PHIL WAS RIGHT, OF COURSE. THE ANGIOGRAM SHOWED ALMOST total blockage of Mrs. Lambert’s left anterior descending and left circumflex coronary arteries. In layman’s terms, blood flow to the major portion of the heart muscle was cut off. “I’ll talk with Mrs. Lambert and her daughter,” Phil said.
Carrie knew she’d been dismissed, but she couldn’t simply disappear. She’d cared for Mrs. Lambert through two other heart attacks and thought she’d formed a bond with the woman. Even if the daughter asked Phil Rushton to take over the case, Carrie felt an obligation to be there. “I want to go with you when you talk with them. She’s my patient too.” At least for now.
She stood by as Phil explained the procedure to Mrs. Lambert and obtained her permission for the surgery. No problem, the woman said. She knew how close to death she’d come—how close she still was. If surgery was what was needed, she was ready.
Carrie’s heart melted when Mrs. Lambert looked at her and said, “Dr. Markham, would you pray for me?” Carrie nodded her assent, afraid to speak. I’ll try, but my prayers haven’t been too successful lately. She squeezed Mrs. Lambert’s hand and followed Phil out of the room.
They found the daughter, Mrs. Stinson, in the waiting room. Despite her earlier frustration about the call to Phil Rushton, Carrie sympathized with this harried, middle-aged woman who wore worry lines on her face like a combat badge. Mildred Lambert had lived with her daughter and son-in-law since her husband died over a year ago.
Carrie and Phil took two vacant chairs that flanked Mrs. Stinson. There was no one else within earshot, so this was as good a place as any to have the talk. “Your mother has had another heart attack,” Carrie began. “And this was a big one—almost fatal. So Dr. Rushton needs to perform surgery.”
Phil explained that Mrs. Lambert needed more blood flow to the heart, so he’d take a vein from her leg and hook it up to take the place of the clogged arteries. “We call it a bypass graft.”
“Is it risky?” Mrs. Stinson’s voice was weak, and now tears flowed freely.
“Of course,” Phil said, and went on to explain the potential risks. “But it’s necessary surgery. Without it, your mother would almost certainly die.”
Mrs. Stinson turned for the first time to Carrie, an unspoken question in her eyes.
Carrie nodded. “I agree.”
A secretary came over to the group and handed Phil a clipboard. He glanced at it. “We have the op permit signed. Now I have to get ready.” He rose and hurried away.
“Is Mother strong enough . . . ?” Mrs. Stinson let the words trail off.
“We believe so. The anesthesiologist is excellent. Dr. Rushton is the best heart surgeon around. The whole team is extremely competent. Your mother is in good hands.” Carrie found herself reaching for Mrs. Stinson’s hand. “I have to get back to the clinic. Dr. Rushton will see you as soon as the surgery is over, and I’ll be back this evening. Is there anything I can do for you now?”
Mrs. Stinson blinked away tears. “Just keep us in your prayers.”
Carrie nodded and left the room. She looked at her watch and decided that if she hurried, she could finish seeing her patients and still be on time for lunch with Julie. In the hallway, she heard someone calling her name. Carrie turned to see Rob Cole trotting toward her. “Dr. Markham, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Rob, I really have to get back to the clinic. What’s so important?”
“I wondered about Mrs. Lambert.”
“Did you and your partner have that call?”
“Right. Her EKG showed a massive MI. Did she make it?”
“So far. And you were right—she had a myocardial infarction. Dr. Rushton is doing a CABG right now.”
“Well, she’s in good hands,” Rob said. He ducked his head, and Carrie thought he looked about fourteen years old when he did. “Um, I know that you’re a doctor and I’m only an EMT, but I was wondering if you’d like to have a cup of coffee together sometime.”
Carrie put her hand on his arm. “Rob, I’m flattered, but I’m involved with someone else. Thank you, though.”
Rob was a good-looking young man who’d just asked her out. And Phil, despite his usual demeanor, had sent some signals of interest as well. Some women probably would be thrilled to have that much attention, but Carrie wasn’t one of them. No matter what had happened, she wanted to honor her commitment to Adam.
She thought about the ring she’d given back. Did she regret that action? No. Although she was in love with Adam, Carrie didn’t think they could move forward until they were no longer in danger. She only wished she knew when that might be.
