Royal Seduction (17 page)

“Whatever you say.” Riley turned away, only to hear a scuffle. He twisted back around just in time to hear an “oof,” the impact with the sink knocking the breath out of the guy. In an instant, Riley knelt at his side where the man had landed in a heap on the floor.

Before Riley could ask any questions, the drunk pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Riley helped him to stand.

“I tol' you to mine yer own biz wax, buddy.”

“Seems like you've had more than your share tonight. Maybe you should go home and sleep it off.”

That bit of advice elicited a vulgar response, and then the drunk pulled open the door and was gone. Riley just shook his head.

Back at the table, he slid onto the wooden bench across from Catherine. He'd only had about half of his beer, but his encounter in the rest room had spoiled his taste for the stuff and he slid it a few inches away.

“Now, where were we?” he asked. “Oh, yes. I was about to give you the lecture of a lifetime.”

She grinned, sliding her fingers over the condensation on the outside of her glass. “I'm ready,” she told him.

“You don't want to go home,” he began with the flat-out fact of the matter. “I can see it in your eyes. So why go? You're a beautiful woman, Catherine. You're intelligent. You could marry any man you want.” The feelings rushing through him were strange—dismay, sadness, distress, even anger. His gaze slid to the lit candle on the table, as he blurted out, “I don't understand why this is bugging me to this degree. You need to do what you feel is right for you. But if things were different—”

He nearly choked. What the hell was the matter with him? He'd reminded himself over and over again that Catherine wasn't the woman for him. Or rather, that he wasn't the man for her.

“Don't say anything more.”

Her soft but urgent voice tugged at his attention and he lifted his eyes to hers. Oh, she needn't worry about that! He had no intention of saying more. No sir, he didn't.

“I have something to confess,” she said. “Something about last night.”

The abrupt about-face of the conversation took him aback. He was truly stumped as to what she might be going to say.

Catherine nibbled on her bottom lip, emotion clouding her features. “There's no easy way to say this, Riley. But my conscience is bothering me, so I just have to find a way. I have to be honest with you.”

Her delicate shoulders rounded in what looked a lot like shame, and that only confused him more.

“As I told you, Riley, I've realized that I came to Portland looking for something. At first, I didn't even know what it was but now I know I wanted acceptance from someone who didn't know who I was.”

“Acceptance?” Man, had she ever used the wrong word. His response was sharp as he continued, “This morning you were pretty clear that you wanted someone to want you, as in physical desire. Someone who was ignorant of your identity. Well, you succeeded on both counts, Catherine.”

“But not without help.”

Riley rested his forearms on the edge of the table and stared in silence. Not even the ruckus at a nearby table was enough to make him break eye contact with her.

Without another word, Catherine reached into her purse and pulled out a small blue vial and set it next to the salt and pepper shakers.

“What's that?”

“It's NoWait.”

“No, it isn't. NoWait comes in two-ounce brown bottles and has a label that was designed by Dr. Strong. I've seen them.”

Reluctantly, she declared, “This came from the lab. I went there and found trays of these. And black, leather-bound laboratory notebooks were sitting on the counter. NoWait was typed out on—”

“Catherine! What did you do?”

“I needed more time, Riley. I just needed more time. But I knew I had to leave—”

“What the hell have you done?”

Riley couldn't believe it. He hadn't been in the lab for days. He'd read the protocol, but he'd left most everything to Faye. He knew nothing about testing procedures. He knew the technicians were setting up the apparatus needed to begin the experiments, getting the oil ready to be tested. They must have measured out the NoWait into tiny blue vials like the one sitting on the table.

“You
used
that stuff? When I was at your hotel last night? Dammit, Catherine, you knew the oil was off-limits. I know for a fact that you knew it because I was the one who told you.”

Her blue eyes glistened with tearful regret. She whispered, “I know you did.”

Barraged with emotion, Riley sat there, stunned. Betrayed. Lied to. Misled. He felt all of those things. And anger. No, the heat rampaging through him wasn't mere anger, it was fury.

