Peril (18 page)

He smiled but his eyes flared with subtle anger. “What brings you here today? Other than to question me about why I didn't immediately call about Morgan?”

Lilly intertwined her fingers and bent them backward until her knuckles popped under the movement. “Why do you refuse to get tested to see if you could be a match for her?”

He set his folded hands on the desk. “Why is it so important to you that I do? Surely, she'll have lots of possible donors.”

“Her blood type is a rarer one.”

“So?”

“I don't want to see her travel down the same path my mother did. I see it in her. She wants to give up. The life of living hooked up to a machine is too difficult. And her baby died. Murdered. It's not easy to get past that type of pain. Sometimes, it's easier to give up.”

“You know what amazes me about the human body?”

The tension shortened the muscle fibers in Lilly's neck. She watched him stroke his brown-gray, speckled beard as he ruminated over sharing his years of overeducated wisdom. Thomas Reeves was brilliant, but sometimes keeping him on the straight and narrow path of a conversation proved difficult.

She didn't entertain him with a response.

“Neurons, your happy microscopic brain cells, are amazing engines, aren't they? Somehow, that gelatinous glob they form—the brain—sits in a liquid bath of spinal fluid and neurotransmitters form what we call memories.”

“Is this going somewhere? I did go to medical school. I know how the brain functions.”

“But, dear daughter, you didn't specialize in neurology. That's what's so amazing to me about this field I'm working in. How all this Jell-O in our head is the most intricate, speedy computer that was ever made.”

Lilly tilted in her chair. “Like maybe it had a Creator?”

“Maybe, yes. At one time. But he's left it alone for millennia. Don't you think it's time to improve it?”

“What's your point exactly?”

“Sometimes the stories that surround transplant patients are scary.
Have you met your brother-in-law, Tyler, yet? The stories he could tell you are fascinating. Recipients developing cravings of things the donor loved. I mean, where would a young child develop a taste for one particular brand of beer her donor imbibed when not a drop of alcohol ever crossed her lips?”

“I don't know, Thomas. How would that happen?” Why not entertain the foolishness of his musings? Maybe she would learn something endearing if she stayed and listened long enough.

“Most shy away from these anecdotal reports, stating they're not scientific enough to hold any merit. No one knows for sure how something like this could happen. But we know that some patients experience these types of phenomena. They retain the memories of those from whom they've received organs. Heart transplant patients in particular. One boy developed a sudden love for Yankees baseball. Imagine his shock when he found out his donor was a former player on that team.”

“What does this have to do with Morgan? With her situation? Can't you view it as a way to redeem your miserable life?”

“Don't you think I've done enough with my life to make up for that one mistake? Inventing a drug that nearly eliminates the symptoms of post-traumatic stress?”

Lilly looked toward the ceiling, a break from the intensity of his gaze. Why did his past actions have such an effect on her? Why did she allow it?

“You know what I think of your drug. It was a ruse for you to forget the painful things of your own history.” She leveled her gaze back at him. “Surely you saw me standing there. In the middle of the street. Crying for you to come back.”

He pulled down the sleeves of his shirt. A diamond cuff link shimmered in the light. “Perhaps you're right. My invention of the drug was to ease my own conscious of the wrongs I had done to you and your mother.”

“This is what you would term
karma
, but what I would call God offering you a chance at having a real family life. If you do this for Morgan, it would do a lot to rebuild our relationship.”

“You know why I won't get tested for Morgan? Because if she is a match, I would never give her my kidney. Because if I gave her that”—he tapped his forehead—“perhaps she'd become aware of all the secrets I keep.”

“So?”

“If you think your half sister is suicidal now, imagine what she'd be like
if she became privy to the things I know. It would be torture. You don't want me leading to another family death, do you? Wasn't your mother enough tragedy for one family?”

Lilly stood. “If you refuse to be tested to see if you can save her life, any hope you had at having a relationship with me is over.”

Reeves pushed his fingers over his furrowed brow. “Haven't you forgiven me yet? What will it take exactly, Lilly?”

Lilly shoved her fists into her lab coat.

Isn't this the biggest part of the faith I now profess? Or is church just a check mark on my to-do list? How does my belief translate into action?

She couldn't do it. Not today.

“Get your blood drawn,” she said, “or this will be our last conversation. Ever.”

Chapter 21

Early Evening, Friday, August 10

T
YLER SAT PARKED IN THE
garage of his house for several minutes. He'd spent most of the day at Sacred Heart performing surgeries. Then what was meant to be a short stop at NeuroGenics turned into an hour-long meeting. Reeves constantly challenged his proposed notions as to what was happening to their patients.

It all boiled down to something the man didn't want to accept.
We need to stop the protocol
. Too many subjects were having complications, life-threatening side effects like this newly found tumor. According to the pathology report, the mass was comprised of all their engineered cells—and it was going to cost this man his life.

They'd created cancer, one there was no known treatment for. They didn't know how it behaved. Would it even respond to conventional treatment?

Then there was his nephew, clinging to life like Han Solo in a refrigerated coffin. Were they saving Seth's life? Were they giving him a chance to return to the life he knew? Or was he just the victim of a new generation of scientists running amok with the human specimen?

Tyler knew in his gut that was a kind of doctor he didn't want to be. But how could he stop? The pay was amazing. With Morgan's condition deteriorating, she'd have to stop working at some point. They needed him to stay where he was.