Carrie and Julie had decided to meet at a restaurant in the Galleria, a large shopping center north of Dallas. Julie was already at a table toward the back, and the sight of her friend made Carrie’s face light up.
Julie jumped up and met Carrie halfway to the table. The two friends hugged.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Carrie said. “Things were crazy this morning.” She took the chair next to Julie and tossed her purse onto the vacant one beside her.
“No problem,” Julie said. “Catch your breath, get something to drink, and we can talk.” She sipped her iced tea. “Afterward, I have orders from Barry to check out the Nordstrom here. He agreed to pay for our lunch if I brought home something frilly.” She raised an eyebrow.
Carrie grinned. In a few minutes the two friends were chatting as though no time had passed since they were last together.
The waitress served salads, and for a moment the two women nibbled, although neither seemed as interested in eating as talking. Finally Julie said, “Now for the reason we’re here, I guess. The last time we talked, someone had taken a shot at you, after which you discovered your fiancé wasn’t who you thought.”
“I’ve found out even more since then,” Carrie said. She leaned forward and laid out all she’d learned from Adam. “The real question isn’t whether I love him—despite everything, I still do—but what we’re going to do to get out of this mess.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve talked with anyone else about the situation,” Julie said.
“Who would I tell? My parents pretty much washed their hands of me when I became a Christian my first year in med school. I don’t have any siblings—you’re the sister I never had.” Carrie leaned across the table. “You’re my best friend.”
“Even though we were both in love with Billy Kiker in the third grade?”
“Even then,” Carrie said, and laughed for what seemed the first time in weeks.
Julie took a forkful of salad. “Why didn’t Adam tell you all this before he asked you to marry him?”
Carrie put down her fork. “He admits he probably should have, but he thought he’d made a clean start in Jameson and hoped he could get by without revealing his past.”
“And you can forgive him for that?”
“When I think about how supportive Adam’s been, when I realize how wonderful it’s been to have him in my life—yes. He taught me how to smile again, Julie. When he and I first met, I was a wreck, mainly because of what happened to John.”
“Stop it! John had a cardiac problem that no one, not even a great diagnostician like you, could have noticed. And even though the odds of a complication like the one he experienced are slim, that doesn’t mean it can’t happen . . . even with the best possible medical care.” She reached to pat Carrie’s hand. “You have to accept that.”
Carrie inhaled, taking a moment to compose herself. “I know. And I’m making progress there.” She took a swallow of tea. “The guilt about John’s death isn’t as bad as it was, although there are still triggers. But now I’m really frightened for Adam. The shooting, the firebomb, someone trying to kill him—and my life is in danger as well.”
“Why doesn’t he go to the police?”
“He says there’s a possibility someone there might leak his true identity. I don’t think it matters anymore, but he won’t listen.” She drained the tea from her glass, but her throat remained dry. “It’s frustrating to feel so helpless. I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
Julie rattled the ice cubes in her glass, and the waitress appeared with a pitcher for refills. After she left, both women added sweetener to their glasses and drank. Then Julie said, “How would you like this to end?”
Carrie didn’t answer at once. When she did, her voice was almost a whisper. “What do I want? I want all the danger to go away—right now, without our having to do anything. Just poof.” She opened her fist like a magician making a coin disappear.
“Neither possible nor realistic,” Julie said. “What is both possible and realistic is that you give Adam your support and help him find out who is after him.”
“Even if doing that puts me in danger?”
“Crossing the street puts you in danger. Driving to the grocery puts you in danger. Eating in the hospital cafeteria puts you in danger. And the reward for any of those doesn’t approach what you’ll get from having Adam in your life. You love him. Period.”
Carrie shoved her plate aside. “And that’s it? That’s all I can do? Julie, I feel so helpless. I need to do something.”
“Isn’t that typical of a doctor? You always want to be in control.” Julie pointed her finger at her friend. “You can’t control this. You can brainstorm, you can do what Adam asks, but the main thing you can do is pray . . . for him, for you, for the whole situation.”
“I . . .” Carrie’s throat tightened. She couldn’t get the words out.
“I know, sometimes praying is hard, especially if you haven’t done it for a while. But there’s no magic formula. Just talk to God. He’s been listening all the time. All you have to do is make it a two-way conversation.”
