Lover Unleashed

NINE

Medical center complexes were like jigsaw puzzles. Except for the fact that their pieces didn’t fit together nearly as well.

But that was not a bad thing on a night like tonight, Manny thought as he scrubbed in.

On some level, he was amazed it had all gone so easily. The thugs who had driven him and his patient here had parked in one of the thousand dark corners of St. Francis’s outer edge, and then Manny had called the head of security himself, stating that he had a VIP patient coming in the back who required total discretion. Next ring-a-ding-ding had been to his nursing staff and the line was the same: Special patient coming in. Ready the third-floor OR on the far end and have the MRI techs ready for a quickie. Final dial had been to transport, and what do you know, they had shown up lickety-split with a gurney.

Within fifteen minutes of finishing the MRI, the patient was here in OR VII, getting prepped.

“So who is she?”

The question came from the nurse in charge, and he’d been waiting for it. “An Olympic equestrian. From Europe.”

“Well, that explains it. She was mumbling something and none of us could understand the language.” The woman flipped through some paperwork—which he was going to make sure he snagged after all this was through. “Why all the secrets?”

“She’s royalty.” And wasn’t that the truth. As he’d ridden along with her, he’d spent the entire trip staring at her regal features.

Sap. Stupid-ass sap.

His head nurse glanced out into the corridor, her eyes wary. “Explains the security detail—my God, you’d think we were bank robbers.”

Manny leaned back for a peek as he scrubbed under his nails with a stiff brush. The three who had come in with him stood in the hall about ten feet away, their huge bodies dressed in black with a lot of bulges.

Guns, no doubt. Maybe knives. Possibly a flamethrower or two, who the fuck knew.

Kinda cured a guy of the whole government-is-just-full-of-paper-pushing-pencil-necks idea.

“Where’re her consent forms?” the nurse asked. “There’s nothing in the system.”

“I’ve got all those,” he lied. “You have the MRI for me?”

“Up on the screen—but the tech says that it’s with errors? He really wants to redo.”

“Let me look at it first.”

“Are you sure you want to be listed as the responsible party for all this? Doesn’t she have money?”

“She has to be anonymous, and they’ll reimburse me.” At least, he was assuming they would—not that he really cared.

Manny rinsed the brown blush of Betadine off his hands and forearms and shook them off. Keeping his arms up, he hit the swinging door with his back and entered the OR.

Two nurses and an anesthesiologist were in the room, the former double-checking the rolling trays of instruments set on blue surgical drapes, the latter calibrating the gases and equipment that would be used for keeping his patient asleep. The air was cool to discourage bleeding and smelled like astringent, and the computer equipment hummed quietly along with the ceiling lights and the operating chandelier.

Manny beelined for the monitors—and the instant he saw the MRI, his heart jumping-jacked on him. Going slowly, he reviewed the digital images carefully until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Looking to the windows in the flap doors, he remeasured the three men standing right outside the room, their hard faces and cold eyes locked on him.

They were not human.

His stare slipped to his patient. And neither was she.

Manny went back to the MRI and leaned in closer to the screen, like that was somehow going to magically fix all the anomalies he was seeing.

Man, and he’d thought the Goateed Hater’s six-chambered heart was odd?

As the double doors opened and shut, Manny closed his lids and took a deep one. Then he turned around and confronted the second doctor who had come into the room.

Jane was scrubbed in so that all you could see was her forest green eyes from behind a plexi-surgical mask, and he’d covered her presence by telling the staff she was a private doctor for the patient—which was not a lie. The little ditty that she knew everyone here as well as he did he kept to himself. And so did she.

As her eyes shifted to his and locked on without apology, he wanted to scream, but he had a goddamn job to do. Refocusing, he pushed the things that weren’t immediately helpful out of his mind, and reviewed the damage to the vertebrae to plan his approach.

He could see the area that had fused following a fracture: Her spine was a lovely pattern of perfectly placed knots of bone interspersed between dark cushioning disks . . . except for the T6 and T7. Which explained the paralysis.

He couldn’t see whether the spinal cord was compressed or cut through completely, and he wouldn’t know the true extent of the damage until he got in there. But it didn’t look good. Spinal compressions were deadly to that delicate tunnel of nerves, and irreparable damage could be done in a matter of minutes or hours.

Why the hurry to find him? he wondered.

He looked over at Jane. “How many weeks since she was injured?”

“It was . . . four hours ago,” she said so quietly no one else could have heard.

Manny recoiled. “What?”

“Four. Hours.”

“So there was a previous injury?”

“No.”

“I need to talk to you. Privately.” As he drew her over to the corner of the room, he said to the anesthesiologist, “Hold up, Max.”

“No problem, Dr. Manello.”

Angling Jane into a tight huddle, Manny hissed, “What the fuck is going on here?”

“The MRI is self-explanatory.”

“That is not human. Is it.”

She just stared at him, her eyes fixed on his and unwavering.

“What the hell did you get pulled into, Jane?” he demanded under his breath. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

“Listen to me carefully, Manny, and believe every word I say. You are going to save her life and, by extension, save mine. That’s my husband’s sister, and if he . . .” Her voice hitched. “If he loses her before he gets a chance to even know her, it’s going to kill him. Please—stop asking questions I can’t answer and do what you do best. I know this isn’t fair and I would do anything to change that—except lose her.”

Abruptly, he thought of the screaming headaches that he’d gotten over the past year—every time he’d thought about the days leading up to her car accident. That damn stinging pain had come back the instant he’d seen her . . . only to lift and reveal the layers of recollection he had sensed but been unable to call forward.

“You’re going to make it so that I don’t remember anything,” he said. “And neither will any of them. Aren’t you.” He shook his head, well aware that this was far, far bigger than just some U.S. government special-agent spy shit. Another species? Coexisting with humans?

But she wasn’t going to come clean with him on that, was she.

“Goddamn you, Jane. Seriously.”

As he went to turn away, she caught his arm. “I owe you. You do this for me, I owe you.”

“Fine. Then don’t ever come for me again.”

He left her in the corner and went over to his patient, who had been oriented on her stomach.

Bending down beside her, he said, “It’s . . .” For some reason, he wanted to use his first name with her, but given the other staff, he kept it professional. “It’s Dr. Manello. We’re going to start now, okay? You’re not going to feel a thing, I promise you.”

After a moment, she said weakly, “Thank you, healer.”

He closed his eyes at the sound of her voice. God, the effect on him of just three words from her mouth was epic. But what exactly was he attracted to? What was she?

An image of her brother’s fangs filtered through his mind—and he had to lock it out. There would be time to Vincent Price it after this.

With a soft curse, he stroked her shoulder and nodded at the anesthesiologist.

Showtime.

Her back had been Betadined by the nurses, and he palpated her spine with his fingers, feeling his way along as the drugs went to work and put her out.

“No allergies?” he said to Jane, even though he’d already asked.

“None.”

“Any special issues we need to be aware of when she’s under?”

“No.”

“All right then.” He reached over and swung the microscope closer into position, but not directly over her.

He had to cut into her first.

“Do you want music?” the nurse asked.

“No. No distractions on this case.” He was operating like his life depended on it, and not just because this woman’s brother had threatened him.

Even though it made no sense, losing her . . . whatever she was . . . would be a tragedy the likes of which he couldn’t put into words.