” The line went dead.

Her legs shook as she sank down on the bed. She sat for a few moments, taking deep breaths, then when she was sure she could stand, she raced downstairs. She peered outside but saw no one. No strange cars, either. Then she checked all the doors and windows and made sure her alarm system was turned on.

Upstairs again, she tried to calm herself by considering what she should do. Be logical. Make a list.

She grabbed a pencil and wrote “call the police,” then crossed it out. She doubted she’d get much response by reporting one phone call. She’d done a story once on a woman who’d received dozens of calls from a stalker before the police paid attention to her plight. And in this case, what could they do when Elyssa couldn’t tell them who the caller was?

The pencil dropped from her nervous hands. Logic and planning hadn’t calmed her yet. Think.

She could call the telephone company and put a block on anonymous calls. Or tape the next call—if another one came—and try to figure out who was on the line. Yes, that made sense.

Frowning, she stared at the phone. That voice. She’d heard it before, she was certain. But where?




Chapter 5


Elyssa woke with a throbbing headache. She’d sat up for hours, gripping the fireplace poker, the nearest thing to a weapon she could find. When she finally lay down, every noise from outside, every creak and groan in the house had her leaping out of bed and grabbing her makeshift weapon. At last, near dawn, she fell into a troubled sleep.

Now she sat up, rubbed her eyes and massaged her temples. Along with the headache, she felt groggy and vaguely nauseated. She’d never had a hangover but she suspected they felt like this. “Coffee,” she muttered and trudged downstairs.

By the time she’d drunk half a cup, her mind began to clear. Last night she’d been so shaken, she hadn’t asked herself the obvious question, how did her caller know she was investigating Randy’s death? She’d told only two people—Brett and Derek. Now that she’d tipped him off, was Derek trying to frighten her away from a story he wanted?

The voice last night wasn’t Derek’s. She would recognize it in an instant even if he tried to disguise it. Would he have gone so far as to get someone else to call and scare her off so she’d leave this story to him and Channel 9?

With Derek, anything was possible. Well, he wouldn’t get away with it. She grabbed the phone and punched in his number.

“Derek Graves,” he answered in the too-smooth voice she’d come to detest.

“This is Elyssa.” She got straight to the point. “Someone called me last night to warn me—no, to threaten me—that I’d better stop looking into Randy’s death.”

“Good grief, Elyssa, what have you been up to?”

“Up to?” Though anger threatened to bubble over, she kept her voice level. “All I’ve done is talk to you. What have you been up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who did you tell about our conversation yesterday?”

“Nobody.” His tone implied that their discussion was so insignificant, he’d forgotten it the moment she left. “What did this caller have to say?”

Elyssa always paid attention to nuances of voice, and now she heard just the smallest tinge of uneasiness in Derek’s. Was he afraid the caller had mentioned his name? “Standard threat,” she said. “Essentially, he told me to watch my back.”

“Good advice. I hope you pay attention.”

Her temper boiled over. “Why the hell did you say that? What do you know? You did sic someone on me, didn’t you?”

“Good God, do you hear what you’re saying? You really are becoming paranoid.”

“I’m not paranoid. Jenny thinks Randy was murdered—”

“Murdered!”

“Yes,” Elyssa said, “and I’m beginning to agree with her.”

“If this bizarre idea is true, then investigating could land you in a mess of trouble. I’m concerned for your safety, sweet—uh, Elyssa.” He paused, and his voice deepened. “What happened to him could happen to you.”

“Don’t lose any sleep over me,” Elyssa said coolly. “I’ll stay alert, but I won’t stop digging until I know what happened.” Then she said what she wished she’d told her caller last night, “Don’t try to scare me off.” She hung up before he had a chance to say another word.



Elyssa sat across the desk from Amanda Pryor, coordinator of volunteer services at St. Michael’s. They’d been high school classmates but had lost track of each other. Elyssa had been surprised when she’d made an appointment to present her proposal for clown shows and found an old friend.

Bright posters adorned the walls of Amanda’s small office, lush plants crowded the windowsills, and the bulletin board held letters from former patients praising the volunteer staff.

“Your program’s going great,” Amanda said. “Want to expand? The kids in the orthopedic unit could use some entertainment.”

“I’m not ready for that yet,” Elyssa said. Hoping Amanda wouldn’t notice, she checked her watch. This was not her regular day at St. Michael’s, but she’d mentioned to Brett that she’d be here, and they’d arranged to meet in the cafeteria. Ten minutes.

“Let me know when you’re ready. Meanwhile, we’ll authorize the programs in the cancer unit for another four months.” Then she smiled slyly. “I hear you’re seeing Dr. Cameron.”

Elyssa’s mouth dropped open. “I just went out with him Tuesday night.”

