Fade the Heat (17 page)

But lipstick couldn’t cover her unanswered questions, no more than a few haphazard swipes with her mascara could disguise the haunted look in her blue eyes.

Or her own uneasy thoughts about her family…and the sad, misshapen forms that love could take.

Though fatigue had long-since blurred his vision, Jack stared hard at the doctor. “You’re sure about this? I’d rather hear the whole truth than the sugar-coated version.”

Back when veteran obstetrician/gynecologist Danielle Fischer had worked out of Hermann Memorial, the med students had christened her “The Hummingbird” for her habit of rushing in for ER consultations at lightning speed, then tossing off dead-on diagnoses in the wake of her retreat. But this morning, outside the private waiting room where Jack’s mother and aunt were ensconced, Dr. Fischer’s plump body had gone dead still, and her blue-eyed gaze remained unflinching, even if she did frown at Jack’s suggestion.

“I don’t have time to deal in half-truths, Dr. Montoya. The pregnancy your sister mentioned to you—I’m afraid she’s suffered a miscarriage. But there was no bruising or abrasions to indicate a sexual assault. No semen was collected either. It’s possible the preg
nancy’s loss was triggered by your sister’s accident, but that’s not necessarily the case. I’m afraid we’ll never know for certain.”

Jack freed the breath he had been holding. As bad as things were, at least Luz Maria hadn’t been raped. “Was it…was it a complete miscarriage, or will you need to—”

Dr. Fischer shook her head, and her wiry iron-gray bob flipped back and forth. “Nature’s taken its course. I—I’m sorry for your family’s loss, especially under these circumstances. I was told your sister was awake a little earlier, while the neurologist examined her. Were you able to speak with her?”

Jack shook his head, gritting his teeth. “By the time I was
allowed
to go in, she was asleep again.”

The very fact that she’d awakened was a good sign, especially since she’d responded appropriately to simple questions and commands. But he wouldn’t feel right until he talked to her himself, and he was still pissed that the special agent in charge had refused to allow a nurse to interrupt the interview to tell Jack of his sister’s change in status.

Fortunately, Dr. Fischer didn’t ask him to explain his comment. She had already begun rattling off the items printed on the photocopied list of aftercare instructions that she had foisted on him. Once finished, she zipped off—in typical Hummingbird fashion—to another patient upstairs.

Still standing outside the private waiting room, Jack rubbed his gritty eyes and thought of walking to the cafeteria for more coffee. He hesitated, not only because his nerves felt raw from all he’d drunk already, but because he knew he was avoiding going back in
side the little room where his mother and Tía Rosario waited. Or more specifically, because he didn’t know what to say about his sister’s pregnancy.

Now that it was over, was there any point in telling them? Tempted as he was to avoid the whole difficult conversation, Jack couldn’t make himself believe that silence was the right thing. During his years of practice, he had seen all too many of his patients’ toxic secrets explode out of the past, with devastating consequences. He’d gradually come to the conclusion that when the truth was locked away in darkness, it put out malignant roots.

Why not come clean now, while his mother was still thanking God that her daughter would most likely make a full recovery? Then, after he broke the news of her miscarriage to his sister, she wouldn’t face the added burden of hiding her emotions from their family. Wouldn’t that be best for Luz Maria?

But something about the idea gnawed at him. For one thing, though his mother and her sister had always supported each other, they were fierce competitors as well, with each worshiping at the altar of her family’s respectability. Would the childless and incurably old-fashioned Tía Rosario lord it over his mother to the end of time that her daughter had gotten pregnant out of wedlock? Whether or not she did, his mother would likely be furious that he had “disgraced” her by sharing the information with his aunt. Jack wished he had a sounding board to tell him whether his sleep-deprived, stressed-out brain had thought through all the implications.

And not just any sounding board, he realized. He wanted Reagan Hurley, who would be as quick to tell
him he was dead wrong as she would be to stick up for what she saw as right.

Damn straight
, her voice muttered in his head.

Despite the situation, he couldn’t help smiling.

It was funny, how quickly he had gotten used to having her around, had grown to appreciate her fierce loyalties and her outspoken frankness, even the stubbornness that had originally thrown them into conflict. Funny, too, how in the two days since her offer he had so often regretted throwing away the chance to lose himself in her arms for a while.

