THE SUBWAY RIDE from the apartment she shared with her sister in Richmond Hill, Queens, to the Upper East Side of Manhattan was a nightmare, as usual, this time of year. The guy next to Emma had fallen asleep, then snored and drooled all over her shoulder for nearly the entire way. Emma had ignored him as best she could, concentrating on her Kindle instead.
Her phone pinged as soon as she stepped off the train and onto the platform at the Fifty-Ninth Street station. Maybe it was Dr. Markson returning her call at last. She’d been trying to contact him since the night of the wish star drawing with no luck. Now it had been a week with no response from him. Thanksgiving had been and gone, and time was marching on. She’d worked the holiday, of course, to make up for short staffing in the ER. She and Karley had celebrated afterward in their apartment, with turkey subs from down the street and playing video games together.
But unfortunately, as she scowled down at her phone, it wasn’t a message from Dr. Markson. Just another reminder her automatic payment for her school loans was due next week.
Great.
With a sigh, she shoved the phone back in her pocket, tightened her scarf around her neck against the brisk wind and started for Dr. Markson’s town house on the corner of Sixty-Third Street and Fifth Avenue, right across from Central Park. Couldn’t get an address any posher in New York. The man obviously wanted nothing to do with her or the project, but Emma was undeterred.
If the Grinch wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to the Grinch.
As she made her way up Fifth Avenue, Emma smiled behind her scarf at the shops full of Christmas decorations and the stone and vintage facades of the buildings lining the street adorned in red and green lights for the season. Gorgeous. No one did Christmas like her beloved hometown of NYC.
A short time later she stopped and stared up at a four-story building. Red brick on the top two floors, gray stone on the bottom two. Plus, a basement, if the black door to the left of the front stoop was any indication. The place was probably worth more than Emma would make in her entire life. She wondered if it had been passed down in Dr. Markson’s family, like many of the places along here. Most of these townhomes had been built back during the Gilded Age of the 1910s by the newly wealthy industrial barons of the time. Emma was something of a history buff, too.
She shook off those errant thoughts. Didn’t matter when or how Dr. Markson had gotten his fancy house. All that mattered was him doing his part to make this holiday carnival happen.
Emma took a deep breath, then climbed the granite stoop to the front door before knocking the heavy gilded lion head against the black painted wood door. Soon, an intercom on the wall beside her crackled to life.
“Yes?” said a snooty man’s voice. Not Dr. Markson. Emma would remember his voice anywhere, after hearing him giving one of the residents in the ER hell one day for talking over Dr. Markson in front of a patient. The fact that the information the resident had given was probably incomplete didn’t help either, but still.
“I’m here to see Dr. Markson, please?” Emma pulled her scarf away from her face for the camera and cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
Several seconds ticked by before the man responded “I’m sorry, but you aren’t on the roster. If you have a delivery, the service entrance is in the back alley.”
“No delivery. Dr. Markson and I are working on a special project for Manhattan West General. My name is Emma Trudeau and I’m a nurse at the hospital. I must speak with him. It’s an emergency.”
Okay, maybe the last part was a stretch, but time was ticking.
More time passed. So much so Emma feared he’d stopped answering the intercom entirely. Then, finally, a lock clicked and the door opened to reveal an older man, maybe late seventies, dressed in a gray butler’s uniform. Huh. Emma thought those only existed in movies.
The man’s chilly stare rivaled the subzero temperatures outside, his expression emotionless. “You may wait in the foyer while I speak with Dr. Markson.”
Considering her booted toes were already numb, Emma took the man up on his offer, stepping inside to gape at her surroundings while the older man disappeared up the carved wooden staircase to her right.
From what she could see from where she stood, the gorgeous first floor had once been an old-fashioned parlor, with lots of creamy marble and warm cherrywood trim. Large windows filled the opposite wall across from her and revealed a large garden area in the back of the town house, complete with sculptures and stone benches. While dormant now, Emma bet it was beautiful in the spring.