Adam could hear the argument in his head as clearly as if there were someone standing beside him making the case. “Leave town.” “Don’t go to work.” “Hide.” And to each suggestion, his answer was the same: a resounding, “No.” To this point, his response had been to run, but this time he’d stand and fight.
He wasn’t going to run, because to do so would mean leaving Carrie behind. Yet, if he stayed, he needed this job—not just for the salary, although that was essential, but because to step away from it would invite the very questions he’d tried to avoid. “Why did Adam do that? Is there something strange about him?” If he simply kept doing what he’d been doing, surely he’d think of a way out of all this.
Was it time to move past his principles and get a gun? No, he wasn’t ready to take that step. He’d figure a way out of this without resorting to violence. Of course, if it came to defending Carrie . . . For now he’d stick with the actions he’d already taken to avoid a would-be shooter.
Adam was at his computer, scanning through LexisNexis for a legal opinion to back up some research, when he felt the buzz of his cell phone in his pocket. This was the new one, the one with a number only Carrie knew.
Although Hartley and Evans provided Adam with his own office, they’d been careful to emphasize the firm’s open door policy. The attorneys would close their doors only when client privacy required it. Otherwise, everyone’s door was to remain open, to promote ease of interaction in the office. It was nice in principle, but Adam needed privacy for this call.
He slid the phone out of his pocket, turned his chair away from the doorway, and whispered, “Carrie?”
“Adam, why are you whispering?”
“I don’t want anyone to hear this conversation.” He lowered the phone to his lap, effectively hiding it behind the edge of his desk as Janice Evans walked by and gave him a friendly finger wave. He waited until she was past to raise the phone to his ear once more in time to hear Carrie say, “So that’s what I’ve decided.”
“I’m sorry. I had to put the phone down. One of the attorneys just walked by. What was that?”
There was no mistaking the exasperation in Carrie’s voice. “Maybe we’d better talk another time.”
“Carrie, I’m sorry. I can call you in a couple of hours from outside the office.”
“By then I’ll be up to my eyebrows in patients.”
“How about tonight?”
An eternity passed before she replied. “Your motel. Seven o’clock. I’ll take the same precautions I did last night. Gotta go now.”
“I really—” Adam heard a click. He had no idea what Carrie wanted to say, and he’d have to wait another five hours to find out. But surely she wouldn’t agree to a face-to-face meeting again if she wanted him out of her life. Or would she?
“You’re sure a popular person.”
Adam snapped out of his reverie to see Brittany standing in the doorway of his office, one hand poised on her hip. She probably didn’t realize her pose was provocative. Adam figured she’d been practicing those mannerisms for so long they were automatic by now. Brittany was an attractive young red-head who acknowledged that her life’s ambition was to latch onto a handsome lawyer with a great income and a bright future. Since, as far as she knew, Adam didn’t fit that description, she’d been pleasant but not seductive to him—thank goodness.
“Why am I popular?” he asked.
“Someone called for you this morning. You were out at the time. They asked if you were usually the one who closed up the office. I told them ‘sometimes.’”
Adam’s heart raced, wondering if the hit would be in the parking lot this time. He’d have to figure out a way to avoid that. “Did they give a name? Say why they wanted to know?”
“Nope. Just got the information, thanked me, and hung up.”
Adam shrugged. “Probably nothing, but thanks.”
“Well, I thought you’d like a heads-up.”
“Thanks.” I’ll be watching for him . . . the same way you’d watch for a snake when you’re in the woods.
Brittany swung away and headed for the coffee machine.
Was this another way to let Adam know the stalker had found him? He’d heard that some killers got a perverse sort of pleasure out of letting their victims know they were about to die. Then again there could be a perfectly innocent explanation for the call. But Adam doubted it.
In Adam’s mind there was no question of whether the stalker would strike again. The only unknown was when and where . . . and who would be harmed or killed in the process. Here at the office, he’d have to be constantly on his guard. But outside? What else could he do that might give him a bit of breathing room?
He’d moved to a motel, mainly so he could get a good night’s sleep without worrying about another firebomb or bullet. He’d switched to a different vehicle, but he realized that the anonymity that gave him would be short-lived. How long would these advantages last? What was the reflex he studied in college biology? Fight or flight. Some animals did one or the other reflexively. Only man made a choice. But what was his?
He needed wisdom that was beyond his own power. So he did the thing that had become as natural to him as breathing, the thing that had kept him sane during the last two years. He bowed his head and prayed.