Authors: Vicki Hinze
“I’m not lying to you, Joe.” Near tears, she looked up at him. “This is
. . .
difficult for me. All of my life, I’ve lived by
my
standards. I’ve lived by
my
code of ethics. I believed in them, and now they’re being challenged.” And they were losing. “It’s
. . .
hard.”
“This is about honor.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I understand honor.” His voice went soft, somber.
“I need time to come to terms with this. To sort through and make sure I can live with my actions.” She wrung her hands. “What I do—I have to be able to live with what I do, Joe.”
“You’re not debating on launching an initiative attack against a foreign power, honey.” He clasped her hands in his. “You’re just being honest about your feelings.”
“Yes. And I can’t afford to be wrong, can I?” She frowned up at him. “Isn’t something like this too important to be wrong?”
“It is to me.” His steely gaze softened. “You’re important to me.”
“Then give me the time I need to work through this. This is my integrity and self-respect, Joe. It’s my life.”
“Time.” Joe’s thoughts swirled, twisted and tumbled. His shoulders went stiff, and his hands went lax.
“Joe?” Sara swallowed hard. “Joe?”
His eyes went blank.
Lucidity had gone. What had triggered—
time.
The word
time.
So specific words
and
colors triggered his detachment.
Definitely sensory deprivation.
Sara wheeled Joe to his room in Isolation, settled him in, and then walked down to the second floor nurses’ station. Her emotions were in turmoil. Regret, resentment, guilt, anger—mostly self-directed—gnawed at her, and under it all, that sense of what was between her and Joe feeling so right. How could anything wrong feel so right?
Shank frowned at Sara from across the desk. “Fontaine’s been looking for you. Word is, he’s heard about the hug. Before you can get to his office, I expect he’ll also have heard about the kiss.”
“How could he know about that?” Sara’s face burned hot. “How can you?”
“Half the facility knows. Mick Bush observed it.”
Oh, hell. Terrific. Just
. . .
terrific.
“Word is, you’re pretty torn up about falling in love with a patient. Is that true, Sara?” Shank asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great. Don’t I look great? Why wouldn’t I be great?” Her professional reputation was shattered, her character was in question, and her integrity—something she had fought hard all her life to protect—was shot. She was just damn thrilled.
Sara grabbed the phone and called down to Fontaine’s office. Martha issued her summons, sounding snobbier than usual. Sara cut her off mid-sentence. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“Make it five. Dr. Fontaine—”
“Don’t damn push me, Martha. I’m sick of it,” Sara erupted. “I’ll be there in ten, and that’s final.” She slammed down the phone.
Shank grabbed Sara by the sleeve and led her into the med room, then shut the door behind them, leaving a gape jawed Beth openly watching.
Turning her back to the glass, Shank shook Sara. “Are you crazy?”
“Maybe. It’s possible. Hell, it’s highly probable.” Grunting, she shoved back her hair. “But not for what I said to Martha. She deserved what she got.”
“Maybe.” Shank frowned. “But giving it to her like that still wasn’t a brilliant move.”
“Probably not. But I’m sick of being pushed around, and I’m damn tired of Fontaine’s interference.”
“Then pop his ass. Pop Martha’s, too. But do it the smart way. The right way, Sara. Not in a way that’s going to get you hurt.” Shank glanced back through the glass. Beth stood watching their every move. “Fontaine will have Mick Bush following you so closely now he’ll be between you and your shadow.”
“Okay. Okay, I blew it.” Sara paced a short path between the metal rack holding supplies and the far end of the small room.
“Yeah, you did. But that’s okay. Under the doc, you’re a woman, and even women who don’t want to, have feelings.” Shank softened her tone. “All of this upset isn’t about Fontaine. It’s about your feelings for Joe.”
“Oh, I’m plenty upset with Fontaine,” Sara assured her.
“You’re more upset with yourself about Joe.” Shank’s expression softened. “Look, you can tell me to mind my own business. You can tell me to go to hell. But don’t lie to me, okay? There’s enough of that here, away from me and you.”
“Of course I’m upset about my feelings for him.” Sara stiffened her hands into fists. “I feel guilty as hell. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m still not sure how it happened.”
“It happened the first time you saw him,” Shank said. “If you didn’t notice, it’s because you were blinded by it. Love’s like that, Sara.”
“Not for me.”
“Oh, above it all, eh? Not subject to the same emotions as the rest of the human race?” Shank grunted. “Listen to you. A great shrink, and you’re spouting garbage. Quit being stupid about this. So you fell in love. So what? You think in the history of mankind you’re the only person this has happened to?”
“It’s not supposed to happen to me.” Sara clenched her jaw.
“But it did.”
Sara shunned it. “It’s not right. It’s a matter of integrity.”
“Oh, I see.” Shank nodded. “So you’ve lied to him.”
“I have not.”
“Then you took advantage of him and plan to exploit him?”
“Of course not. But you’re splitting hairs, Shank. You know damn well crossing professional lines is wrong.”
“What I know is that love is a rare and fragile thing, and if you don’t recognize it for the gift it is, then you’re an ungrateful fool, because few of us ever get to experience it.” Shank blinked hard. “If ever men needed pure love, it’s the men in here, Sara. Count your blessings and let Joe count his. Flat out.”
“I can’t do that.” Sara’s voice cracked. “Don’t you see? I can’t do that.”
