Love M.D. (41 page)

The next day
I wake to a major problem that is sure
to affect the delivery of Jada’s property on time. I eagerly search through the
guest room closet for my box of samples.

“Hey, baby. Looking for something?”
I turn to see Morgan poking his head through.

“Do you remember that box that had
all my samples and books with fabric swatches that we brought over when I came
here?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t find it anywhere, and I
need it. I got a message from one of the staff in Greece this morning. The
factory called to say that my main fabric was discontinued, and they can’t
fulfill the order. I will never deliver this job on time if I don’t get it replaced
immediately. And my design for all the rooms was based off that fabric. I’m
going to have to redo everything.”

“Don’t panic, baby. I put all that
stuff in some drawers in the library. Come. I’ll show you where your stuff is,
and I’ll fix you some breakfast before you bury yourself with work.”

“I’m sorry. This is not how I
intended to spend the last day of the year.”

“Baby, it’s fine. Do what you have
to do. Do you want me to call Jada and Jonathan and let them know that we won’t
be able to make it?”

“No. I was looking forward to
tonight. I’m going to try my hardest to get this done by this evening. And when
we go, I will need Jada to approve my new design anyway. Either way, I have to
see her.”

While Morgan makes me breakfast, I
sit with stacks of binders all around me at the island trying to do weeks of
work in just a few hours. With my laptop in front me and my phone handy, I
spend hours on the phone. I essentially verify what is available for immediate
delivery then base a design on those fabrics.

Now that I have a list of the
numbers of available fabrics, I painstakingly go through one binder at a time
and check to see if the fabrics that I could use match the ID numbers of the
available fabrics.

Morgan sits and helps me, removing
all the samples that are no longer offered.

By evening, as the sun goes down, I
am left with three binders of samples to sift through. While Morgan finishes
getting rid of the samples that are no longer available, I pull a new design
together.

“What’s this?” Morgan holds up a
manila folder.

“I don’t know. Where did you find
it?”

“It was stuck to the bottom of this
binder.”

“Let me see.”

He hands it to me, and I open the
folder that has a stack of papers inside. The one on top is a copy of the
autopsy report that Dr. Roberts gave me.

“Oh my God.”

“What is it?”

I inspect the document—same Adrian
Zachery Jenkins, same date of birth, same social security number, same cause of
death, same everything. I hand Morgan the document. As he reads it, I scan the
rest in the file.

“Is this what Doctor Roberts gave
you?”

“Yes. I thought I lost that file in
the fire. But I have no idea what all this other stuff is.”

“Let me see.”

I hand him the file. Slowly, he
peruses through them. “Some of these are copies of autopsy reports for other people,
including Catherine Modene, but the others are medical charts for patients. How
did you get this?”

“I don’t know. The file Doctor
Roberts gave me had two or three sheets of paper related only to Zach.”

I sit and replay that day in my
head, trying to remember the details of what happened.

“When I saw Doctor Roberts that
day, he had stacks of files on his desk. He even had breakfast and coffee. I
remember putting the file aside so I wouldn’t have any accidents. The only
thing I can think of is that I probably picked up the wrong file by mistake.”

“We have to let Christina Hernández
know about this.”

“Now? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“I suppose we can call her in the
morning. I’m going to put this in the safe. Come. I’ll show you where it is.”

He walks me to the master. In the
closet is a very well hidden safe that I never noticed.

“I did this closet. How did I not see
this?”

“The security company installed it after.
It is built so no one would notice.”

“I can’t believe it.”

He shows me the key pad and tells
me the password that I need to key in.

“The beauty from Paris? That’s your
password?”

He laughs and kisses me on my
cheek. “No one will ever guess it.”

“You got that right.”

He pulls the safe open. Inside are
two firearms, ammunition, our passports, his medical license, our marriage
certificate and some other documents and jewelry, including my Christmas
present.

“When you said a safe place I had
no idea you were talking about a safe.”

“You can never be too careful. Are
you almost done with your design now?”

“Almost. Start getting ready. I
just need to send the factory an email with all my possible new choices. I want
them to confirm they’re available.”

