Under the Knife(12)
“Sebastian.”
The response in his earpiece was immediate. “Here, boss.”
“I need to temporarily cut your feed.”
A beat. “Why?”
Finney liked Sebastian, insofar as he was capable of liking a man like him. Sebastian was good. Sebastian had come to him by way of the highest recommendations from discreet parties and had never failed to impress.
Truly, though, the man could be a royal pain in the ass sometimes. He had a tendency to ask the most exasperating questions and to forget his place. Like now. Why should it matter to Sebastian why Finney wanted to cut the feed?
“Because I want to, Sebastian.”
I want to be alone with her.
“Are you sure, boss?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Not long. Just until she’s primed for embedding.”
A pause. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Finney. We really shouldn’t deviate from the plan.”
“We agreed that I’d be the one to prepare her for embedding. We don’t both need to be involved.”
“Technically, yes. But redundancy is always good, boss. What if something unexpected happens? I think we should stick to the original plan.”
“Duly noted, Sebastian.”
Finney was holding a tablet. He touched an icon on the screen.
I want some alone time with her, Sebastian.
For the time being, it was going to be just himself and the good Dr. Wu.
He was going to enjoy this.
But he still didn’t smile.
SEBASTIAN
“Boss? Boss?”
No answer.
Asshole.
Finney had cut his audio feed.
Asshole!
What was he playing at? Why didn’t Finney want him to know what he was saying to the surgeon chick?
He was already in position, so Sebastian waited where he was.
He had no choice.
RITA
Rita opened her eyes and let go of her father’s dog tags.
The throbbing in her head was still there, but her panic was gone.
She drew herself up straight and set her jaw in what she thought (hoped) was a commanding way, as if performing complex surgery rather than swaddling herself in blankets like a Red Cross disaster refugee.
“I’m fine. Just a little tired. I must have dozed off.”
“Dozed off?” Lisa asked, puzzled. “But … what were you doing here?”
A mental scene from last night, hazy at the edges, played out in Rita’s mind, a snippet of an event that she was reasonably certain had happened.
“I came in last night to prep for this morning’s surgery.”
Wendy spoke up excitedly. “You mean—you were here all night?”
“Yes. I must have fallen asleep.”
“You … fell asleep?” Lisa said. She was trying to stifle her incredulity. “Here? In the operating room?”
More of Rita’s memory was returning. Yes, she was pretty sure she’d walked, under her own power, into operating room number ten last night to check on the auto-surgeon system. She remembered turning the system on, testing its components, and running through the pre-op checklists as she’d done thousands of times before.
And then …
She hadn’t the faintest idea of what had happened next.
No weakness.
She shrugged. “You guys know me. I like to come in and prep for the big cases the night before. Our auto-surgeon case this morning is as big as they get. I worked a little later than I planned last night, and I got tired. That’s all.”
There. That sounded okay. Rita knew she had a reputation for working late hours in the OR, and her involvement with the auto-surgeon was common knowledge. She must have dozed off. It was plausible.
Wasn’t it?
“So you decided to … sleep here?” Lisa said.
“Yes.”
“On—the OR table?”
Rita hesitated, then said: “Yes. I must have—I mean, I put my head down for a second, but I guess I drifted off.”
“Naked?” Wendy tittered. She appeared to be enjoying herself. What an interesting way for her to kick off a Monday morning.
“I sleep naked at home,” Rita said.
No, I don’t.
At least, not when alone in bed; and she’d been alone in bed since ending things with Spencer last year.
Spencer.
She found herself wishing he were here.
No weakness, lovely Rita.
“Sometimes, I sleepwalk,” she ventured. That was true. It didn’t happen often—once every few years since high school. She’d gotten used to it: waking up in the middle of the night in odd places throughout the house. One time last year she’d found herself in the kitchen at three in the morning with the refrigerator door wide open and a plate of leftover pasta sitting on the counter.
She forced a laugh, which sounded to her like a braying donkey. “I must have undressed myself without realizing it. God, how embarrassing.”
Lisa and Wendy looked unconvinced. Rita admitted to herself that her story strained credulity. But she’d heard of sleepwalkers doing crazier things—even drive a car—so why couldn’t she have undressed herself?