Not that he truly believed Reagan was capable of something so fleeting as a one-night stand, any more than he was. He sensed they were alike in that: people who made few commitments, but took each one as seriously as the most sacred of vows.

But whether she was still tied up in giving a statement, or had gone to help her captain’s family, or had simply decided to crash for a few hours, Reagan hadn’t shown up. Instead, another woman hurried toward him, her swaying gait grabbing his attention even before the click of her high-heeled pumps on the tiled corridor.

“Sabrina McMillan,” she told him, thrusting her hand out.

As they shook, he saw that her nails were painted crimson, to match her lipstick. The contrast of the red, against the blazing royal blue of the woman’s skirted suit hurt his tired eyes.

“I recognized you from TV.” He wondered what Greater Houston male would not. With its body-hugging fit and deep V, her outfit looked as if she’d ordered it out of the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

“I recognized you, too, although I must say, Jack, you’re
much
better looking than that photo on the news.” She looked up at him through lowered lashes, evidently trying the demure routine.

He didn’t buy it for a moment. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a difficult time,” he told her as he reached for the closed door. “I need to speak with my family about my sister’s condition.”

“How is your sister?” She pushed a loose tendril of rich brown hair back into her upsweep, then caressed the arrangement with her fingertips. “When we heard about the…incident this morning, the mayor and I were terribly concerned.”

Concerned with how they’d use it
, Jack thought, his exhausted mind forming an image of Luz Maria in a wheelchair, being pushed onto a campaign platform. Then unceremoniously dumped once Mayor Young-blood heard about her involvement with BorderFree-4-All.

“She’s had a tough time of it, but it looks as if she’ll eventually recover. Thanks for asking,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“But wait. Please, Jack. I understand the car she was driving was found wrecked this morning, in a ditch off a rural road in Galveston County.”

“Galveston County?” Jack repeated. What would she be doing there? But only Luz Maria could tell him the answer to that question. And possibly Sergio as well.

But there was one thing Jack was sure of: He’d be hearing from Paulo Rodriguez before the day was out. With one of his best cars wrecked, someone would have to pay. Jack figured it would most likely be him, and something told him Paulo wouldn’t be content to
stand in line behind Jack’s medical-school loans or his need to rent a new apartment.

It was sure to be a difficult encounter.

“Was the car…was it vandalized?” he asked. “Like the room where we found Luz Maria?”

“I don’t believe so.” Sabrina opened an expensive-looking purse and pulled out a business card.

“There’s a foundation Mayor Youngblood’s put me in touch with,” she said. “You may not have heard of the Trust for Compassionate Service—they like to keep a low profile. But one of the things they do is aid the victims of hate crimes.”

She handed him the card, which listed the name and contact information of a man named Isaac Mailer, along with the trust she had described. “Mr. Mailer is very interested in your case, and your sister’s.”

Jack was certainly no expert on the finer things, but the raised brown print and thick, parchmentlike card stock all but shouted money. “Why? Why would some high-dollar trust care about my family? What’s their angle on this?”

Sabrina gave him the sort of smile people bestowed on the less fortunate. Or the simple. Beneath her flawless makeup, her eyes crinkled at the corners, hinting that Sabrina was considerably older than she looked.

“They do a lot of good work in the Valley, too, helping the uninsured and such. From what I understand, the trust was built on an endowment left by the heiress to some cattle ranch about the size of Delaware. Some soap-opera tale of woe’s behind it, how she never married because her family kept her from a young Mexican cowboy she loved. I think they had him killed or castrated or some such. I can’t quite remember.”

With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the tragedy.
“Anyway, the trust’s pockets are deep enough that they don’t have to worry about state funding—or their patients’ immigration status. You really need to call this number.”

Jack frowned down at the card. “And you’re giving me all this—the heads-up about the car and this contact—in exchange for what?”

Slyness edged her smile and a suggestion laced her words. “Really, Jack. We need to work on that suspicious nature. It’s a gesture of goodwill, that’s all, not tit for tat. If you feel moved to make a similar gesture, simply call me. That’s all there is to it.”