I thought Morgan
would drive, but he opens the front
door and Lucas and another guard await with the door to a black SUV open. We
both slip into the back seat. Twenty minutes later, we arrive at Jonathan and
Jada’s house at Seacliff.

“You look amazing. Happy New Year,”
Jada says, hugging us.

“Thanks, doll. Happy New Year to
you, too.”

“That’s some piece of bling,” she
says, pulling my hand and looking at the ring. “Did you buy the ring to go with
the dress, or the dress to go with the ring?”

I look at Morgan and blush. I try
to keep a straight face but she knows me so well.

“Morgan told me I look like a giant
emerald.”

“A hot, giant emerald. You’re not
telling me something,” she smiles, wagging her finger at me.

“I have no clue what you’re talking
about.”

“Oh my God. Are you engaged?”

We look at each other and smile but
don’t respond.

“You are, and you didn’t even tell
me, you little bitch.”

“
Shhh
, don’t tell anyone. We
went away for a few days and got back yesterday. Morgan’s family doesn’t know
anything yet.”

She hugs me tightly.

“I’m so happy for you. It’s about
time. Now come on. Let’s go eat, and you can tell me all the details.”

It’s not a big party, maybe thirty
people, but still very elegant with a nice spread and close family and friends.
After dinner, under the dimmed lights we dance the night away to the live band
that plays
Ella Fitzgerald’s
What Are You Doing This New Year’s
Eve
?

A loud explosion startles us both,
but we soon realize we were too preoccupied to notice the fireworks over the
Golden Gate Bridge. Everyone else is on the deck, watching. We are the only
ones still on the dance floor.

Holding my hand, Morgan leads the
way and we join the others. He folds me in his arms as we watch the bright
array of colors explode across the midnight sky.

When the fireworks are over, he whispers
in my ear, “I think it’s time we head home to make some fireworks of our own. I
can’t wait to get you out of that dress.”

I chuckle at his response. We let
Jonathan know about the file we found, and he says he’ll stop by tomorrow. Soon
after, we say goodbye to our friends.

We join Lucas in the vehicle
outside. It’s a beautiful night out. On the drive home, scores of people walk
along the road’s edge, returning to their vehicles from watching the
spectacular fireworks display.

Strapped next to Morgan, with his
arm around my shoulder, he tries to slip his hands down my neckline. I smack
his hand and push it away, mindful of the two guards in front of us. If he
wants to be that way, I’ll give him a dose of his own medicine. I slip my hand
past his crotch and slowly release his zipper.

He gasps as my fingers creep
through. He clears his throat and pushes my hand away—once, twice, then a third
time. At my fourth attempt, he zips his fly and grabs my legs, bringing them up
so they drape his thighs.

Faint music plays through the
speakers.

“Lucas, turn that up, please.”
Morgan says. “That’s
My Dear Acquaintance
.
”

“Who sings that?” I ask.

“Regina Spektor,” Morgan responds.
“My mom used to love this song.”

“Nice,” I reply.

As the song plays, Morgan sings
along, looking into my eyes.

He pulls off my high heels and
massages my feet. I loosen the strap of my seatbelt, circle my arms around his
body and gently kiss his lips, while through the fabric of his trousers, I
massage his erection. He returns my kiss.

The seatbelt is uncomfortable. I am
about to remove it so I can cozy up in his arms, but he grabs my hand to stop
me.

“Seatbelts save lives…”

As soon as he says that, I hear
screeching tires. A loud bang from behind rents the air. The vehicle jolts
forward, almost hitting the big rig in front of us. My first thought is that we’ve
been involved in an accident, but when Lucas shouts, “Get down,” I realize
something much more sinister is happening.

Two gunshots pop.
Glass shatters all over me. Morgan
covers my body with his and tries to free his weapon from the harness. Through
the sound of skidding tires comes a third gunshot.

I try to look up to see what Morgan
is doing, but he pushes me down.

“Stay down, baby.”

I’m terrified. I see blood—lots of
blood—on my hands. My body goes into a violent tremor. Morgan’s shirt is wet
and covered with blood.

