Chasing Adonis (4 page)

“I get it, Heather. I get it.” From past experience, he knew
if he didn’t stop her, she could go on forever. “Anything else? Have you got a
last name and address for ‘Tedior?’”

She shook her head. “He had a real weird last name. Let me
think for a minute.”

Oh, for God’s sake. He didn’t have time for this. Heather’s
gum snapped and clicked between her teeth. The clock’s second hand swept over
the twelve. Once…twice…three times. God, this was agony. Like a game show where
they play insipid music to ratchet up tension while the contestant tried to
come up with the correct answer.

“I remember now!”

Her bangled wrists flew, and her elbow knocked a clipboard
to the floor with a clatter. She slid off her chair to pick it up, wiggling her
tight-skirted butt, he supposed for his benefit. But the only goodwill gesture
he wanted from Heather Lansky was a way to find Pretty Boy Ted, the abusive
jerk.

“What was the guy’s last name?” he asked as she resettled
her dancing bottom in the chair.

Heather cocked her head. “Okay so, this is so weird. His
last name was real simple. Fee or Fie or something like that. I remember ‘cause
all I could think of was that giant from Jack and the Beanstalk. You know, the
one that says, ‘Fe, fie, fo, fum.’” The excitement left her voice, and she
stroked a hand over her chin. “At least, I think it was Fee or Fi. Hang on a
sec. Let me look it up.”

Shane fisted his hands at his sides. All this time wasted,
and she could have looked up the information on the damned computer?

With another crack of her gum, she sent her purple-polished
fingernails flying over the keyboard. After several long minutes, an apologetic
smile creased her features, and she diverted her attention from the computer to
the countertop full of manila folders. More time wasted in shuffling until
Heather’s smile flipped into a puzzled frown. “Gee, that’s weird.”

The fine hairs on Shane’s neck danced. “What’s weird now?”

“His file’s missing.”

“Explain to me how that’s possible.”

“It isn’t, really. I mean, I guess it is possible because
the file’s missing, but it shouldn’t happen. All the files go straight from the
examining rooms to this desk where I input them into the computer. And I know I
entered his information.”

“How can you be sure?” How did she find her car in the
parking lot? The woman’s thoughts were more scattered than leaves in the path
of a turbine fan.

“Because he was gorgeous.” She fixed him with another “Duh…”
expression. “Believe me, a guy who looks like that strolls into your life, you
find out as much as you can about him. This way, you can…” She winked. “You
know, follow him home, hang around the places he does, pop up where he least
expects it…until he notices you. Besides, even if I can’t find it right now, I
can tell you a few things about his file were real weird.”

Shane bit back an exasperated sigh. Apparently, Heather
found a lot of things weird. “Okay, forget about Tedior for now. What about the
woman? Adara Berros? You said she’s on six?”

Her expression blanked. “Well, yeah, but you can’t go up
there.”

“Why not?”

“She’s still unconscious, for one thing. And for another,
visiting hours don’t start ‘til noon.”

Surrender, Shane. It’s your only chance.
“I’ll tell
you what.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “If you find
Tedior’s file, or if he should come back here to visit Ms. Berros, call that
number right away.”

Grinning like a shark with a wounded tuna, Heather
immediately slipped the card into her breast pocket. “You got it.”

Shane’s palms flattened on the counter, and he leaned
forward until his face was inches from hers. “Leave that card here at the
nurse’s station. Not in your pocket. Those instructions are for every person
who sits at this desk.”

For a brief moment, her eyes narrowed, and Shane stiffened,
ready for another battle of wits. Finally, though, she sighed. “Okay.”

He waited, watching until she pulled out the card and taped
it near the computer monitor.

“Satisfied?”

As a matter of fact, yes, he was. “Now, I’m just gonna head
up to the sixth floor and leave a card up there, too. Then I’ll want to talk to
Dr. Sanjit so have him paged for me. All right?”

She nodded and waved him off. He turned toward the bank of
elevators.

“Hey, Shane?”
He stopped in mid-stride. “Yeah?”

“Don’t forget. You still owe me a drink.”