Was it, in the end, beneficial to sell your soul to the devil for benefits delivered to the flesh?

He gathered his briefcase and patient files. Two quick steps up and he pushed through the door into their kitchen.

He stopped cold.

On top of their light, speckled, autumn-toned granite was a pool of blood dripping down the side of the white cabinet. A silver cutting knife dropped on their cherry-planked floor. It pointed toward a trail of blood
that raced from the kitchen and up their back staircase. No evidence of meal preparation in sight.

Has she done it?

No . . . no . . . no . . .

Tyler's briefcase thudded to the floor. He shot up the flight of stairs and into their master bedroom. Blood pulsed at the tips of his fingers as he heard the crash of something against the shower door.

He tested the lock, found it stubborn in his grasp. He took three steps back and shouldered through the door. Wood splintered along the door-jamb as he tumbled through the entrance to find Morgan, his sweet wife, wrapping a fluffy white towel around her water sheathed body.

“Tyler!”

He raced to her and captured her, one arm around her back as his other hand raced up her neck and cupped a handful of tangled, wet curls. He drew her against him, the scent of citrus heavy in his nose. He relished every moment of it. Of her warmth against him. Of her heart beating rapidly against his. Of her breath panting softly on his shoulder. He could feel her muscles relax in his embrace and for the first time in a long time, she eased into him instead of pulling away.

Tears rushed from his eyes and he squeezed her tighter. He couldn't help it. What would he ever do if something happened to her? His mind still raced, half crazed from fear he would find her limp and never be able to bring her back.

Slowly, she raised her arms and her fingers massaged his back, hushing his distress with the firm motion of her hands.

He couldn't get her close enough. The water on her body soaked into his clothes. “You can't scare me like that again.” He eased away and placed his hands on either side of her cheeks. He shook his head, trying to dispel the fright and anger so that all she could see was the depth of his love for her. “I'm
so
scared. You are killing me with this thoughtlessness you have for your life.”

“You found the knife?”

“Yes, I found it! And blood dripping down the counter.” He grabbed each of her hands and caressed his thumbs over her pulse points of uncut skin.

“It's not my blood.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Our neighbor's. There was a package delivered here for her while she
was working. She was so excited to open it she grabbed one of our knives from the butcher block and laid into it. Sliced right through the webbing of her thumb. I had stepped out of the room. I heard her screaming and came back to find her holding it out. Then she just freaked out and started reaching for me. There was blood all over my skin and clothes.”

“And if I ask her?”

“You don't believe me?”

He combed his fingers through his hair. “Morgan, it's as if you're holding on to the cliff with one hand and lifting your fingers up one at a time.”

She brushed past him and headed into the master bedroom. “I wouldn't have done anything today.”

And just like that, all the tightness in his chest returned. “Just today? What makes today different from any other day?”

“Because I met my sister. I wouldn't want to do anything tragic on a day like this.”

“But other days are wide open?”

She shrugged and his heart froze. He fisted his hands at her nonchalance. “Morgan, I'm this close”—he shoved his thumb and forefinger at her measuring off about a quarter of an inch—“to dragging your butt to the ER and having them put you on an M-1 hold.”

Her green eyes filled with sadness as she sat on the edge of their bed. “You'd have me involuntarily committed?”

Tyler slumped beside her and took her hand, cupping her cheek with the other. “To save your life I would do anything. I just feel like this recklessness is a dare to God. That you don't think you need him anymore. And you're going to show it by seeing if he'll save you from yourself. To see if he'll show up this time.”

Her lips quivered. “Tyler, I just can't make any promises right now. I'm trying every day to hold onto this life . . . but, I just want to find where Teagan's gone.”

He kissed her fingers and squeezed her hand. “Maybe that's the problem. Both of our issues. We're holding on to Teagan too tightly. Maybe in order to live, we just need to let her go. Let go of the life we thought we were going to have. Surrender it all to the faith we once had. Maybe it's the only way we can have a strong marriage again.”

“I'm sorry. I just can't.”

Chapter 22

Night, Friday, August 10

T
HOMAS
R
EEVES STARED OUT
his window as the sun set over the Rockies. It always amazed him how the mountains looked when the sun dwindled in the sky. They almost resembled a child's construction project where the toddler had torn mountain shapes from different hues of blue and pasted them together against a dusky backdrop. It fascinated him how something so large and majestic could become diminished and two dimensional with just a change of light.

Lilly's visit had unnerved him. Was she worth enough to him to do as she asked, even though it was extortion? But then again, what was good for the goose, as they say.

His mind drifted toward the more pressing problem. Was the light going down on his career? These unexplained symptoms his subjects were having were strange at best.

It took years to find the right candidates, not only from a military perspective but from a donor one as well. The first few transplants of the young neural cells had shown the recipient could have reactions against the graft. That had resulted in his first few deaths. Of course, disclosing that would have shut him down right then and there, but he told the military the subjects had suffered a post-op brain bleed. Why give up money for something that could theoretically be fixed?

After that, he deduced that the donor and recipient had to be an HLA match. Just like any other transplant candidate. Which was why he added the family questionnaire to the potential prospects form. Why he recruited a transplant surgeon like Tyler. Someone young and hungry, with the expertise he needed but the wherewithal to keep his mouth closed if paid enough money.