“Oh my God, Lucas, you have to get us
out of here,” I cry. “Morgan is bleeding.” I’m not sure where the blood is
coming from.

“Baby, I’m going to be okay,” he
says.

Through my panicked tears, I feel
around for my purse while an exchange of gunshots ensues. I eventually get my
hands on my phone and dial 9-1-1. At the sound of another gunshot, more glass
shatters. The phone falls from my hand.

“Morgan, babe, are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Morgan, say something. Please tell
me you’re okay.”

Still, no response. His weight
presses against me from above. His breathing is labored.

The rapidly moving streetlight
filters through the vehicle and illuminates the space. His left side collar is
drenched in blood. I feel around his head and his neck. Blood oozes through my
fingers and down my arms.

“Oh God! Lucas please do something.
Morgan’s been shot. Wake up, babe!” I murmur, but he doesn’t respond. “Oh my
God… Morgan, get up… I beg you…please wake up.”

Sirens blare. I try to raise my
head to look up, but I can’t see. Tires screech. Seconds later, a loud crash
then an explosion.

The vehicle comes to a halt.

“Babe, please get up!” I shout. “I’m
begging you. Please, tell me you’re fine.”

“I…love you,” he says with great
effort. He’s losing consciousness on top of me.

“I love you, too, Morgan,” I cry,
holding him in my arms. “Lucas, please help me…please. Morgan’s hurt.” I place
my hand on his neck wound and apply pressure, but I feel the blood gushing
through my fingers.

Blood trails from his mouth, “No,
Morgan, no. You can’t go. Babe, stay with me…don’t leave me. You’re all I
have.”

Lucas raises Morgan’s body, and I
am able to sit up with my back leaning against the door. He turns Morgan over.

“Keep his head elevated,” he says.

Morgan is now lying in my arms. I
keep my hand on the wound, but the bleeding won’t stop. He’s barely awake, but
he tries. For a moment, his lids stay open, and his beautiful hazel eyes look
into mine. I hear the short gasps of air he takes in. With every second that
goes by, the gasps are less and less frequent.

“Babe, please fight. Please be
okay,” I cry. The more I say it, the more I doubt it. “You’re going to be fine.
Please stay strong, please. Oh God please, oh God please let him be okay.” I
can’t bear losing him, not now, but the more blood I see, the more the tears spew
from my eyes.

Confusion surrounds me. An SUV is
halfway under a truck and burns uncontrollably. Police run over to the car. Seconds
later, the fire department arrives. Lucas watches over me and the other guard
keeps watch outside the vehicle. Through the blown out glass window I see an
approaching ambulance.

We are both covered in shattered
glass and swimming in a sea of blood. I’m so scared, I can’t stop trembling.
But as Morgan fights to keep his eyes open and breathe, I softly run my fingers
through his hair and sing the words of
Au Clair De La Lune
, not because
the words are appropriate, but because it’s what my mom sang to me when I was
sad or hurt. As I do, he looks into my eyes. He attempts a smile, but his eyes
shut.

They don’t reopen.

“Morgan,” I whisper. “Morgan, babe,
open your eyes.” He doesn’t. My world spins. It’s happening again. I’m losing
him. I feel like I’m falling into a never-ending pit of fear and pain, with no
way to stop, no way to dig myself out, no way to save him.

I hear all the chatter and
questioning outside, but I can’t focus on any of it. The paramedics approach
the vehicle.

As the man approaches, I cry, “He’s
bleeding from his neck. Please help him…please.” Another medic comes to my side
of the vehicle and takes my place. I look on in complete shock and silence.

The police ask questions, but I
have no words. I stand in silence, observing all the activity around me—the
paramedics working on Morgan, another paramedic on his cellphone, firefighters
putting out the SUV fire under the truck, officers redirecting oncoming
traffic, the police trying to keep TV cameras, photographers and reporters
away. And that song, his mom’s favorite song, still plays on the radio…

I hear the loud noise of something
approaching from above. I look up and see a helicopter hovering. Soon, Morgan
lies unconscious on a gurney in front me. And as the red helicopter comes down,
the big white cross on the side tells me that they’re there to take him away.