“You manipulated me, Catherine.”

The sound of cutlery and dishes crashing to the wood floor drew all eyes toward a table on the far side of the pub. A woman let out a scream and a frightened waiter gaped toward the floor, shouting, “Sir? Sir?”

Riley sprang from his seat and hurried across the pub. He was vaguely aware that Catherine followed close on his heels.

Even before he reached the commotion, he began surveying the situation.

The man lying on the floor looked to be unconscious. Riley realized it was the heavyset drunk he'd met in the rest room just a few minutes before. The man didn't seem to be breathing.

The face of the young waiter was a ghostly white. He was obviously scared to death. When he caught sight of Riley, the kid seemed relieved that someone intended to offer help. A woman sat at the table, wailing and distraught.

“I'm a doctor,” Riley announced.

“I thought he was choking,” the waiter said. “I tried the Heimlich maneuver.”

“He was conscious at the time?” Riley asked, getting down on his knees to get a closer look.

“Barely. But he was already turning blue.”

“Was any food expelled?” Riley asked.

“No, sir. And he seemed to get worse. Quick.” A tremor quivered his voice as he asked, “I didn't hurt him, did I?”

A man in a suit arrived. “I'm the manager. I've called nine-one-one.”

“Good.” Riley grasped the plackets of the man's shirt and gave a good yank. Buttons went flying.

Questions raced through Riley's head.

“Ma'am,” he called out loudly over the woman's sobs, “does he have a heart condition?” When she didn't answer, he raised his voice louder. “Does he have other medical conditions that you know of? Is he currently taking medications?”

The woman was obviously too hysterical to help. The man's white T-shirt rolled up over his belly easily. Signs of an ugly bruise were clear high on the man's ribs where he'd hit the sink earlier.

Then Riley noticed something peculiar. Only one side of the man's chest showed signs of movement. He checked the man's pulse.

Rapid heartbeat. Bluish color. Distended neck veins.

“When I brought him that last double shot of bourbon a couple of minutes ago,” the waiter offered, “I heard him complain that he had difficulty breathing. And then just a second ago when I was passing the table, he was turning blue.”

Having seen the heavyset drunk fall in the rest room, Riley suspected he knew what the problem was, and he feared the kid's treatment for choking had only worsened the crisis. Palpation of the man's chest resulted in a spongy feeling beneath Riley's fingers. Respiratory emergencies called for immediate action.

“We've got to restore full oxygen flow to the heart and brain,” Riley said, standing and scanning the tables around him, “or this guy's going to be in deep trouble.”

He snatched up a clean steak knife and napkin from an unoccupied table. Then he picked up the cocktail glass from where his patient had been sitting. Riley glanced at the waiter. “Bourbon, you said?”

“That's right,” the young man told him.

“You got a pen?”

The waiter plucked one from the pocket of his black apron.

The manager moved closer. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to help him breathe.”

Working as swiftly as he could, Riley crouched and tucked one edge of the napkin under the man's side, arranging it to make himself a small work area. He placed the crude, makeshift scalpel on the white linen. He unscrewed the pen, setting the empty tube on the napkin and tossing aside the extraneous parts. He then poured about a half shot of the bourbon into his cupped palm and rubbed his hands together.

“Anything I can do?” the manager asked.

“Give me a sec. Then you can lend a hand.” From the look on the manager's face, Riley suspected he was sorry he'd offered.

Riley splashed alcohol on the unconscious man's skin. Then he poured some bourbon on both the knife and the pen tube. “Here, take this.” He handed the glass to the manager.

Carefully choosing a spot several inches below the man's armpit, Riley felt for the position of the ribs. With a confident and steady hand, he cut a small incision.

Blood welled, and the woman who'd been crying gasped and then went quiet. In fact, the whole dining room seemed to have grown eerily silent.