With that, she handed over her own business card. He saw that at the bottom she had added her personal cell-phone number in pen, along with
day or night!

When he’d seen her on the news, he had first gotten the impression of a shark. But now that he’d actually met Sabrina McMillan, Jack amended his impression. This woman was the serpent in the garden, a demon in the flesh, and he had absolutely no doubt about what kind of tit she offered for his tat.

Despite the fact that the mayor’s strikingly attractive and immediately recognizable campaign manager was all but draping herself around Jack, Reagan thought he looked relieved to see her. Which, in her opinion, spoke well of the man’s taste.

“You look like hell, Montoya,” she said by way of a greeting. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” he said before introducing her to Sabrina McMillan.

“So you’re a fireman?” asked Power Suit Girl, her lip curling in palpable distaste.

“Nooo, I’m a fire
fighter
,” Reagan corrected, shaking
the fembot’s hand a little longer and harder than necessary. “You know, one of those poor mugs who trots up to your penthouse when you light up your curtains with the flambé?”

Watching Sabrina redden was the most fun Reagan had had in days, mainly because she knew the woman was thinking of the paraphernalia the crew had seen in her apartment. Shackles, whips, and a truly amazing assortment of spray cheeses and feather dusters. Just thinking about that night made Reagan’s lips pull into what was undoubtedly a wicked smirk.

“For the record,” she told Sabrina in a confidential tone, “my vote’s with Mayor Youngblood. Seems to me the man’s in a position to remember with gratitude the fire department’s hard work and discretion.”

Especially since he’d been in Sabrina’s penthouse at the time of the incident in question. Working on their campaign positions, they’d both claimed all too loudly.

Reagan didn’t care—or care to imagine—
what
positions they’d been practicing, so long as the city dodged the bullet of the Darren Winter write-in.

Abruptly Sabrina McMillan remembered another appointment. Without meeting Reagan’s gaze, she zeroed in on Jack. “Don’t forget, you have my number.”

Her heels click-clicked as she swayed down the hall.

Jack looked at Reagan, confusion written on his features. “What the hell was that about?”

“You don’t want to know,” she said. “But if you ever decide to call her, I hope you’re not lactose intolerant.”

“All I can say is, you must have gotten a few hours’ sleep. You’re as full of piss and vinegar as ever.”

Reagan thanked him for the compliment before
saying, “Tell me about LuzMaria. What did the doctors say?”

She followed him down the hall, where the two of them sat in an otherwise unoccupied bank of chairs in a waiting area. Outside a nearby window, brilliant October sunshine burnished the still-green leaves of the park across the street.

“She woke up earlier,” Jack said, “and she responded pretty well to the neurologist’s screening questions. They did some testing, too, and the results look encouraging. But that bleeding you saw—she’s had a miscarriage.”

Reagan nodded slowly, not sure how to respond. On the one hand, the miscarriage solved some problems, but still, it was a sad event. “I’m glad the head injury doesn’t seem serious,” she said.

“It’s still too soon to say that. With that long a period of unconsciousness, there could be all kinds of residual damage, even changes to her personality. They’ll be observing her for another day at least, waking her every hour for a neuro check, and she’ll have some follow-up visits as well.”

“I see. So have you spoken to her yet?”

Jack’s head shook. “By the time I found out she was awake, she’d gone back to sleep again. I want to talk to her—about what happened, and about the miscarriage, too.”

“Does she know yet?”

“I don’t think so. And neither does my mother. I was thinking I should tell her and my aunt, get it all out in the open.”

“Don’t you dare, Jack. That’s not your decision.” Sometimes he was such a control freak it made her crazy.

He chewed his lip in thought. And then, when he looked up at her, she saw in his brown eyes the boy she’d worshiped. Only this time, she looked past the hero who’d saved her from Paulo, and she also looked beyond the half-grown child who had so angrily accused her mother and her of moving to the suburbs to get away from people like him. This time, she saw all the way down to the fear inside his heart. Fear that he would be helpless to ease his sister’s pain. Fear of the consequences of what had once seemed like a simple and compassionate decision to help a child draw breath freely.