Mac's Angels : Sinner and Saint. a Loveswept Classic Romance (9780345541659) (5 page)

Friday the 13th—2:00
P.M
.—near Times Square

The library where Karen worked was close to the hospital, which meant it wasn't in the best section of the city. Halfway between his condo, where he spent an occasional night, and Times Square, it huddled between two small office buildings, dwarfed by a sign for a popular soft drink company whose neon carbonation sent bubbles spiraling into the air.

It was no different from a hundred other buildings,
tired, yet trying to hang on to the idea that people still wanted literary enlightenment. In truth, the homeless enjoyed the warmth in the winter and the air-conditioning in the summer.

Behind the checkout counter, a woman whose face was as weathered as the carpet looked up. “May I help you, sir?”

“Yes, I've come for some information.”

“Are you familiar with our computer system?”

“Not that kind of information,” he corrected her. “I'm a doctor at Mercy General. I'm treating Karen Miller.”

“I don't suppose you have any identification, do you?”

“Well, I have a driver's license and my hospital ID tag.” He smiled. He might as well exude some of that charm that Mac accused him of using to raise funds. Niko knew it was there, in spite of his protests. He just didn't often care enough about anything to go to the trouble.

He didn't know why he cared about the woman back in the hospital, nor could he explain the power of his attraction to her.

She just arouses you sexually, he told himself. Maybe it was time he looked in his little black book of society matrons on the make. That would satisfy his urge and stop his preoccupation with the woman in blue.

The librarian glanced at him shyly, examined his identification, then nodded. “Okay, I guess. How is Karen?”

“She's still in a coma. I think she's afraid to wake up.”

“I always thought she was afraid too,” the woman responded, concern more evident in her eyes now.

“Oh? Afraid of what?”

The woman moved closer, smiling now, as if they had their own private conspiracy. “Don't know. In the three months she's been here she never spoke about herself. No friends. Never even had anybody call her—until the day she walked in front of that cab.”

“Somebody called her that day?”

“Yep. Answered the phone myself. Somebody wanted to know if there was a Karen working here. Called her last name wrong, said it was Middleton.”

Niko felt a sense of unease sweep over him. “How'd you know it was her the caller was looking for?”

“He told me exactly what she looked like. Tall, thin, blond hair, and bluebonnet eyes. He said he was an old friend from Minnesota.”

Minnesota. He hadn't been far wrong on guessing her background. “What happened then?”

“She answered the phone, then just laid it down and walked out the door. Didn't even take her purse. Next thing I knew, old Mort—he's one of the street people who comes in and out—ran in here and said she'd been hit by that taxi. We called the ambulance and they took her to Mercy.”

“Where does she live?”

“That seems to be a popular question. The police
asked first, then this very morning that same old friend from the phone turned up looking for her. She lives in a boardinghouse.”

“What old friend?”

“Well,” she said in a can-you-believe-it voice, “turns out he wasn't an old friend after all, but a reporter for a newspaper. He didn't tell me he was the one who called, but I recognized his voice.”

“A reporter? Damn! That's just what she doesn't need.”

“Don't worry. I didn't tell him. Not going to. So far as I know, he doesn't even know she's in the hospital. I believe in a person's right to privacy. Tell Karen we miss her, but I don't know if we can hold her job.”

“I will. And if that reporter calls back, I'd appreciate it if you'd find out where he is staying, in case Miss Miller wants to reach him.”

The woman who identified herself as Agnes Feeback agreed, taking Niko's private number and tucking it into her pocket.

“You don't think that taxi hit Karen on purpose, do you?”

“No, of course not.” But he wasn't certain that she hadn't wanted it to.

Karen tossed and turned, cognizant now that her place of safety was being threatened. The warm anonymity of foggy sleep was fading away. Something was waiting for her, something she didn't want to face.

It was all because of him, the Gypsy who'd invaded her dreams and kept returning to prod her into wakefulness. Well, he'd accomplished his purpose. Now she was aware of her condition, though she was still not yet ready to leave its comforting darkness behind.

Why had he come?

Why had he talked to her as if they were friends, lovers? While she couldn't remember what had happened, she knew somehow that this was untrue. If a man like the one who kept pulling her back had ever made love to her, she'd remember it.

Yet he'd told her things—private, personal things that seemed right. A part of her wanted to believe him, while another part of her laughed at her naiveté.

You're nobody now, Karen, nobody a man would want. And if he did, you couldn't allow it. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be safe
.

She turned her head and tried to burrow down into the pillow. Where was the drugging oblivion of sleep? Where were the dreams she'd escaped into nightly? No, she didn't want to dream “the dream.” It was too real. Like an aphrodisiac, it swept her up in such physical desire that she'd begun imagining the man was actually speaking to her.

It was her head. It hurt and the pain mixed up her thoughts. She didn't want to think. She didn't want to feel. But the need was stronger than the darkness.

Where are you? Why have you gone away?

From the library, Niko headed for the
Daily World
newspaper office. The name Middleton kept whirling around in his mind. The reporter had been looking for a Karen Middleton, not Karen Miller. Had he been wrong, or was Karen Miller using a phony name?