Riley focused. With firm pressure, he plunged the empty pen tube into the incision, sliding it between the ribs. Instantly, a whoosh of air whistled through the tube, confirming Riley's diagnosis.

“He was trying to breathe,” he murmured, “but the air he inhaled was being trapped in the chest cavity. Had no way to expel itself.”

Riley capped and uncapped the tube in synchrony with the man's breath. The blue tinge of the man's skin began to fade almost immediately.

After watching him for a few seconds, the restaurant manager's tone filled with astonishment as he softly asked, “You're actually exhaling for him?”

Riley nodded. “The EMTs will be able to do a better job of it once they arrive. They'll have the proper equipment.”

As if on cue, the faint shrill of a siren approached from somewhere down the busy city block. Emergency lights flashed through the front windows of the pub as the ambulance pulled up at the front door.

“Everyone, back up,” Riley called to the restaurant patrons. “Give the paramedics a little room to maneuver.”

Suddenly, Riley remembered Catherine. He looked up and caught her gaze on his. Tension filled her beautiful face, and Riley had no idea if her stress was caused by the emergency situation or their very own personal calamity. He lost sight of her as the milling crowd cleared the area.

Dark emotions swam in his gut as he thought of her and what she'd done, but he thrust them out of his mind and looked down, concentrating on what he was doing.

Two EMTs shoved their way through the door. The manager stood and gave them a shout, and they zigzagged their way between the tables.

“What've we got?” The paramedic set down his trauma kit with a thump.

“Tension pneumothorax,” Riley told him. “I witnessed the patient fall in the rest room earlier this evening. He struck his chest against the sink but he insisted he was all right. You should know he's pretty intoxicated. You have a chest tube?”

“Sure do.”

It took several minutes for the paramedics to treat the patient. The manager brought Riley several hot, moist cloths so he could clean up some, and Riley thanked him.

The EMTs expertly inserted the chest tube and then they hooked it up to a portable, compact vacuum bottle. The vacuum made a low whir as it slowly and continuously removed the excess air from the man's pleural space. The paramedics prepared the unconscious man for transport, lifting him onto the stretcher and then securely fastening the straps.

“Thanks for your help,” the paramedic finally said to Riley, sliding the trauma kit onto a metal platform beneath the stretcher.

“You're welcome. I'm just glad I was here.” A split second later he added, “In fact, I think I'll follow you to the ER so I can talk to the doctor on duty.”

The EMT just nodded and then wheeled the stretcher toward the front door of the pub where the ambulance waited.

A conscientious doctor, Riley wanted to make sure the man received good follow-up treatment. But as he made his way back to the table where Catherine sat waiting for him, he knew concern for the man he'd just treated wasn't the only reason he wanted to make a hasty exit. He wanted to avoid a confrontation with Catherine.

What she'd done was indefensible in his mind. Nothing she could say would cause him to excuse it. When he approached her, her features were drawn. She was pale, her eyes haunted.

“You were amazing, Riley,” she said.

“Just doing what I was trained to do.”

The NoWait still sat in the center of the table. His jaw was so tight it began to ache. “Listen, I'm going to go to
Portland General to make sure everything goes smoothly for that guy.”

Catherine was almost too quick to nod.

“Want me to call you a taxi?”

“No,” she said. “I'm close enough to my hotel to walk. It's a nice night. I'll be fine. You go ahead.”

There would be no further discussion of the oil that sat there like an elephant in an OR being purposely unnoticed.

That was fine with him.

His gaze latched on to hers for several long seconds.

“Well, good luck, Catherine. With whatever you decide to do.” He picked up his jacket from where it was draped over the back of the rustic bench. While he was still leaning toward the table, he reached out and swiped up the small blue vial of NoWait as inconspicuously as possible. Catherine didn't comment.

He told her, “I'll pay the tab on my way out.”

There was panic in her expression. She wasn't happy with his goodbye. He could tell. However, he felt there simply wasn't anything else he could do except turn on his heel and walk away.

