Under the Knife(44)

“Oh? From where?”

“UCLA.”

“Good for her. That’s a great school.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you, Doctor.” His chest expanded to temporarily dwarf the soft prominence of his belly. Mrs. Sanchez beamed her approval. “She wants to meet you. She’s heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, yes, Doctor.” He grinned. “All good.”

You told us everything was going to be fine.

But it wasn’t.

She shook each of their hands again, indicated that she would visit with Mr. Sanchez and their daughter after the operation, and left them. At the door to pre-op, she cast one last glance over her shoulder.

Mr. Sanchez had stood up and was leaning over the bed, pressing his forehead against his wife’s. They were holding hands.

She was really going to do this. Operate this morning.

A part of her—an unpleasant, foreign-seeming part—was pleased.

The rest of her was dismayed.

God help me.

“Well done, Dr. Wu,” Finney said. “Well done.”

What am I doing?





SEBASTIAN


Well.

That was that. It had worked. So far, so good.

The tiny receiver nestled in his ear (not one of Finney’s devices, thank Christ) crackled. “Sebastian.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Dr. Montgomery is delaying the surgery. We have some extra time before execution of the primary command. Unexpected. But not problematic.”

Execution of the primary command. Finney sounded like a goddamn automaton. “Agreed. I think I should join the tour group, though. Keep an eye on Montgomery. Make sure he doesn’t switch anything else up on us. I’ll follow the tour and end up in OR 10, as we’d planned.”

“I agree. And Sebastian?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“I’m going to switch off your feed to Dr. Wu.”

Again. Sebastian sucked on his teeth. “For how long?”

“Until you reach the OR.”

“Why?”

“You need to concentrate on the tour. And Montgomery.”

Bullshit.

The tour would be a goddamn dog-and-pony show. No reason he couldn’t focus on both Montgomery and Wu at the same time.

What the hell are you really up to, boss?

“In the meantime, I’ll take care of the good Dr. Wu,” Finney said.

Sebastian sensed there was no point in debating. “Okay. If you say so, boss.”

“Inform me immediately of any new developments. Otherwise, I’ll speak to you again in a few hours, Sebastian.” Static spat in Sebastian’s ear, and Finney was gone.





SPENCER


“Good morning, Dr. Cameron.”

“Good morning, Wendy.” Spencer backed into OR 2 through its swinging double door. He kept his freshly scrubbed hands up in the air in front of him at shoulder height. Without dropping his hands, he turned around and approached the sterilized instrument table where Wendy, the scrub nurse, was waiting. She was already gowned and gloved. “How are you today?”

Wendy dropped a sterile towel over his hands and winked with an understated sexiness Spencer found appealing. He assumed she was winking at him: The nurses and anesthesia resident here were all women, and Bogart was unconscious. There weren’t any neurosurgery residents or med students around this morning because they were at a lecture. “I’m great today, Dr. C, because I get to be in your room.”

He chuckled as he dried his hands with a towel. “Oh, I bet you say that to all the surgeons.”

“No,” she said in a low voice. She kept her blue eyes fixed on his face. “I really don’t.”

Chrissy, the circulating nurse, was standing several feet away yet clearly keeping close tabs on their conversation. He caught her rolling her eyes. He couldn’t look like he was playing favorites, so he said: “Well, thanks, Wendy. I appreciate that. Good morning, Chrissy!”

“Good morning, Doctor!” she called back enthusiastically.

“Always a pleasure to be working with you.”

The crow’s-feet around Chrissy’s eyes lengthened. “Thank you, Doctor!”

The skin around Wendy’s eyes remained smooth. Her eyes moved briefly to Chrissy, then settled back on him. He found this appealing. How could he not? Her eyes were big and blue.

“Extralarge gown, right, Dr. C?”

“Yes.”

She dangled the sterile gown in front of him like a matador goading a bull with a cape. Spencer dropped the towel on the floor and stepped into the gown, pushing his arms into the sleeves. It was the biggest gown available yet so snug it barely fit him; he had trouble sliding his arms and shoulders into it. He always did. Chrissy helped secure the gown behind him as Wendy slipped on his (extralarge) sterile gloves.

He began to prepare Bogart for the biopsy. Next to him, Wendy turned to gather instruments from the sterile tray. Reflected light from her nose stud glinted from the gap between her cheek and the hem in her face mask.

“I just can’t believe the way these extralarge gowns barely fit you,” Wendy cooed. “It’s like you’re going to rip right out of it! Do you work out, Dr. C?”