Shank expelled an exasperated breath. “You’re the only one who can. But first you’ve got to forgive yourself for being human. Celebrate life, Sara. Give yourself permission to love. God knows you want it, and he needs it. Love can heal him in ways you can’t imagine.”
“It’s
not
right.” Why couldn’t Sara get the woman to understand?
“Love that’s pure is never wrong.” Shank gave Sara’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Never. You think about that.”
Sara didn’t know what to say. Her heart and mind couldn’t agree.
“Now, you’d better get down to Fontaine’s office and grovel a little to calm him down. Don’t antagonize him, Sara. He’s not a fool,, and he will get his pound of flesh, no matter who he has to hurt to do it.”
With Shank’s warning echoing in her mind, Sara took the elevator to the first floor. Fontaine would get his pound of flesh. From her, or Jarrod.
The elevator door opened—and Mick Bush stood waiting, his eyes glinting anger. “Dr. Fontaine thought you might need an escort to find your way to his office.” Mick’s hand was on his gun.
The full impact of Shank’s warning hit Sara. “I know the way, Mick. I was with a patient who couldn’t wait.”
“I noticed.” Mick lifted a hand. “This way, Major.”
Embarrassed, her face went hot and her temper rose. But she had no defense. None. So she stiffened her spine and did her best to cool both.
Fontaine raged.
Sara stared at his empty desktop, at the photo of his wife, wondering when she’d get back from her European vacation and divert some of his attention.
“Since the moment you arrived,” Fontaine said, “you have disrupted the normal functioning of this facility. You’ve deliberately and willfully committed acts that you knew were in direct violation of policy and acceptable procedure. Now, not only are you developing an intimate relationship with a mentally diminished patient, you’re taking him outside. Patients who require isolation are
not
permitted outside, Doctor.”
Of all her transgressions, Fontaine took greatest exception to her taking Joe outside? Maybe it
was
Fontaine and not Foster who wanted Joe isolated and sensory-deprived.
Fontaine crossed his chest with his arms. “You embraced ADR-30.”
William, the backstabbing cutthroat, had ratted on her. “I hugged him, yes. It’s not uncommon, sir.”
“Oh.” Fontaine tapped his fingers against his forearm. “And is kissing your patients common, too?”
Sara saw red. Chewing her backside was fine—she’d earned it—but being condescending was
not
fine.
“Let me explain this to you one more time, Doctor. I have full authority over my patients. The DoD agreement supersedes your opinion of my actions. Continue with this judgmental interference, and I’ll have no choice but to report that you’re hindering my research and request an immediate transfer.”
“Your research?
What
research?” He guffawed. “Cease and desist violating facility rules, regulations, and policies. Now, Major. Or get the hell out of my facility.”
“If I go, my patients go with me.” Counting her blessings that he couldn’t just kick her out, she stared across his desk at him. “Is that what you want, sir?”
Fontaine hesitated. The veins in his neck bulged. “I’ll take that under advisement and notify you. There is an alternative you’re forgetting. I could contact the OSI or the IG and request a full investigation of your conduct.”
More military acronyms. Fortunately, both of these Sara had encountered on numerous occasions in her search for information on David. The Office of Special Investigations checked into all manner of suspected improprieties, from contract inconsistencies to unacceptable personal conduct allegations all the way to murder investigations. The Inspector General could be called in to investigate any incident in which violations of military law, rules, and/or regulations were suspected. In her experience, the men and women in both organizations had been fair and thorough. “I’d welcome either one, sir,” she told Fontaine. “Any time.”
Anger contorted his face. Obviously, that hadn’t been his hoped-for response. “I’ll apprise you of my decision. For now, get the hell out of my office.”
“Yes, sir.” Sara saluted, then turned and left, choking on curses clogging her throat.
Jarrod walked barefoot in the grass.
Shading her eyes from the sun with a hand cupped to her brow, Sara stepped back from the edge of the pond and watched him. Obviously, he loved it. He was usually calmer outside, but today she sensed he felt restless and on-edge. “Joe, where did you get the clothes?” He was dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt.
Bending down, he scooped up a rock. “Martha said you sent them.”
Martha. This was not good news. Martha brought specific things to mind, like summonses and electronic listening devices.
He tossed the rock into the pond and watched the water splash and ripple. When it had calmed, he brushed the grit from his hands and turned to her. “I want to say something.”
“This might not be the best time.” Sara deliberately blinked.
He frowned and nodded.
She motioned to the hedge maze, then walked toward it. When they stepped inside it, she tugged at her ear then patted her pockets, signaling Joe to check himself out.
Understanding flickered in his eyes. He turned his jeans pockets inside out, pulled the tail of his T-shirt from his pants, then ran his fingers around its hem. When he began ripping, Sara knew he’d found something.
He examined the bug, showed it to Sara, and then tossed it toward the pond. “Damn you, Martha.”
“Not Martha,” Sara corrected him. “Fontaine.”
Joe strode deeper into the maze, burning off some anger.
Sara followed him. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Jarrod stopped and faced her. “No. No, I’m not okay. I swore I wouldn’t care about one person again. That’s why I do what I do. But I was wrong, Sara. Like it or not, I do care. I care about you.”
Understanding that restlessness and turmoil now, she stopped at a little alcove among the sweet-smelling hedge. It was time for the truth. “I promised myself I wouldn’t, and I know I shouldn’t, but I care about you, too.”
“Good.” A taut muscle in his face relaxed, and he reached out, clasped her hand in his.