C
atherine stood at the counter waiting for the hotel clerk to finalize her checkout bill. Her favorite bellman—an elderly black man named Andy whom she'd seen often over the course of her visit—hovered nearby with her two bags, ready to hail her a cab that would whisk her to the airport.

This holiday to Portland was supposed to have been filled with fun and adventure, yet she was leaving the city feeling more depressed and wretched than she had when she'd arrived. And she couldn't blame anyone but her own foolish self.

Oh, her stay hadn't been a total loss. She'd made a wonderful friend in Faye Lassen. She and Faye both had been close to tears when they'd said their goodbyes and parted company late this afternoon. But there was no doubt in Catherine's mind that she'd see Faye again, and that their friendship would continue.

And she'd learned a lot at the Healthy Living Clinic. The seminars she'd attended had offered her a slew of information about good nutrition, proper exercise and how to live a healthy life. Her time in the gym with the trainer had her feeling fit and firm. So the trip hadn't been a total bust.

But the gloom that swamped her returned full force when she thought of Riley and just how badly she'd mangled their relationship. She'd snuffed the very life out of it.

He'd been appalled by what she'd done. He'd felt betrayed. He couldn't have been blunter about that.

What she still couldn't figure out was why she'd acted so rashly. Sure, she'd felt the pressure of time. However, if that humiliating incident during her teen years had taught her anything, it was that she needed to think through all aspects and outcomes of her actions
before
she acted. That lesson had been worth its weight in gold throughout her life, and it had been worth all those forced hours of volunteerism her father—who had presided over the special judiciary council gathering—had sentenced her to back then.

The experience had engraved an indelible message on her brain. Yet, when it had come to Riley and the NoWait, she hadn't even allowed that hard-earned life lesson to enter her thoughts.

Why?

She accepted her receipt from the smiling receptionist and then turned to Andy.

“Guess I'm ready,” she told him.

The man picked up her bags and started for the door. “Won't take a second to find you a cab.” And just as he promised, Andy soon held open the rear passenger-side door of a taxi for her.

“I hope you enjoyed your stay, Miz Houston,” Andy said.

She discreetly slipped him a generous tip. The sheer magnitude of her misery had her admitting, “I have to say I'd be feeling better about my visit if I hadn't treated a certain new friend so thoughtlessly. I was downright reckless.”

The bellman's head tipped, and he grinned. “My mama always said that if a person has you acting crazy, you best take note. It means something.”

Catherine smiled benignly and slid into the cab while Andy moved to the rear of the car to load her bags into the trunk.

Crazy
was the perfect word to describe her behavior with Riley.

Wild. Idiotic. Senseless. And normally she was none of those things.

You best take note.
Andy's mama's advice floated through Catherine's thoughts.
It means something.

It means something.

He
means something.

He means
everything.

Catherine's spine went rod-straight.

Andy slammed shut the trunk and gave the top of it two sharp thumps with the palm of his hand as a signal to the cabbie that he could drive on.

In a flash, Catherine remembered Faye telling her this afternoon to take heed of her own advice. Did Catherine want to spend an entire lifetime pining for the man she loved?

The cab rolled forward just as she was hit with an acute understanding that could only be described as miraculous.

“Driver, stop!”

She pushed open the door, got out and turned to see Andy standing on the sidewalk looking at her quizzically.

“Could you store my bags?” she called out to him. “There's someone I need to see.”

Andy's mouth split with a lopsided grin as he hurried back to the car. “Sounds like you're getting ready to do something crazy.”

She smiled back. “You're absolutely right.”

 

The state of Portland General's ER could have been described as a well-organized madhouse any day or night of the week. Weekends and holidays could be a bit worse, but every shift found doctors and nurses rushing to give patients in need some of the best emergency treatment that could be found in the Pacific Northwest. Tonight, however, the buzz in the ER wing seemed to have been kicked up a notch, all because an ambulance had arrived with an unconscious patient whose life had been saved with a steak knife and an ink pen. When the pneumatic doors opened and the surgeon himself waltzed in, the commotion elevated to a whole new level.

