Taming the Playboy

“Maybe not,” she allowed, “but it would be a waste of time and money. I didn’t even hit my head.”

The hell she didn’t. “Then what’s this?” Georges asked as he moved back wispy blond bangs from her forehead. A nice-sized bump had begun to form above her right eye. He ran his thumb ever so lightly across it.

Vienna tried not to wince in response, but he saw the slight movement that indicated pain.

She feathered her fingers just on the outer edges of the area and shrugged. “Okay, maybe I did hit my head, but not so that I saw stars,” she insisted. “It was my grandfather who got the brunt of the impact.” Even as she said it, she could see the events moving in slow motion in her mind’s eye. It was a struggle not to shiver. Her expression turned somber. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. Fearful. “How is he?”

“You haven’t been out that long,” he told her. “Your grandfather’s not back from X-ray yet.” Pausing, he studied her for a second.

She shifted slightly, trying to stand as straight as she could. She did not want to argue about getting more tests again. “What?”

“Just before you took your unofficial ‘nap,” ’ he said tactfully, “you were about to go to the registration desk to give the administrative assistant your grandfather’s insurance information.”

Now she remembered, Vienna thought. Edging over to the front of the stall, she inadvertently brushed up against the doctor and instantly felt her body tightening.

Reflexes alive and well, she congratulated herself.

Taking a deep breath, she announced, “Okay, let’s go.”

But he didn’t seem all that ready to take her where she needed to go. Instead, he regarded her for another long moment, as if he expected her to faint again. “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

In response, she left the curtained enclosure. He quickly fell into step beside her, indicating that she needed to turn right at the end of the hallway. Vienna noticed several nurses watching them as they passed.

“Do you take such good care of all your patients?” she asked.

He appeared to consider her question, then deadpanned, “Only the ones I rescue from a burning car.”

“Oh.” A smile flickered across her lips, teasing dimples into existence on either cheek. “Lucky thing for me.”

They walked through a set of swinging doors. As he brought her over to the first available space in the registration area, his cell phone began to ring.

“She has insurance information about a patient who was just brought in to the E.R.,” he told the young girl behind the desk, then turned to Vienna as the phone rang again. “I’ve got to take this.”

Vienna nodded. “Of course.”

Taking the cell out of his jacket pocket as he moved away from the desk, Georges glanced down at the number. And winced inwardly.

Diana.

He’d completely forgotten about her. And about his date. He supposed if he hurried, he could still salvage some of the evening.

Georges was considering the option when he saw two policemen entering the E.R., coming from within the hospital rather than via the back entrance the way they had. By their unhurried demeanor, intuition told him the patrolmen were here to see Vienna. Since he’d seen everything that had gone down, that made him a material witness. Which meant that he was going to have to stick around to give his statement, as well.

That made his mind up for him.

Flipping the phone open on the fifth ring, he turned away from the desk. “Diana, hi. I am so sorry. I know I’m late, but I was involved in an accident—”

“An accident?” the voice on the other end repeated breathlessly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, but the police just got here and I’m going to have to give them my statement. I’ve got no idea how long this is going to take.” He caught himself looking over toward Vienna, wondering if she was going to be up to this. “I’m afraid that I’m going to need a rain check.”

“This is Southern California. It doesn’t rain here this time of year,” Diana reminded him. But she didn’t sound angry, just disappointed.

“We can do our own rain dance,” he promised, lowering his voice.

He heard her laugh and felt a sense of satisfaction. She’d forgiven him. “That I’d like to see. All right, call me, lover, whenever you’re free.”

“Count on it,” he told her. Ending the call, he flipped the phone closed and pocketed it again. Georges turned around just in time to see the two policemen position themselves on both sides of Vienna’s chair. That same protective instinct that had had him throwing his body over hers when the car burst into flames stirred inside his chest.

He quickly crossed back to her, but he was looking at the patrolmen as he approached. “Can I be of any help, officers?” he asked easily.

The younger of the two policeman gave him a once-over before speaking. “That all depends. You have any information about this car accident on PCH that was reported?”

Boy, have I got some information for you, he thought. Out loud, he said, “As a matter of fact, I do. But first, how did you find out about it?” he asked. He’d given Vienna the number to the hospital to summon an ambulance, not 911.