I search for my shoes and my purse
and get my hands on my cellphone. Two men from the helicopter approach, and as
they wheel him away, I start to follow. Two police officers hold me back.

“I have to be with him!” I scream
over the deafening chopper blades. “Where are you taking him?”

“Ma’am, we’ll get that information
to you later.”

“No,” I cry. “Please, let me go
with him. He shouldn’t be alone. Please, let me be with him.” My heart breaks all
over again, and I feel like I’m losing my husband, the man that I love. I try
to break free from the officers. Someone’s arms surrounds my waist, pulling me
back.

“Miss Jenkins, he’s tough. He’ll be
okay,” Lucas says.

I break down in his arms, petrified.
“Where are they taking him? Mount Sierra will kill him. Please don’t take him
there.”

I watch in agony as the helicopter
rises in the air. I don’t know what to do or who to call. I think of Jonathan
and immediately call him. A while later, a black SUV pulls up. Detective
Bradshaw and two agents with FBI marked on their jackets have a short
discussion with the police.

“Can you finish this at the house?”
Lucas asks. “Miss Jenkins needs to get out of here. We have no idea who else
might be out here after her. It’s not safe here. Take her home, and you can
decide how to move forward from there.”

“I need to be with Morgan,” I cry.
“Please take me to him.”

Lucas and the other guard, along
with the FBI and Detective Bradshaw, escort me to a vehicle.

“Ms. Jenkins, for now you need to
be taken home where you will be secure,” Lucas says adamantly. “From there,
these gentlemen will make further arrangements. Now go with them. Please.
Doctor Drake would want you to be safe.”

I nod apprehensively, and they take
me home. Lucas stays behind.

When we arrive at the house,
Nicholas awaits with two other new guards. Shortly after I walk into the house,
I hear voices behind me. Jada and Jonathan are here.

I break down as Jada hugs me. I’m
scared about how this might end. I hear the chatter between Jonathan, the FBI
and Detective Bradshaw, but my mind is not really present. All I have in my
mind are the last images of Morgan’s unconscious body being taken away. The
sight of the blood trailing from his mouth won’t leave my mind, and that
dreadful look he had in his eyes…

Jada walks me to the island. I set
down my bloody purse and stare out at the view in silence.

Jonathan comes toward me. “Zoë, I
know this is hard but that file Morgan told me about—do you know where it is?”

I simply nod in reply.

“Can you tell me where it is?”

I shake my head then whisper, “I’ll
get it.”

I return to the bedroom closet.
Peaches has become my shadow. As I key in the password, the tears won’t stop.
The fear of losing Morgan will not go away. I still wear the emerald dress,
covered in his blood. I feel like I’m just going through the motions. I return
downstairs and hand the file to Jonathan. He and the FBI agents look through
it.

“Where is Morgan?” I ask. “Where
have they taken him? I need to be with him.”

Jonathan looks at me sadly. “Zoë,
he’s been taken to a secure medical center. This is my friend, Phillip Cross,
from the FBI and his partner, Agent Peters. They’ve taken the lead on the case.
We all think it’s in your best interest that you are taken into the witness
protection program.”

“What about Morgan?”

“We’ll take care of him,” Agent
Cross says. “Right now, we’re concerned about you and your safety.”

“So I won’t get to see him?”

“Not where he is right now.”

“You expect me to just leave and
not be here to look out for him?”

Jonathan looks at me and says,
“Zoë, Morgan has been taken to a protected, secure facility, and you have to
be, too. These people want you dead, and we can’t prove it yet, but we suspect
it is because of what you found in that folder. The house and your office may
not have been burned only to get rid of you. The fires were most likely to get
rid of evidence you didn’t even know you had.”

I’m torn and confused. I’m not even
sure what me entering this program means for Morgan, my life, my business.

“When will I get to see Morgan? How
long will I be gone for? When will I be back?”

“Because this case is still under
investigation, all those variables are difficult to determine,” Agent Cross
replies.