And why was she afraid?

And why was he playing detective when he ought to be back in his lab, working?

The woman at the desk directed him to Sam Wade's office. Sam had been involved in the mess with his sister years earlier, and Niko thought he'd be willing to bend a few rules to help this girl out.

“So, what brings the Mercy General genius out into the real world?” Sam asked.

“I need some information, in confidence.”

“Oh? Is somebody stealing DNA and marketing it to prosecuting attorneys for evidence?”

“Not today, at least not that I know of. No, this is a little more personal. There's a girl I'm trying to help.”

“A girl? You mean you've come out of hibernation and discovered somebody you care about?”

“Can it, Sam. This is serious. I think something happened about four or five months ago in Minnesota. A girl was involved. Her name is Karen Miller or Middleton. Can you run it through your computer and see if there's something there?”

“Sure. Is there a story in it for me?”

“Not now. Later, maybe. I'll let you know.”

“Let's see.”

Niko watched as Sam punched in numbers, and lines of letters scrolled down the page.

“Nothing under Miller. Let's check out Middleton, was it?”

“Bingo. Karen Middleton.
LOCAL SCHOOLTEACHER STAR WITNESS IN ARREST OF HALLOWEEN ARSONIST—SUPPLIES CAR TAG NUMBER THAT LEADS TO CULPRIT
. After a string of twelve fires, your lady caught the guy red-handed.”

“An arsonist?” Niko's gut contracted. “That doesn't make any sense. So she saw somebody set fire to a building. There has to be more.”

Sam punched in more numbers and the screen scrolled down.

“Uh-oh! Seems the guy your girl fingered was the son of a very powerful family. A real bad boy who set his first fire when he was only ten—the neighbor's toolshed.”

He kept scanning.

“Here's your answer, Niko.”

The headlines spelled out the truth.
WITNESS DISAPPEARS. CASE IN DANGER OF DISMISSAL WITHOUT TESTIMONY OF KAREN MIDDLETON. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED
.

Sam shook his head. “Looks like somebody got to her and she ran.”

That didn't fit. True, she'd left Minnesota and changed her name. But why would she fear for her life, then will herself to die now? Obviously she wasn't paid off. If so, she wouldn't be working in a
library as a clerk and living, according to Agnes Feeback, in a boardinghouse. Now someone had tracked her down. Why?

“What happened to the guy?” Niko asked.

“Officially, he was only being held for questioning. They had to let him go. Unofficially, he's probably still at it, if he's not under lock and key. Want me to check around?”

Niko thought about what he'd learned. For some reason, he didn't want inquiries made. If there was any connection between the arsonist and her accident, Sam's questions might call attention to her.

“Not now. Maybe later. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this under your hat for a while.” He eased himself out of the chair and sidled toward the door. “If there's a story, you'll get first crack at it.”

“Any time, doc. Keep in touch.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Niko stopped at the door and looked back. “By the way, did you ever read
The Thorn Birds
?”

“Nope, but I saw the movie. Why?”

“Whatever happened to Father Ralph?”

“He went on to be crowned pope or something.”

“What about the girl?”

“She married another man. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I don't know yet. I just don't know.”

THREE

Friday the 13th—3:00
P.M
.—Mercy General Hospital

This was the slow time of day for the patients. They'd spent the early hours of the morning being examined, medicated, bathed, having blood drawn and X rays taken. In the late afternoon and evening, visitors would flood the halls. Now they were left to the endless wait, when rest should come but didn't.

During his residency Niko had likened this time of the day to the middle of a book. You'd already learned the characters and the plot, but the end was unresolved. This was the drudgery time in between, when you plodded through the routine.

Except today, in the emergency room, where the crazies were gearing up to live out the worst nightmares Friday the thirteenth could produce. Niko wished the woman he was trying to help were still in emergency. Decisions there came quick and results followed.

But not in the intensive care unit. Life-sustaining and monitoring equipment pulsed quietly. Nurses moved with silent steps, pushing machines on tinny-sounding wheels and whispering in low voices. Family members gathered in the outer chambers, anxiously waiting for word of their loved ones.

But nobody came for Karen.

Niko Sandor studied her, disappointed that she still lay in the same position as when he'd left her two hours before. He wasn't giving up, not yet. He'd gone to his lab to work, but all he could see were emotionless blue eyes and a mouth announcing its need to be kissed. A need so strong that he'd turned his project over to his assistant and left instructions with the stunned secretary that he'd be gone for a few days' vacation.

Friday the thirteenth was the perfect day for such an earth-shattering announcement.

Niko moved Karen's legs over, leaving room for him to sit on the bed. What was he going to do about her? What he wanted to do was shake her. Instead, he took her hand in his, his thumb drawing intimate little circles in her palm.

All he could think about was the small line of print in the headlines: FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED. What had happened to Karen Miller?

“I'm back, darling. Did you miss me?”

As he expected, she didn't answer.

“Karen, I know you can hear me. Open your eyes.”