The younger of the two looked reluctant to divulge any information at all. When he remained silent, his partner said, “Paramedics called it in. Someone named Howard. Told us where to find you.” The last statement was directed to Vienna.

Howard. He should have known, Georges thought. The EMT wasn’t kidding when he talked about adhering to the rules.

Georges glanced over toward an alcove. E.R. doctors typically retreated there to write their reports without being disturbed. The area was empty at the moment.

“Why don’t we move over there, out of the way?” he suggested, indicating the alcove. Not waiting for the policemen to agree, he put his hand beneath Vienna’s elbow and helped her up from the chair.

“You a doctor?” the other policeman, older than his partner by at least a decade, asked as he followed behind them.

Taking out the badge that was still in his pocket, Georges hung it about his neck. “Yes.”

“Lucky for the people involved,” the older patrolman commented. As the tallest, he stood on the outer perimeter of the space, allowing his partner and the other two to assemble within a space that normally held no more than two.

The patrolmen left half an hour later, satisfied with the report they’d gotten and armed with the make and model, as well as license plate number, of the hit-and-run driver’s vehicle. The younger patrolman had even cracked a slight smile. The older one promised they would be in touch the moment there was something to report.

Vienna had held up well during the questioning, Georges thought as the two men in blue took their leave, but now she looked drained. Concern returned.

The moment the policeman walked away from the alcove, Vienna turned toward him and put her hand on his arm, securing his attention. He thought she was going to ask if she could lie down again.

Instead, she asked, “Could you go see how my grandfather’s doing?”

“Sure.” Glancing to the side, he saw the administrative assistant they’d initially been talking to standing in the corridor, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Rather than ask the woman if anything was wrong, Georges crossed to her and used his body to block her view of Vienna. And vice versa.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice low enough not to carry back to the alcove just in case the assistant had come to say something about Vienna’s grandfather.

The assistant looked uncomfortable being pushy, but her job demanded it. “I still need that insurance information. All I’ve got is the guy’s name and half an address. I need more.”

Relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious, Georges nodded sympathetically. “Sure you do.” But in his opinion, Vienna needed a break. She’d been answering questions steadily for twenty minutes. He’d given his statement to the older of the policemen while she had been grilled by the younger one. “Look, how about I get the insurance information to you in a little while?”

The assistant hesitated, wavering. “Technically, you’re not supposed to start any work on him until I have something for his record.”

“You have something,” he told her smoothly, placing his hand on hers and turning her away from the alcove and back toward her own area. “You have my word.” Covertly, he read the name on her tag and added, “Amanda.”

The personal touch, he’d found time and again, always helped to move things along in the right direction.

Amanda seemed flustered now, as well as uncertain. “You sure you’ll get that information to me?”

Georges nodded. “Just as soon as I can, Amanda,” he promised, then winked as if that made it their little secret.

Amanda was already backing away to return to her desk. “I guess it’s okay.”

He flashed a grin. “You’re a doll.” The blush that rose to the woman’s cheeks told him that he had sealed the bargain.

Going back into the rear of the E.R., it didn’t take him long to find Murphy. The latter was dealing with a screaming infant with colic. The first-time parents both seemed at the end of their collective emotional ropes. Flanking both sides of the raised railings of the baby’s bed, they peppered Murphy with questions, one dovetailing into another.

When he approached Murphy, the physician looked relieved to see him.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, extricating himself from the circle of noise. Moving toward the side, Murphy shook his head. “I’m going to have to have my hearing checked after tonight. I think I’ve lost the ability to hear anything at a high frequency.” Blowing out a breath, he glanced up at Georges. “You’re going to ask me about the old man, right?”

Georges saw no point in wasting time, even though he knew Murphy wasn’t anxious to get back to his tiny patient and his overwrought parents. “Are his films back yet?”

Murphy nodded. “Just. I’ve put out a call for an internal surgeon and I want a consult with Dr. Greywolf,” he added, mentioning one of Blair’s top heart surgeons.

“What’s wrong with him?” Georges pressed.

Murphy rattled off the important particulars. “His spleen’s been damaged, his liver was bruised in the accident and several ribs were cracked, not to mention that he did have a minor heart attack. Nice work bringing him around, by the way.”

It never hurt to have one of the chief attendings compliment your work, Georges thought. “Thanks.” But right now, he was more interested in the answer to his next question. “Who’d you call for the surgery?”