“So I have to trust you all? Will
Morgan know where I am? Will he know that I wanted to be with him, and you all
told me I couldn’t? What about my business? My staff? Pixie and Peaches?”

“Zoë, I’m your lawyer, but I’m also
your friend. Jada and I will take care of the animals, you have great staff,
and I’m your power of attorney so I can handle any issues to deal with your
work. I know this isn’t easy, but I highly recommend that you go with Phillip.
Morgan would agree if he were here.”

“You want me to leave without
letting everyone know? Don’t I get to tell my staff or Barney what’s going on?”

“No. The only people who will know
about this are those of us in this room and some superiors. To everyone else,
you’re just a number. You’ll be given a new identity.”

“Zoë, your life is more important,”
Jada says. “I will work with Leo on this.”

“What about Morgan? Will I at least
get updates on his health?”

“That I can arrange. Get cleaned up
and pack a small bag with some clothing. We have to get you out of here right
now.”

My head is spinning. This is all
happening at bullet speed. I head upstairs and crumble on the shower floor,
hugging my knees, still completely dressed. The steam and warm water surround
me, but I can’t stop the violent shivers that run through my body.

I am still in shock, and I know it
will take some time for me to get through this, but I don’t fully grasp what’s
happening around me.

I rise to my feet and rid myself of
all my clothing. I slip my dress down my body and pull away the pin that holds
my hair. Shattered glass falls around my feet, joining the bloodstained water
on the floor.

I apply some shampoo to my hair to
get rid of the caked blood. As the water washes it all away, only then do I
notice the cuts to my hands, neck and a few to my feet.

I’m clean now and free of blood but
stay, comforted by the hot water running over my body. Memories of the first
shower I ever had with Morgan run through my mind. I can’t stop thinking about
him. I wonder if he’s conscious. I wonder if he’ll be okay.

I step out of the shower, towel dry
my hair, and slip it into a ponytail at the back of my head. A knock sounds on
the door, and Jada comes in. She helps me pack a bit of clothing and stuff it
into one of Morgan’s duffel bags. I take two of his sweaters, too. I sink to
the bed as I remember how he looked when I last saw him. Surrounding his pillow
in my arms, I take in his familiar scent.

My friend hugs me. She comforts me,
but tears flow down her face, as well.

“Je sais ce que vous vivez. No
matter what, I’ll always be here for you, my sweet.”

I hear her words, but I’m not able
to respond.

This is so difficult. I am making a
decision to leave, to go away to a land unknown, possibly far away from Morgan.
I wipe away my tears and slip on some clothing and shoes. As I walk through the
living room to head downstairs, a wedding picture of us that I printed and
framed just two days ago catches my eye. I slip it into the bag, as well. When
I get downstairs, I clean the blood off my cellphone and unplug my laptop.

“I’m sorry, Miss Jenkins, but you’ll
have to leave those here.” Agent Cross says.

“What?”

“Zoë, once you leave, you can’t
communicate with any of us,” Jonathan says. “I know how you feel. But this is
in everyone’s best interest. This is for your safety and theirs. Taking those
with you will only tempt you to contact us, and your location can be tracked
with those very devices.”

“What about Morgan’s family? I need
to stay in touch with them. His dad needs to know what’s happened.”

“We will deal with that over here,”
Jonathan says.

“We have a plane waiting,” Agent
Cross says. “We need to get you out of here.”

Jada looks at me sadly. Tears
stream down her face. Mine, too. She wraps her arms around me, and I realize
this is goodbye to everything and everyone I know.

“Try not to worry. We’ll take care
of everything. It’s better this way,” she says.

“Thank you so much. I love you,” I
cry.

“I love you, too,” she responds,
wiping her tears away.

Jonathan hugs me goodbye. I say
goodbye to Peaches and Pixie, and before I know it Agent Cross, Agent Peters
and I are driving up the winding driveway.

We drive off the island and return
to Tiburon Boulevard. The agents put on the sirens to get through the miles and
miles of traffic caused by the so-called accident.