The attending physician had been so impressed with Riley's skillful handiwork that he'd called the ER Chief of Staff at home and told him he needed to come to the hospital and check it out.

It seemed that everyone on duty wanted to stop in to chat with Riley about his experience and to take a look at the patient. Riley was actually relieved for the chance to talk shop in the ER, and he let himself become consumed. That was much better than dwelling on the dark thoughts hovering at the edges of his brain.

When he caught sight of Dr. Richard Strong exiting one of the exam rooms at the far end of the hall, Riley was mildly surprised. He excused himself from the group of doctors and nurses.

“Richard,” he called.

There was tension etched in the man's face.

Riley asked, “Is everything all right?”

“It's Jason,” Richard said, looking relieved for someone to talk to. “My son. He was involved in a car accident. The doctor says he thinks Jason will be fine. But head injuries are so unpredictable that it's scary, you know?”

Riley nodded.

“They've taken him down for a CAT scan,” Richard continued.

“Is he conscious?”

“Yes.” Richard meandered toward the bank of elevators and the large window just a few yards away. Riley followed. “Conscious and able to communicate. I've been told that's an excellent sign.”

“That's the truth.” Then Riley remembered his discussion with Richard this afternoon. “You said you were meeting Jason for the first time tonight.”

Strong shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Can you believe we met in the ER?” His smile was shaky with the aftermath of emotion. “That boy is something else, let me tell you. I was scared half to death. I rushed into that exam room to see this huge bandage on his head and glass fragments in his hair, and what does my son do? He cracks a joke. He looks me right in the eye and says, ‘You'll have to excuse my appearance. I had a small mishap.' A small mishap.” Richard shook his head, grinning. “Then he turns to his mother and starts swearing up and down that he wasn't to blame for the accident. He was trying to calm our fears, I guess. Trying to make us see that he was okay and that we should stop worrying.”

Riley said, “Thoughtful kid.”

“Carrie started crying and I laughed. Then Carrie
laughed and I got all choked up. We were wrecks.” Richard sighed, twisting to stretch his neck to the left, then to the right. “You know, you find out you have a kid, and your whole world changes. But you find out your kid's in trouble, and everything that you thought was important means absolutely nothing.”

The man was beginning to ramble. Riley knew the signs; the far-off glaze in the eyes, the gradual relaxing of the body, the voicing of profound thoughts, the re-evaluation of priorities. Riley had witnessed it a thousand times during his residency. After discovering that their loved ones would be okay, people slowly decelerated from a state of high anxiety.

“I don't have any children of my own,” Riley told him, “but I can imagine how that would be true.”

The doors of the elevator parted just as the bell announced its arrival. An orderly pushed a huge gurney out into the hallway right in front of them.

“There he is now.” Richard's voice brightened considerably at the sight of his son. Riley didn't have to be told this was Jason. He looked a lot like Richard.

A white bandage slashed across the young man's forehead and temple. A small line of blood showed through.

“Yup,” Jason said, grinning easily. “Seems I'm going to live.”

Apparently, the sound of the elevator bell had Carrie checking the hallway. The instant she saw her son, she came rushing toward them. “So my boy's going to be all right?”

“I promised you I would be, didn't I?” Jason's teasing caused the anxiety on Carrie's face to ease.

“You did.” She latched on to her son's hand, following the gurney back toward the exam room. “Hello, Dr. Ja
cobs,” she said. “Have you met Jason? He's my pride and joy.”

“I haven't.” Riley looked at the young man. “How are you?”

“Believe me,” Jason quipped, reaching up to touch the area of his wound tenderly, “I feel much better than I look.”

The kid had a good attitude, Riley had to give him that. And he was devoted to his mother. It showed in the way his eyes lit up when he looked at her. But he seemed a tad uncertain about Richard. Jason kept casting quick, nervous glances at the man. Riley guessed that was quite natural since father and son were just getting to know each other.