Chapter Three

Dr. Ravi Sanjit, a small-boned, bald man with eyes like
currants, sipped from a ceramic mug of coffee. “You realize, of course, that I am
prevented from discussing any patient’s condition with you unless we’ve
established a crime has been committed.” 

Seated in a tan leather chair across from the doctor in one
of the hospital’s private counseling rooms, Shane sighed. “I’m not asking you to
break confidentiality. I just want to know if the injuries Ms. Berros sustained
were more likely caused by a collision with a motor vehicle or by someone’s
fists.”

The doctor’s lips tightened, and he shook his head.

“You can’t even tell me that?”

Sanjit shrugged. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to get that
information from the patient herself.”

“
If
she’s willing to share it.” He’d have better odds
in a shell game on a Bronx street corner. “Okay, let’s try this. Suppose we’re
discussing a hypothetical patient. What if a woman came in to the ER with
injuries she’d sustained in a hit and run accident? How would those injuries
differ from those an abuse victim might suffer?”

Understanding lit up Dr. Sanjit’s golden face. He leaned
forward and placed his mug on the low cube-shaped table in front of him. “Ah,
well,
hypothetically speaking
, I’d expect to see some evidence of a
collision with a motor vehicle. Depending on the speed of the vehicle at the
time of impact, we might see imprints of the grill or fender. There might be
bits of glass or paint chips embedded in the skin or hair.”

“As opposed to a victim of domestic abuse who…?”

“Who would more likely show bruising, broken bones, perhaps
imprints of the assailant’s fists or fingers on her wrist, neck, or other delicate
areas.” Dr. Sanjit stared at the framed print of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers on the
far wall and took another sip of coffee.  “I would also expect the abuser
to be front and center in the drama, particularly if the injuries were assumed
to be the fault of a third party.”
Shane nodded. Of course.  Like Ted. “He’d be by her side, to make sure she
didn’t deviate from their story of how the injuries occurred. No doubt, he’d
ride in the ambulance with her to the hospital. Just in case she said something
incriminating.” With each conversation he had, Shane became more and more
convinced of the man’s guilt. Now he just had to find the bastard.

“Or,” the doctor suggested, “if he believed himself under
suspicion, he’d remain by her side only as long as he had to for an audience’s
sake, then take advantage of everyone’s focus on the victim to pack up and
leave town.”

Shit. Shane shot to his feet. “He’s gone already, isn’t he?
Back to Cyprus or wherever the hell he came from.”

“That, I don’t know.” Dr. Sanjit swiveled his chair to one
side and crossed his legs, folding his arms behind his head. “Ms. Berros is my
patient. The man who arrived in the ambulance with her is not.  I am
therefore free to speculate on his actions, but I cannot give you facts—only
suppositions. As odd as it may seem to you, I do not believe the gentleman
committed any offense against Ms. Berros.”

“And I’m Batman.”

The doctor smiled and gestured to Shane’s empty chair.
“Please sit. Let’s return to your hypothetical situation. To determine the
difference between a random accident and a chronic abuse victim, there would be
several factors I’d scrutinize in a patient.”

Shane sank back onto the edge of the chair, but remained
stiff, on alert. “Such as…?”

“Such as, are there any older, healed injuries?”

Shane winced, recalling the telltale signs he’d missed in
his sister’s downward spiral. Cassia’s gradual preference for long sleeves and
turtlenecks—even in the heat of the summer, the defeat in her eyes, the broken
and chewed fingernails.

“I’d also consider the condition of the alleged perpetrator.
Do I note any defensive wounds on him: bruises on his wrists or arms, scratches
on his face or hands? As I said, your suspect wasn’t my patient, but Dr.
Velasquez claimed to notice nothing remarkable about him when he stepped from
the ambulance. And I’ve been assured she gave him a thorough look-over.”

Yeah, Heather Lansky had alluded to that, too.

“I don’t suppose you caught the guy’s name?”

In reply, Shane got another smile from Sanjit. “Not my
patient. Check at the registration desk. The ER clerk should have his record.”

Wanna bet
? Shane bit back the retort. “Do you have
any idea when I’ll be able to interview Ms. Berros?”

The smile disappeared as Dr. Sanjit sighed. “She suffered a
great deal of trauma, no matter how it happened. She’ll be on very high doses
of pain medication until her injuries have begun to heal.”

