A Fashionable Affair (19 page)

They were racing through the streets, siren
blaring, when Michael opened his eyes and looked
at her. “You warned me,” he said. “Smart girl.”

“I didn’t know if you would understand me.” She
thought talking might help to take his mind off the pain and so she continued. “And when you turned
up alone, I was afraid you hadn’t.”

“It took me a while to convince the police of the
urgency of the situation. Then I had to call Stan
Kavan and explain what I would be doing.” His
voice was low but clear.

“You mean you hadn’t left the papers with him?”

A faint smile flickered in his clouded eyes. “No.
The phone call was a signal that it was okay for the
police to move in.”

She smiled back.

“Sorry to put you through such a bad time.” He
put a hand up to her face. “The bastard,” he said.

“I got off lighter than you. I was more scared
than hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Darling, it was my mess to begin with. I’m the
one who should be apologizing.”

“No.” His brow was furrowed with pain. “It was
my goddamn arrogance. I should have turned this
whole mess over to the IRS last week. It’s only luck
that you weren’t badly hurt.” His shadowed eyes
searched her face. “That swine Frank didn’t try
anything with you, did he?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Except for pushing my face into his chest to keep me quiet, he didn’t touch me.”

Michael’s eyes closed. “Thank God.”

Patsy spoke to the medic riding with them.
“When are we going to get to the hospital?”

“We’re coming in now, miss,” he told her, and
she looked out the window and saw the sign
EMER
GENCY
and an arrow. In thirty seconds they were
at the emergency-room door, and the medics were
lifting Michael out.

They wouldn’t let her go past the reception area,
and she got stuck answering a lot of questions for
the woman at the admissions desk. They brought
her Michael’s wallet and she got out his Blue Cross
card. Then she sat on a curved plastic seat and
stared at the poster on the opposite wall describing
the Heimlich maneuver.

She was still there thirty minutes later when Steve
arrived. She heard someone say her name, and
looked up to see him striding toward her.

“Steve! Thank God you’re here. I don’t know
what they’re doing to Michael.”

“They’re prepping him for surgery. I’m going to
take the bullet out. Jesus God, Patsy, what hap
pened?” He sat next to her.

She was very pale, her eyes huge and dark and frightened, but she spoke calmly. She was not, he
was extremely gratified to see, going to have hyster
ics. “It was my taxes, Steve. Michael discovered
Fred was using me to launder illegal drug money.
Fred’s boss found out and came after Michael.”

“Jesus God,” Steve repeated.

Patsy drew a deep, uneven breath. “Yes. Is he
going to be all right?”

“His life’s not in danger, but it’s a damn good thing someone got a tourniquet on him.”

“And his leg?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to see. Will you call Sally?
She doesn’t know what’s happened yet.”

“Of course I will.”

“Good girl.”

He turned to leave, and Patsy put out a hand to
detain him. “Steve, you’ll come and tell me when
you’ve finished?”

His long-fingered, sensitive, surgeon’s hand cov
ered hers for a brief moment. “I’ll come as soon as I
can.”

“Thanks.” She managed a smile. “I’ll call Sally
now.”

His hand tightened over hers for a second, and
then he was gone.

* * * *

“Patsy!”

She turned from her mesmerized perusal of the
Heimlich maneuver to see Sally coming across the
waiting room toward her. The other people in the room watched with interest as the gorgeous redhead in the jogging suit rose and embraced the
worried-looking, dark-haired woman who had just
entered. Then the two of them sat down side by
side and began to talk in low-pitched, urgent voices.

“Is he still in the operating room?” Sally asked.

“He must be. Steve said he’d come down as soon
as he could.”

“Steve’s a very good surgeon,” Sally said. “He
won’t let anything happen to Michael.”

There was a short silence, then Patsy asked,
“Who has the kids?”

“Jane Nagle came over and got them. She’ll keep
them until we get back.”

“Oh. That was nice of her.”

“Yes. She was almost as upset about Michael as I
was, I think.”

Silence fell between them again and lasted until
Steve appeared in the waiting room twenty minutes
later. He was still in green operating-room garb
and he smiled, immediately and reassuringly, as he
saw his wife. “He’s going to be fine, Sally. He won’t
be too comfortable for a while, but I don’t think
there’s been any permanent damage done.”

Patsy felt suddenly dizzy with relief. “Thank
God,” she breathed, and then Steve’s arm was
around her shoulders.

“Here,” he said imperatively, “sit down and put
your head between your knees. I don’t want you
fainting on me now.” He guided Patsy to a chair and said over his shoulder to his wife, “Ask the
nurse at the desk inside for smelling salts.”

Patsy sat and obediently hung her head, and in a
minute Steve held something to her nostrils that
made her eyes water. “Whew!” she said.

“Better?”

“Yes.” Her head felt quite clear now and cau
tiously she raised it. Steve and Sally were both look
ing at her in concern. “I’m so sorry,” she said
contritely. “That was stupid of me.”

“Not at all,” Steve said. “You’ve had one hell of a
day. You’re entitled.” He had his hand on her wrist,
feeling her pulse.

She smiled a little and some of the color began to
return to her face. “I’m okay, really.”