“Rob Schulman. He’s on call for the night. I’m trying to get Darren Patterson to act as assistant on the procedures, but so far, Patterson’s not answering his page.”

Georges didn’t even have to think about it. “I can assist,” he volunteered. Murphy eyed him skeptically. All surgical residents were eager to operate whenever possible, but this went beyond wanting to put in time in the O.R. He felt an obligation to the old man to see things through. “I’ve assisted Schulman before. If Patterson doesn’t answer by the time Schulman gets here—”

“You scrub in,” Murphy concluded, agreeing. The night shift was always down on viable personnel, and they worked with what they could get on short notice.

The baby’s screams grew louder again. Murphy gritted his teeth. “Any chance you want to fill in for me until Schulman shows up?”

Georges laughed and shook his head. “Not a chance. I put in my eighteen hours today.”

“Then why aren’t you dead on your feet?”

Georges grinned as he spread his hands innocently. “Clean living.”

“Not from what I hear,” Murphy responded. He turned around to walk back to the shrieking baby’s stall. “Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred,” he muttered under his breath.

“A doctor who quotes Tennyson. That should look good on your résumé,” Georges commented.

Murphy said something unintelligible as he disappeared into the stall.

Georges made his way back to Vienna.

The second she saw him, she was on her feet, her eyes opened wide like Bambi.

“My grandfather…”

Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to complete the question, afraid of being too optimistic. Afraid of the alternative even more. She held her breath, waiting for Georges to answer her.

“Is going to need surgery,” he told her, saying only what they both already knew. “He got a little banged up inside and we’re going to fix that,” he assured Vienna in a calm, soothing voice.

Relief wafted over her. Her grandfather was still alive. There was hope. And then she replayed the doctor’s words in her head.

“We?” she questioned. “Then you’ll be the one operating on him?”

“Dr. Schulman will be performing the surgery. He’s one of the best in the country. I’ll be assisting him if they can’t find anyone else.”

She took hold of his hand, her eyes on his, riveting him in place. “I don’t want anyone else,” she told him with such feeling it all but took his breath away. “I want you. I want you to be there.”

“They’re trying to locate another surgeon to assist, but—”

“No,” she interrupted. “You. I want you.” Her fingers closed over his hand. “You’ll help. I can feel it. It’s important that you be there for him during the operation. Please.”

Georges heard himself saying, “All right,” but, like a ventriloquist, she was the one who was drawing the words from his lips.

Chapter Four

The next moment, Vienna suddenly pulled back.

Georges probably thought she was crazy, she thought, and she didn’t want to alienate him. But she was certain that he had to be in the operating room.

It wasn’t that she thought of herself as clairvoyant, she just had these…feelings, for lack of a better word. Feelings that came to her every so often.

Feelings that always turned out to be true.

She’d had one of those feelings the day her parents were killed.

Vienna had been only eight at the time, still very much a child, but somehow, as they bid her goodbye, saying they would see her that evening, she instinctively knew that she was seeing Bill and Theresa Hollenbeck for the last time. She’d clung to each of her parents in turn, unwilling to release them, unable to make them understand that if they walked out that door, if they drove to Palm Springs to meet with her mother’s best friend and that woman’s fiancé, that they would never see another sunrise.

God knew she’d tried to tell them, but they had laughed and hugged her, and told her not to worry. That she was just held captive by an overactive imagination. And her grandfather’s stories. Amos Schwarzwalden, her mother’s father, was visiting from Austria at the time and they left her with him.

And drove out of her life forever.

The accident happened at six-thirty that evening. It was a huge pileup on I-5 that made all the local papers and the evening news. Seven cars had plowed into one another after a drunk driver had lost control of his car. A semi had swerved to avoid hitting the careening vehicle—and wound up hitting the seven other cars instead.

Miraculously, there’d only been two casualties. Tragically, those two casualties had been her parents.

It was the first time Vienna could remember ever having one of those “feelings.”

After that, there were other times, other occasions where a sense of uneasiness warned her that something bad was going to happen. But the feeling never came at regular intervals or even often. It didn’t occur often enough for her grandfather, who was the only one she shared this feeling with, to think she had some sort of extraordinary power. She didn’t consider herself a seer or someone with “the sight” as those in the old country were wont to say.