Richard had moved around next to Carrie, and Riley couldn't help but notice how the three of them made a nice-looking little family. When they reached the door, Riley bid them all goodbye.

Then he remembered the NoWait he'd picked up off the table at the pub, and he was struck with the overpowering urge just to be rid of it.

“Richard,” he said from the exam room doorway, “can I talk to you?”

Falling into step beside Riley in the empty hallway, Richard said, “What can I do for you?”

Riley stopped, reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue vial. “I was wondering if you could take this back to the lab when you go.”

“Where'd you get this?” Richard asked.

Riley's jaw tensed. “Let's just say someone I know wanted to give NoWait a try. I confiscated it but not before we experienced some impressive results.” He frowned. “I'll be very interested to see the data you come up with in the testing. That stuff is pretty powerful.”

“Powerful?” Richard shook his head. “Nah. This stuff isn't going to do anything.”

“What?” Riley was confused. “What do you mean? It's NoWait. It came from the lab.”

“Oh, it came from the lab all right. But the oil in the blue vials is the placebo. The control. It's nothing more than vitamin E. Faye told me about it today. The techs haven't prepared the vials of NoWait yet.”

“No way,” Riley argued.

It couldn't be true. Riley remembered his romantic evening with Catherine, and how things had so quickly turned mind-numbingly explosive when they'd kissed and touched and—

“That's NoWait, Richard. It's got to be.”

Richard uncapped the vial and took a whiff. He shook his head. “No. There's no scent. See for yourself.”

He held it out, and Riley leaned forward and sniffed. No odor whatsoever. He knew full well that a fragrance had been added to NoWait. A pleasant, citrusy smell with a hint of musk.

“That's a problem we're going to have to deal with,” Richard explained. “Making the control smell like the original NoWait so that the volunteers won't know whether they have the real thing or the placebo.”

The implications of what Riley was learning were slow to sink in. He stood there staring at the vial.

“Whatever experience you—” Richard stopped and quickly corrected himself. “Whoever it was you took this from had an experience that had nothing to do with NoWait.”

“But…” Riley let the thought peter out. He couldn't even remember what he'd been about to say.

“Hey, buddy—” Richard gently punched him on the
shoulder “—a person can't complain about good sex. Right?”

Dumbfounded, Riley just nodded. He offered a vague goodbye and then headed down the hall that led to the lobby.

“Excuse me,” a woman said. “Are you Dr. Riley Jacobs?”

Riley was still too stupefied to do anything but nod.

“I'm Suzanne Smith from the
Oregonian.
I hear you're some kind of doctor.” She grinned. “From what I'm told, you've got astounding dexterity with ordinary eating utensils. Would you answer a few questions?”

Riley was still standing with the note-taking journalist when the ER Chief called out to him from the doorway that separated the inner workings of the ER from the lobby and waiting area.

“Excuse me,” Riley said to the reporter, relieved to have an escape. “I have to go.”

Apparently, the woman knew Riley was being summoned by the department head. “Dr. Hall's the boss around here, isn't he? Think he'd answer a few questions for the article?” As a carrot, she added, “It'll make for some good press for Portland General.”

“I can't promise,” Riley told her, “but I'll certainly ask.”

“Thanks,” the reporter called after him.

Dr. Thomas Hall was the man under whom Riley had worked during his residency here at the ER. Hall was a perfectionist who expected only the best. Working for him had been difficult, but Riley owed a lot to the man's tough standards.

They shook hands.

“She from the
Oregonian?
” Dr. Hall asked, indicating the reporter several yards behind Riley.

“I think so.” He couldn't admit that he'd been in such a fog that he couldn't remember the name of the paper or the journalist. “She'd like to talk to you.” Riley felt suddenly uncomfortable being the center of attention. It was one thing to discuss his ordeal with colleagues, but talking to the media was different. “She thinks this is newsworthy.”