Emma leaned slightly to peer through the doorway to her right and saw a sitting room bigger than her entire apartment. Light yellow walls, same inlaid marble floors and a huge TV over an elegant carved fireplace that took up practically one entire wall. In front of it were a pair of sprawling cream-colored sofas. If she leaned to her left, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a formal dining room, with a large dining table surrounded by twelve chairs, like something out of Buckingham Palace. Emma tried to imagine the prickly Dr. Markson she knew from the ER living here and had a hard time picturing the stiff, stuffy man ever relaxing anywhere. Then again, the place was pristine, more like a museum than a house, so maybe he only slept and changed in this place.
Emma chuckled and tucked her mittens in her pocket. The rich were a whole different beast. One she hoped to tame to help her with the project, no matter how long it took.
“Sir, there’s someone downstairs to see you,” his butler said from the door of the third-floor study.
Thad looked up from his computer and scowled. He hated being interrupted during work. “Who is it? No. I don’t care. Get rid of them.”
Everett, Thad’s assistant, valet and now close friend, never changed his stoic expression. Growing up, the older man’s stoicism used to annoy Thad, but now he welcomed it.
The butler had been with the Markson family for as long as Thad could remember. Trained in all aspects of running a household to discreet perfection, Everett’s skills were legendary and sought-after in wealthy circles. In his seventies now, the man retained a distinguished full head of white hair, a mustache and a penchant for wearing expensive suits when off duty. He brought a solid presence and capability Thad found soothing. In many ways, the man was more of a father to him than his own had ever been.
And truthfully, he needed Everett. Having the butler around kept Thad from almost complete isolation between his surgical consultations. He wasn’t antisocial really; he just had his reasons for valuing his privacy.
A whimper issued near Thad’s feet and Thad dropped his hand to pet the black Lab laying there. “What’s the matter, Baxter? Huh, boy?”
The dog’s wet nose pressed against his palm and Thad smiled. Between his dog and his butler, he had plenty of company. No need to be lonely at all. Never mind the pinch near his heart. It was fine. He was fine. More than enough of everything to last a lifetime.
“I tried to tell her you weren’t available, sir. Many times.” Annoyance edged Everett’s tone. “She said you’re working on a project together at the hospital and that it was an emergency. Since the weather is bitterly cold today, I let her wait in the foyer.”
Dammit. He’d thought he’d escaped the whole wish mess with that charity event the other night. He’d offered money and it was all he was prepared to give. “Tell her I’ve left. And to find someone else to help with her project. I’m not available.” If she wouldn’t take his money, there was nothing more he could offer. Thad had no time to spare with his difficult surgery coming up next month. There were new procedures to study, cutting-edge theories and practices to memorize.
A lifetime of pain and regrets to keep buried.
Thad shook the last thought off. He rarely thought of his childhood these days, how he’d had to scramble for scraps of affection from his father as a child. The grief that had taken over his entire life after the horrible accident that had taken Thad’s mother away when he’d been only ten.
He squeezed the pencil in his hand so tightly it broke.
Everett cleared his throat. “Would you like me to throw her out, sir?”
Ah, hell. Thad inhaled deeply, dropping the pencil shards on his desk, then glaring down at the medical journal article he’d been reading on his laptop. He did not have time for this. Any of this. Distractions were rarely a problem for him, not with his usual laser-type focus, but this whole situation had him flustered.
Baxter cocked his head again at Thad, his inky black fur gleaming in the flickering light from the fireplace. He dusted his hands off, his fingers shaking slightly, a sign his blood sugar was dropping. And yes, perhaps he had ignored the alerts from his sensor and pump because he was immersed in studying. He’d eat, later, when it was convenient. His kitchen was well stocked with items to fend off a hypoglycemic storm, if needed. Juices and candy and even special fast-acting glucose gels to dissolve under his tongue. Everett knew where to find them all quickly. He’d become something of a nurse as well over the years, on top of his other duties. Thad wasn’t sure what he’d do when the older man retired.
Forcing his mind away from such a melancholy thought, Thad focused on Baxter again, who was licking Thad’s hand again. If only the dog wasn’t such a big softy, he’d send him down to scare the woman away. Unfortunately, Baxter was more likely to welcome her with a lolling tongue and wagging tail.
