Under the Knife(89)

He slipped on a puckish grin and, with it, the role of corporate mole.

“You know I can’t tell you that. The last thing I need is to end up on the front page of the Journal. Bad for business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Consulting.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “I’m Constance.” She offered her hand. Sebastian took it. It was warm and inviting, like a spot by the fire on a cold night. “Call me Connie.”

“Sebastian.” No harm in telling her. It wouldn’t be his name for much longer.

“First name, or last?”

“Both.”

She laughed and leaned toward him. He caught a whiff of her perfume. Poison. Very nice. “Come on,” she said in a hushed tone, as if the two of them were hatching a conspiracy. “Tell me who you’re working with, Sebastian. Strictly off the record.”

Sebastian glanced around.

“Off the record?”

“Strictly.”

“Off the record, Connie: I know there’s no such thing in your business as off the record.” Such beautiful lips.

“Fair enough.” The beautiful lips turned downward. “But I’d bet you’re down here for the same reason I am.”

She pulled her phone from her purse and started checking messages. “You’re not going to get much else either, I’m afraid,” she said matter-of-factly. “I saw Montgomery leave here a while ago, all in a huff. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t give me the time of day. I think he’s hiding something.” The phone was back in her purse, and she was staring off in another direction, as if something had caught her attention.

“Right. Well, I thought, couldn’t hurt to try, I guess—”

“So. I’ve got this deadline. You understand. Good luck, Seymour.”

Sebastian, he thought indignantly, watching her glide away without so much as a glance back at him. The name’s Sebastian.

For a little while longer, anyway.

He stood there like a jerk for ten seconds before coming to his senses. Goddamn unprofessional. His exasperation with himself was matched only by his admiration for her and how well she’d played him. Now there’s a professional. This distraction had cost him time. His ear buzzed with static from Wu’s feed. He flashed his ID to the big security guard with the paperback novel and hustled into the ER.

At the nurses’ station, an enormous guy in a long white coat, blue polo shirt, and grey slacks was rising from a chair in front of a computer screen. Sebastian recognized him immediately.

He was in the OR this morning.

Yeah. The one standing near the robot, scratching his ear. Coincidence? Maybe, but Sebastian wasn’t a big believer in coincidence. As the guy made for the exit, Sebastian’s eyes swept over the words embroidered on his white coat.

SPENCER W. CAMERON, M.D. NEUROSURGERY.

He’d have to follow up on that. But no time now. He made a mental note, strolled toward room 5 and (careful, don’t let anyone notice you) peeked in as he passed by the open door.

Wu was in there, alone, resting in bed. Her eyes were closed.

Well. Nothing going on here.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian moved to a quiet corner of the ER. “All clear here, boss. Everything looks fine.”

“I still don’t have a signal.”

“I know. Me either.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Wouldn’t be the first time a device failed, though. Does it matter?”

A beat, and then: “No. No, I don’t suppose it does.”

“So we continue with the plan?”

“Yes.”





SPENCER


After walking to his office—a small, comfortable space on Turner’s fourth floor with a nice view of Torrey Pines golf course to the north—it took Spencer a full hour to work up the courage to call Raj.

“No worries, man.” Raj shrugged off Spencer’s repeated apologies. “It’s all good, ’brah. I just … I don’t want to see you get, you know—hurt. Again. But I understand. Totally. If I’d been you, I’d have taken a slug at me.”

Spencer laughed. “Fair enough. Listen. Raj. I went to see Rita over in the ER, after I talked to you. It turned out they wanted a neurosurgeon to evaluate her.”

Silence.

Had the call dropped?

“Raj? Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear what I said? About Rita?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“She, uh—she had kind of … some strange things to say. An interesting version of this morning’s events.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You mind if I bounce it off you?”

“I’m all ears.” But the coolness in Raj’s tone suggested otherwise.

Spencer filled Raj in on all Rita had told him. Waking up in the OR. Her ear. Finney. The irresistible urge to operate, her ER conversation with Chase. When he was done, Raj said, cautiously, “Spence, man…”

“I know, I know—an elaborate delusion of a paranoid schizophrenic. Right? But there was something about her MRI that bothered me, Raj.”

“What?”