" '"Some sort of foreign body." He slammed his fist against his thigh.
No! No, dammit! He forced his voice to remain calm, steady.
"Are the results in yet? " "Not yet. The senator's in the tunnel as we speak. Sal's fuming. He just wants to get the study done, give them a reading, and send them on their way so he can get to patients who really need the test."
"Can't say as I blame him." '"Since the senator's your patient, I can call you back with the reading if you want."
"No, thanks, Bob, " Duncan said slowly as a weight grew in his chest.
"Not necessary." I already know the reading.
His hand trembled as he hung up the receiver. He stared at his fingers. What were they vibrating with? Rage? Or heartache?
Gin knows.
He'd guessed she knew something, but until this moment he'd had no idea how much. Now there was no more guessing. Somehow she'd pieced together the who and the how, and maybe even the why.
But instead of coming to him, she'd gone to the FBI.
He wanted to break something, punch a hole in the wall, grab his chair and fling it through the picture window.
But no. He was not a maniac. He was in control. Although, looking at all this from Gin's perspective, she had to think he was psychotic. A paranoid schiz. He'd no doubt have thought the same thing if situations were reversed.
But he'd have gone to her first. He wouldn't have sneaked off and betrayed her to the kakistocracy.
Gin, my dear sygnet . . . how could you?
She'd cut him deeply today. He didn't know if he'd ever forgive her for this. But that was a question for another time Much more pressing was the question of what was he going to do now?
FALLOUT GINA WAITED, shuffling BETWEEN THE DICTATION DESK and the recovery rooms, checking on this morning's post-ops. A light load today, two rhinoplasties and a thigh liposuction. She wished there was more to do.
This waiting was killing her.
She glanced out the window of the main recovery room and noticed Duncan's cat was gone. She stopped by Barbara's desk on her way back.
"I don't know if he's coming back or not, " Barbara said. "I looked up and there he was, breezing past me. Didn't even say goodbye."
"It's not even noon yet." Barbara shrugged. "Maybe he's got a big weekend planned and wants an early starr. ' Gin wondered about that.
Usually he stayed later on Fridays, going over a list of things he wanted done or set up before surgery began again Monday morning. Why the change in routine today? Did he suspect something?
Got to stop thinking like that, she told herself, rubbing her upper arms as a chill of apprehension skittered across her shoulders. Nothing is different today. No reason to suspect a thing.
She would have loved to leave herself, but she was required to stay on duty until the last patient went home. So she stayed on, doing everything as usual, behaving as if nothing were wrong. It hadn't been such a tough decision. The thought of sitting alone in her apartment, waiting for the phone to ring, was hardly an enticing alternative.
Lunch hour came and went without her having a bite, couldn't think of eating a thing, and Gerry hadn't called. The afternoon dragged on.
Still no call. Gin was all caught up on her dictation and paperwork, and was running out of things to do. She heard Oliver puttering in his lab. She could have wandered over to help him out, but now, after what she knew, the thought of even being near those implants repulsed her.
Better to try to look busy until Gerry called.
By quarter after three Gin still hadn't heard, and she was beginning to worry. They should have had the reading by midmorning. Why hadn't he called?
Unless . . . her chest constricted at the thought . . . unless the Mr I showed that the implant had ruptured in the accident. They'd have had to rush Senator Marsden into emergency surgery before too much of the TPD leaked into his circulation.
What a nightmare scenario. But still, Gerry would have called to tell her.
She got up, wandered around upstairs, then came back. She couldn't sit still. What was happening downtown?
Finally she picked up the phone. Enough waiting. Time to make a call of her own. She dialed the FBI and asked for Gerry. After a moment on hold, the receptionist came back, "I'm sorry, but Special Agent Canney is not available now. Would you care to leave a message? " No, she wouldn't.
Gerry wasn't back yet? Could that be? She felt her anxiety level rising. The chart-lined walls around her seemed to lean over her, closing in.
Keep calm, she told herself. Everything's under control.
Quickly she dialed Senator Marsden's officer. When she asked how he was after the accident, Doris, the receptionist, said, "Oh, he's fine, Dr, Panzella. Want to speak to him? " Nonplussed, Gin mumbled something that vaguely resembled yes. "Gin, " the senator said without preamble, "I wish you could have been with me today. If ever there was an example of the need for the Guidelines act, it was the fiasco I witnessed this morning."
"Are you all right? " "Of course, I'm all right! There was never anything wrong with me. Yet they insisted on shoving me into this MRI machine and scanning my legs.
Everything happened so fast, I was squeezed into that tube before I was sure of what was going on and had a chance to protest."
"I'm sure they had good reason, " "They had no reason! Just trying to pad the bill! I'm curious.
"Maybe it was because you're a U. S. Senator, " she said, trying to mollify him. This was not what she wanted to talk about. "I'm sure they don't do that to everyone."
"Wait till I get the bill, " he said. "Just wait. Then they'll hear from me." Gin figured he'd have a long, long wait ''llh, did they find anything? ' she asked and then held her breath.
'"Find anything? Of course not! There wasn't anything to find!
Wasted half my morning because of a stupid hit-and run fender bender. ' Found nothing . . . hadn't they told him? Why not? What was going on?
Gin fumbled through the next minute of conversation, only half listening, replying with what she was sure were non sequiturs, and then somewhat less than gracefully ended the conversation.
Her mind spinning, she immediately called the FBI again, and again, Gerry was "nor available at this time ' She left her name and an urgenr message to call her as soon as possible.
And then she was up and moving. She had to get out, get some fresh air.
She hurried to her car and turned the heater on high. She was cold, but that wasn't why she was shivering. Dread settled around her like a tenebrous shroud.
Somewhere, somehow, something was terribly wrong.
The late afternoon had been endless. She'd taken a shower, fixed a sandwich that she didn't touch, tried to watch talk shows. She was going nuts.
When she hadn't heard from Gerry by half past six, Gin called his office again and was told he was gone for the day.
Why hadn't he called? Had he missed her message?
She called his home. He answered on the second ring.
"Gerry. Thank God! " "Gin. Hello." His voice sounded flat, lifeless.
"I've been trying to reach you all day. I've been going crazy here.
Didn't you get my message? " ""Going crazy, " he said. "That's a good one." A wave of cold formed at her center and spread outward. With the cordless phone tight against her ear, she stepped out of her bedroom and began pacing the front room.
"Gerry, what's wrong? " "What's wrong? Gin . . . " he sighed, then said nothing. The few silent seconds seemed to stretch into the night falling outside her bay window.
"Gin, there was nothing there. ' It wasn't a complete shock. Some part of her subconscious must have expected this but hadn't allowed her to face it directly. Now she had no choice.
Still, she couldn't accept it.