Thad tapped a few keys on his laptop and brought up the feeds from the town house’s numerous security cameras, scrolling through them until a grainy black-and-white image of a young Black woman dressed in a silly hat and scarf standing in his foyer appeared. She bounced on the balls of her feet, hands in her coat pockets, leaning around to see into the rooms on the first floor. His shoulders sagged. Why couldn’t she take the hint? He wasn’t going to meet with her. Not today. Not ever. “Let her wait. Eventually, she’ll get tired or bored, and leave.”
His butler nodded, but the older man’s gaze held a hint of doubt. “As you wish, sir.”
Good. Done. Thad never second-guessed himself. A quality that made him a great surgeon. He returned to reading his article. Once that was done, he logged into a special website to watch the video of the surgery being performed, committing each step of the delicate operation to his memory. Closed his eyes and imagined himself working on the patient, going step-by-step to repair the damage to their cardiovascular system. He’d studied this particular procedure for close to a year now, making minor tweaks as needed to meet his patient’s specific situation, going through each step over and over, in preparation.
Next month, he would finally perform it to save a woman’s life.
Doing the procedure itself and having a successful outcome were accolades enough for him. He wasn’t charging the patient or her family at all for his services. They didn’t have much, so Thad had also arranged to pay for the hospital and any other expenses associated with the surgery—including the patient’s travel from Central America—through the private foundation he’d set up via his attorneys years ago. Everything totally anonymous. A way to give back without the world knowing his business. Another way to rinse away the stain of his family’s sins. He couldn’t save the world, but he could give his patients a new, healthier future.
Time passed in a blur as Thad absorbed the detailed images playing on his screen, until finally, he sat back, neck stiff and spine cracking. “All done, Baxter.”
The Lab yawned.
“Now, let’s go eat, huh?” Thad stood from behind his desk and stretched.
They walked downstairs from his office on the third-floor to the second-floor kitchen, Thad’s balance a bit wobbly. The pump at his waist, tucked into his pants, again beeped ominously. Damn. He just needed a quick hit of sugar to stabilize things. It would be fine. Yes, as a doctor, he should know better than to let things get out of hand like this, but he’d been working. And his work was everything to him. He stepped into the massive chef’s kitchen, Baxter whimpering and nudging his leg, and opened the fridge for a bottle of apple juice, glancing at the flat-screen monitor on the wall and freezing.
Son of a...
The digital clock above his Viking range showed nearly two hours had passed since he’d told Everett to let the woman wait, figuring she’d leave eventually. But no. There she was. Still standing in his foyer, stubbornly facing his camera now. Even with the grainy footage, her loveliness made his heart skip a beat. Dark eyes surrounded by lush lashes. Full lips slightly parted as if waiting for a kiss. Still bouncing on the balls of her feet, too, like her body could barely contain all the energy inside it. An unwanted tingle of awareness warmed Thad’s belly, spreading quickly outward before he quashed it.
No. This was not happening. He refused to be attracted to this woman.
Frustration coursed through him. Why couldn’t the world let him be? Outside the windows, snow fell heavier and the wind howled. A storm was coming, in more ways than one.
Pissed, he set his bottle of juice aside, unopened. She wanted to see him? Fine. Thad would make sure she never forgot the experience. His hands were trembling so bad now he gripped the edge of the counter to keep his balance.
Everett stood in the doorway leading to the stairs. “Sir, do you need—”
“Show her up,” Thad growled, aware that at least some of his anger was due to his lowering blood sugar, but beyond caring at this point.
“Sir, I—a...” Everett started toward him, his expression concerned.
“No!” Thad shouted, then lowered his voice, the trembling worse. “Get her up here now. I want this over with, once and for all.”
The butler stared at him a moment, then hurried down the stairs. “Yes, sir.”
Baxter nudged Thad’s leg with his nose, whimpering louder, and everything went sideways.
“Follow me,” Everett said, turning toward those stairs again, moving faster now. “Hurry.”