But her “intuitions” occurred just often enough for her not to ignore them when they did happen. And even though they had not warned her of the car accident that had nearly stolen her grandfather from her, they now made her feel that if this man who had come to their rescue was not in the O.R. when her grandfather was being operated on, something very serious was going to happen. Something that would not allow her grandfather to be part of her life anymore.

Her eyes met Georges’ and she flashed a rueful smile that instantly took him captive.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound as if I was coming unhinged,” Vienna apologized, but all the same, she continued holding on to his arm. “But I really do feel very strongly about this,” she emphasized. “You have to be in the operating room with my grandfather.”

Georges could all but feel the urgency rippling through her, transmitting itself to him. The woman was dead serious. They were running out of time and as far as he knew, Patterson had still not been located.

“All right,” Georges agreed gently. “I’ll go talk to the surgeon.” Placing his hand over hers, he squeezed it lightly and gave her an encouraging smile. “You sit tight, all right?”

Vienna was barely aware of nodding her head. She forced a smile to her lips.

“All right,” she murmured. “And thank you. Again.”

He merely nodded and then hurried away.

In the locker room, he quickly changed into scrubs. As he closed the locker door, he felt as if he was getting a second wind. Or was that his third one? He wasn’t altogether sure. By all rights, at this point in his day—or night—he should have been dead on his feet, looking forward to nothing more than spending the rest of the night in a reclining position—as he’d planned with Diana.

Instead, as he headed to scrub in, he felt suddenly invigorated. Ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound. The prospect of facing a surgery always did that to him. It put him on his toes and, Georges found, instantly transformed him into the very best version of himself.

He all but burst into the area where the sinks were and after greeting the surgeon, began the laborious process of getting ready to perform the procedure—in double time.

Rob Schulman was carefully scrubbing the area between his fingers with a small scrub brush. Every surgeon had superstitions. Schulman’s was to use a new scrub brush for every surgery. He glanced over toward Georges.

He seemed mildly amused at the energy he witnessed in the other man.

“Someday, Georges, you’re going to have to tell me what kind of vitamins you’re on.” When Georges looked over toward him quizzically, he elaborated. “I saw you eight hours ago and they tell me that except for two hours, you’ve been here all this time. What kind of a deal with the devil did you make?” Schulman asked. He paused to rotate his neck. Several cracks were heard to echo through the small area. The surgical nurses, waiting their turn, exchanged smiles. “Why is it you’re not falling on your face?”

“I scheduled that for after the surgery,” Georges replied with an easy air that hid the electrical current all but racing through him. Done, he gave his hands another once-over, just in case. “I want to thank you for letting me scrub in.”

Schulman laughed softly to himself, the high-pitched sound incongruous with man’s considerable bulk. “You’re welcome, but this time, it’s more of a matter of supply and demand, Georges. Murphy told me that they can’t find another assistant in time.”

They could have opted to wait. Or, in an emergency, Murphy could have scrubbed in. Carefree to a fault, Georges still knew better than to take anything for granted. He inclined his head toward the senior internal surgeon. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Schulman concentrated on his nail beds, scrubbing hard. “They tell me you brought him in.” He raised his brown eyes toward Georges for a second. “Hunting down your own patients these days?”

Georges pretended he hadn’t heard that line twice already this evening and flashed an easy smile at the man.

“I was on Pacific Coast Highway,” he told Schulman “The accident happened right behind me.”

“Lucky for the driver you were there,” Schulman commented. Finished, he leaned his elbow against the metal faucet handles and turned off the water. Bracing himself, he looked toward the swinging double doors that led into the operating room. “All right, let’s see if I can keep that luck going.”

Georges nodded. Finished with his own preparations for the surgery, he followed Schulman into the O.R., his own hands raised and ready to have surgical gloves slipped over them.

An eerie feeling passed over him the moment he’d said the words. Exactly one moment after he had pointed out to Schulman that an artery the latter had cauterized wasn’t, in fact, completely sealed.

With the old man’s organs all vying for space, it had been an easy matter to miss the slow seepage. The surgeon was focused on what he was doing, removing the spleen and resectioning the liver by removing a small, damaged portion no more than the size of a quarter. As all this went on—not to mention the presence of various instruments, suction tubes and clamps within the small area—the tiny bit of oozing had almost been overlooked. Would have been overlooked had something not caught his eye in that region.

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