“Making her less than reliable as a witness.” Reaching into
his pocket, Shane pulled out a business card. “Would you call me if there’s any
change in her condition—good or bad?”

Dr. Sanjit took the card. “Of course.”

~~~~

From their celestial home, the deities watched over Adara
while she slept in her narrow bed inside the hospital room.

“Aphrodite cheated,” Hera pointed out, her lips curled in
disapproval.

“She did no such thing,” Athena, the goddess of wisdom,
replied. “Persephone did not say Aphrodite couldn’t use magic on the mortals.
She simply cannot use her own powers—or her son’s—to make Adara fall in love
with her.”

Hera’s mother-in-law, Rhea, patted the heads of the twin
lions seated at her side. “But to transfer her injuries to that poor mortal
woman? Such an act is unforgivable.”

“To whom?” Athena’s luminous brows rose in questioning arcs.
“Immortals cannot handle human pain. Aphrodite’s lunge into the path of that
mechanical beast bears testament to her great love for Adonis, even all these
millennia later. Who among us would throw ourselves in harm’s way and bear the
consequences of such an impact for a mortal?”

“And if Aphrodite had not transferred her injuries,” Hygeia
added, “the human healers would have found some intriguing differences between
her body and that of the mortals. How would she explain such differences?
No…this was her best option.” She rose from her seat, and her shimmering toga
became a sedate twenty-first century nurse’s top printed with pink and blue
butterflies and matching turquoise pants. “I, for one, do not intend to remain
a spectator in this game any longer. Someone must heal that poor woman, in body
and in spirit. Aphrodite’s methods will take far too long. I shall risk the
dangers of travel to bring about her full recovery in as little time as
possible.”

~~~~

Pain. Adara awoke to throbbing fire consuming her flesh.
Every inhalation of breath seared her chest. Something thick and hard clogged
her throat, and her head pounded so badly she could drive six-inch drill bits
into drywall with her skull.

“Forgive me, my dearest,” a silken male voice whispered. “It
has been far too long since I have entered your world, and your ozone is too
depleted for my delicate frame. I had to transfer my injuries to you. Do not
fear. The pain shan’t last much longer. I have beseeched my compatriots to lend
their assistance. At each tick of the clock, you’ll find more of your strength
returning, and soon, your body’s wounds will disappear one by one.”

Who was speaking? When Adara forced her eyes open, blinding
white light scorched her pupils. Quickly, she closed her lids against the agony.
Exhausted, she laid her head on the soft pillow and listened to the disembodied
voice with the foreign lilt. Somehow, the lyrical tone soothed her suffering.

“I would never willingly cause you injury, dearest one. But
you are so much stronger than I.”

“Who are you?” Did she speak or only think the question?

“I am the one who loves you as no other. I have traveled a
great distance to be with you.” A warm hand covered her forehead, shielding the
burning light. “Slumber now. And know that I watch over you.”

Dozens of other questions buzzed in her head like angry
bees. Who was this man? How had he known about her? What had happened? Why was
she in pain? Why couldn’t she remember anything? And where was she? Was this a
dream? Or had she died?

“No more questions please,” the voice spoke again. “My
journey has been long, and you and I should both rest. Allow Hypnos to lull you
to sleep, and Morpheus will guide you to peaceful dreams.”

Behind her closed eyes, a small boy appeared, wearing
nothing but a wreath of ivy around his bright red hair. He frolicked in a cool
green landscape. Nearby, a stream gurgled and colorful pansies danced beneath a
soft scented breeze. Pipes and flutes infused the air with lovely music, songs
of love and hope. A trio of black kittens scampered in the greenery. As the boy
pranced among the flowers, the petals turned to multi-hued butterflies flitting
from stem to stem. A light tug touched her hand. The boy, fingers outstretched,
invited her into his realm of serenity. Willingly, she followed.

The moment the lush grass tickled the pads of her toes, a
balm cooler than aloe replaced the fire in her legs. The hard item clogging her
throat melted away. Her body floated high above the scene as if she’d become
weightless. Apple-scented air expanded her lungs, filling her with sweet
contentment.

She slept.