The urgency in the older man’s voice surprised her, but Emma wasn’t about to lose her chance to see Dr. Markson. Not after she’d waited forever and a day here. She shook out her stiff legs and followed the butler, scared to touch anything for fear she’d leave a mark on the gleaming wood. They’d made it halfway up a second flight of stairs when a shattering of glass split the air.
“Hurry, ma’am,” the butler said again, showing admirable agility for his age.
Emma’s pulse stumbled as they raced up the rest of the stairs. “What’s going on?”
They entered an enormous kitchen, which should have been a showpiece, too, but instead was in complete disarray. Cabinet doors open and food scattered everywhere across the countertops. In the open doors of a huge, professional-sized double-sided refrigerator, Dr. Markson stood with his back to them, rummaging inside, a shattered crystal tumbler and a cowering dog at his feet. He didn’t seem to notice them or the mess.
Everett immediately ran to a drawer and pulled out a pack of glucose gels. “He’s a type 1 diabetic, ma’am. He doesn’t always take care of himself as he should.”
“Right.” Emma moved into action. Carefully kicking the broken glass out of the way with her boot, before placing a hand on Dr. Markson’s back and noticing the bulge of an insulin pump at his waist. “Why don’t you have a seat, Dr. Markson, and Everett will help you feel better.”
He spun around, blue eyes wild and glassy and face gaunt. Classic signs of hypoglycemia. Neglecting himself was one thing, but letting your blood sugar drop to dangerously low levels could be life-threatening.
“Don’t touch me. Leave me alone!” Dr. Markson growled, turning back to the counter to scatter more food around. A banana flew past her head, then a jar of jam, which broke into a sticky mess on the gray marble floor behind her.
The dog gave a startled yelp and Emma reached down to give the poor thing a pat, noticing the collar embroidered with Service Dog in white. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re here now and we’ll take care of him.”
“Don’t need care,” Dr. Markson hissed, pushing Emma out of the way hard with his hip, causing her to stumble back a little and barely miss stepping on the dog’s paw. “Don’t need anyone.”
“We could use those glucose gels over here,” she called to the butler. “And juice. Something to get in his system fast.”
Everett handed her the package of gels, then grabbed the apple juice Thad had pulled from the fridge earlier. “Ready when you are, ma’am.”
“Okay. Good.” Emma switched into ER nurse mode then, her tone brisk and efficient. “Help me get him to one of those stools at the island and sit him down.”
While Everett steered Dr. Markson away from the fridge, Emma got the juice bottle open while keeping the dog back with her foot. The butler got her patient onto the stool, and Emma crouched in front of Dr. Markson, smiling. “Hello, there. Remember me? Emma Trudeau, a nurse from the hospital. Can you take a sip of this juice for me, please?”
She held the bottle to his lips, but he batted it away. “No! I don’t want your drink. I don’t want you here! Leave me alone!” Emma’s heart sank a bit at his cruel tone, but she held her ground. Aggression was a common side effect of low blood sugar. This wasn’t him. Not really. He needed some sugar in his system. Easier said than done, though, given that Dr. Markson had more muscle on him than she’d previously noticed. Still, she persisted. “Come on. Please. Just a little drink.”
His eyes were more unfocused, as if the world around him made no sense. Screw it. Time for the gels. Emma normally used them as a last resort in the ER, since they were pure sugar and could easily send a patient in the opposite problem if not carefully monitored, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She ripped the top of a sachet and prepared to squeeze the contents into Thad’s mouth. “Hold his head for me.”
The older man did as she asked, his face tight with worry, and Emma squeezed the gel into his mouth. She’d guessed on the dosage based on his size, but they’d deal with the consequences afterward. She held his mouth closed until he swallowed.
Slowly, Thad began to quiet. Five minutes passed and she was able to get him to drink some juice, too. Part of her itched to check his sensor to see his levels, but she didn’t want to disturb him again until he was stable.
“Will he be all right, ma’am?” Everett asked, a bit of his color returning. “He hasn’t been this bad in a long time.”
Emma straightened and leaned her hip against the edge of the giant granite-topped island. “He should be all right. We’ll need to wait and see.”