He released her wrist and nodded. “Just sit qui
etly for a few minutes, please.”

“Can I see him?” Sally asked.

“He’s still under the anesthetic, Sally. They’ll
keep him in the recovery room for a few more
hours at least.” Steve looked at his watch. “Wait
until tomorrow morning. He’s not going to feel
much like visitors before then.” He looked at his
wife. “You didn’t have to come. Where are the
kids?”

“At Jane Nagle’s. And I just couldn’t sit quietly at
home.”

He smiled. “I know. Well, how many cars do we
have here now?”

“Mine is still at Michael’s house,” Patsy said.

“Leave it there for now. You’re in no condition to
drive, Patsy. Why don’t you take Patsy, babe, and go
collect the kids. I’ll be home in another couple of hours. I have to change and see a few people—the
hospital was very accommodating in letting me
operate, since I’m not affiliated here. And I want to
engage a private duty nurse for Mike.”

“Okay.” Under the interested eyes of the watch
ing waiting room, Sally fervently kissed the tall,
lean doctor and was kissed back quite as heartily.

“He’s going to be fine,” Steve reassured her.

“I know.” She smiled at him. “Doctor Maxwell.”
Sally turned to Patsy. “Come on, Patsy. I’m going to
take you home, fill you with alcohol, and you’re
going to tell me everything.”

“Wait until I get there,” Steve said. “This is one story I don’t want to miss.”

* * * *

Sally and Patsy stopped by Jane Nagle’s house and picked up the children. Jane did indeed seem
very upset; there was the unmistakable sheen of
tears in her eyes when Sally told her Michael was
going to be all right.

“What’s Jane’s husband like?” Patsy asked Sally as
they drove the two miles between the Nagle and
Maxwell houses.

“He’s a very pleasant fellow. Works down on Wall
Street for a brokerage firm.” There was silence and
then Sally added, “He’s not a patch on Michael,
though. And that is not just sisterly prejudice,
either.”

Patsy smiled painfully. “I’m sure it isn’t.”

When they reached Sally’s, Patsy cleaned up in
the bathroom and then helped to feed Matthew
and Steven. She had eaten nothing herself since
breakfast, but she wasn’t hungry. She did drink a
cup of hot tea and then volunteered to give Steven
his bath. She was just getting the little boy into his pajamas when Steve came home.

They put the children to bed and then sat in the
living room, with stiff drinks and a huge plate of
cheese and crackers to nibble on.

“All right, Patsy,” Sally said. “I’ve been a model of
patience. Tell. What on earth happened that my
brother ended up in the hospital with a bullet in his
leg?”

Patsy took a drink of Scotch, ate a cheese cracker,
and started her story. “We got back to New York
last night,” she was saying four cheese crackers
later, “and Michael drove me home. It was very late
so he stayed at my apartment.” She pretended not
to notice the look Sally and Steve exchanged. “He
left for work this morning and, naturally, he took
my car. Garfield and Frank saw him go.”

“If they wanted Michael, and if they were
watching you, why did they let him go to work?”
Sally asked.

“I don’t imagine they could get to him,” Steve answered. “Patsy’s building is like a Norman for
tress, and he drove right out of the garage onto a
busy New York street.”

“I’m sure that was it,” Patsy agreed. “And so they
decided to wait for me.”

She proceeded to tell them all about her kidnap
ping and the ride to Michael’s house.

“Patsy!” Sally looked appalled. “You must have
been terrified.”

“Terrified isn’t the half of it.” Patsy’s look was
eloquent. “Well, once we got to the house they
made me call Michael.” Her lips tightened. “I didn’t
want to, but they were waving a very unfriendly-
looking gun.”

“God Almighty,” Sally gasped.

“I knew I had to warn Michael. I couldn’t just let him walk in blindly, but Garfield was standing right
next to me and listening to every word we both
said.”

“You
did
warn him,” Steve said suddenly. “You
must have. He brought the police with him.”

“What did you do?” Sally asked.

“I called him Mike. I’ve never once called him
Mike in my entire life, but I called him Mike on the
phone constantly. It was all I could think of. And,
when he called me Pat back, I thought he’d under
stood. But then he marched in all alone, and I
thought they were going to kill us both.”

“Have another drink,” Steve said.

“And you think I’m smart.” Sally’s voice rang
with admiration. “How
clever
of you, Patsy. How
ever did you think of that?”

“I read it in a mystery novel once,” Patsy
answered with simple truth, and took the glass
Steve held out to her.

He grinned. “You’re a great girl, Patsy.”

She smiled back. “Thank you, Doctor. It was
Michael who thought to call you, though. He was
lying there, bleeding all over the floor, and he
looked up and said, quite calmly, “Call Steve and tell
him what’s happened.’’

“What I want to know,” Steve said, “is why
Michael felt he had to play detective himself. Why
the hell didn’t he just tell the Justice Department all
he knew? Christ, he used to work there. He has
friends.”

“Michael had the goods on Garfield once
before,” Patsy explained, “and from what I gather,
someone botched up the case. He wanted to make
sure it didn’t happen again.”

“If that isn’t just like him,” Sally said with the
faintest trace of bitterness. “My brother the cru
sader.”