“But you’ve been staring into each other’s eyes in the cafeteria for weeks.”

Elyssa’s eyes traveled upward. Heaven help her. “Um, I guess word gets around fast here,” she muttered.

“Yep, faster than the Internet.” Amanda grinned mischievously. “The things I could tell you…”

“You already have.” From Amanda Elyssa had learned that the head of neurology, who’d been married to his wife for twenty years, was involved in a hot affair with a male resident; that two aides in obstetrics had engaged in a nasty altercation over a trivial misunderstanding; and that the hospital would soon announce its participation in trials of what was considered the most promising AIDS drug in the last decade.

Even in high school Amanda had had such a proclivity for gossip that she’d earned the nickname Miss Tattles. She’d loved the name; she’d even titled her column in the school paper Miss Tattles’ Tales. Now she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. “So is it serious?”

“Are you kidding? After one dinner?”

Amanda sighed dramatically. “Love at first sight.”

“That, my dear, is a myth.”

Later when she saw Brett coming toward her, she told herself that just because seeing a man made you breathless, it didn’t mean love. At first or even second sight.

“A consultation came up,” he said, “so I only have a few minutes. I should have called you and canceled…but I wanted to see you.” His lips curved in the sexy smile that made women go weak in the knees. “So, how about a quick cup of coffee? We can sit on the patio.”

Elyssa cocked her head and smiled at him. “Is this a date?”

He chuckled as he paid for their coffee. “A cheap one.”

The patio behind the cafeteria was quiet, with only a few tables filled. The worst of the midday August heat had dissipated, leaving the promise of evening in its wake. They drank their coffee, and Elyssa told Brett that Amanda had extended her contract. “I know I have you to thank for it,” she added.

“Don’t thank me. You earned that extension.”

When they finished their coffee, he walked her to her car. In the garage he nodded to a tired-looking man in scrubs, then glanced over his shoulder and raised a hand in greeting as a silver Lincoln Town Car drove slowly past.

He held Elyssa’s door open, leaned close and to her surprise, kissed her hard. “Drive carefully,” he said, and shut the door.

Her heart pirouetted wildly from his kiss. And she thought, maybe love at first sight wasn’t a myth after all.



Brett glanced at his watch—10:00 a.m. Clark Madigan rarely kept a colleague waiting when he scheduled a meeting, but this morning Brett had been cooling his heels in the chief of staff’s outer office for nearly twenty minutes. He wondered what Clark wanted to see him about. When Clark called at nine saying, “We need to talk,” he’d sounded agitated. Something about the plans for the new hospital or the departmental budget, Brett supposed. He flipped through the latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine, then glanced up when the door opened.

“Come in, Brett,” Madigan said. “Sit down.”

Wondering at the seriousness of the older man’s expression, Brett sat across the desk from Madigan. Had they lost the grant they’d been counting on from the National Institute of Health?

Madigan frowned, then said, “The woman you were with the other night, Elyssa Jarmon. How long have you been seeing her?”

Brett blinked. This was what his mentor wanted to talk to him about? Why?

An idea dawned, and Brett’s lips twitched. Maybe Madigan had been planning on matchmaking. His daughter was married, but Brett had heard something about a niece who’d recently moved to Indianapolis. Uh-uh, Clark. Thanks, but no thanks. Determined to thwart Madigan’s plans before they got off the ground, Brett smiled easily. “That was our first evening out together. The first of many, I hope.”

Madigan tapped his pen sharply on the desk. “Break it off before there’s a second.”

Brett’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“Stop this…affair before it goes any further.” Madigan’s voice was stern. “She’s a poor choice.”

“And why would that be?” Brett asked. His voice revealed no emotion, but below the desk, his fist clenched. Who did Clark think he was talking to, one of his interns?

“Some time ago Ms. Jarmon aired a story about St. Michael’s,” Madigan answered. “She ruffled some feathers.”

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” Brett began.

“It’s relevant,” Madigan said sharply. “Those feathers are still ruffled.” He leaned forward. “You have a bright future here, Brett. Don’t tarnish it by getting involved with someone who could jeopardize your standing in the medical community.”

Brett fought down his anger. “Look, Clark,” he said, willing his voice to stay calm, “I always appreciate professional advice, but what I do with my free time and who I spend it with is personal. It has nothing to do with my career.”

“On the contrary, it has everything to do with your career.” Madigan put his pen in his pocket. “Think it over. I’m confident you’ll come to the right decision.”

The two men rose. Brett forced himself to shake the proffered hand, say a cordial goodbye and leave.

Come to the “right” decision? Like hell, he thought as he strode down the hall. Clark Madigan had misjudged him. Challenging Brett’s actions made him that much more determined to continue on course. Madigan could say whatever he liked. Brett would damn well see who he wanted to.





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