Passion's Dream (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 1) (21 page)

She let out a shriek, jerking it back out.  “Oh, my God!  That’s
hot!”

He just chuckled. “Hence the name.  Otherwise they’d have to call it a tepid tub.”

She clung to his neck.  “Well, they don’t call it a
boiling
tub, either!  I’m not a lobster, you know.”

“Okay.  Okay, baby, here, see?”  He turned on the cold tap.  “I’ll cool it off a bit, then we’ll put you in and let the heat build up gradually.”

Her lower lip quivered.  “I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to criticize, it’s just—I-I just—”For the second time in an hour she burst into tears.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, he held her while she cried, swishing his hand through the water until it felt noticeably cooler.  Then he turned off the cold water, removed his own clothes, lifted her up and stepped into the hot tub, lowering himself to a sitting position.  He leaned back against the side of the tub and turned her to face him, telling her to straddle his hips.  Taking both her hands, easing her down onto his lap, his erection a solid ridge between them.  Then he turned on the jets.  Putting his arms around her, he pulled her to him, burying his face against her neck, stroking his hands soothingly up and down her back.  “Okay, sweetheart.  Go ahead and cry.  Just let it all out.”

She slumped against him and gave in to her sobs.  Huge, gulping sobs that went on for a long, long time.  Until, finally exhausted, she just lay against him, letting her breathing slow and deepen.

He stood, setting her down on the bathmat, just holding her steady with one hand while he turned off the jets and drained the tub.  He dried her thoroughly and himself hastily, then led her out to the bed.  Holding up the sheet, he helped her crawl into the king-size bed and scoot toward the middle.  “On your knees baby, shoulders on the bed.  I’m going to remove the plug.”  She assumed the position, letting out a sigh as the smooth plug slid easily out of her ass.  She was asleep before her lungs reached the end of that breath.

His lips quirked wryly. 
Well, so much for spending the night making mad, passionate love
.  It wasn’t going to happen.  And it was probably for the best.  He was just as exhausted as she was.  He carried the plug into the bathroom, where he carefully washed it off and placed it in its box beside the sink.Then he walked around and got in on the other side of the bed and scooted into the middle.  He pulled her toward him, being careful not to awaken her, his cock hardening as she snuggled her body against him, fitting her ass into his groin.  But he sighed, ignoring his burgeoning erection.  This was not the time and probably wouldn’t be for quite a while.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Absolutely not!”  The doctor was outraged, the cords of his neck so rigid, they were standing out in high relief.  “He barely survived his surgery for God’s sake!  He’s in no condition to be moved!”

“Dr. Farley, please, hear me out,” Clay said, grabbing Everett Burke’s physician by the upper arm and leading him out of the room and down the hall toward the nurse’s station, so the man’s yelling wouldn’t wake up Burke.  Several nurses were talking to each other and one doctor, still wearing his surgical scrubs, cap, and booties, was reading a patient’s chart.  All of them had their backs turned toward Clay and the man he was talking to.  “Look, Dr. Farley, I am currently working undercover for Adam Sinclair of SinTech Securities.  This is his card”—he handed him Adam’s business card.  “You can check up on me if you like.  I believe Everett Burke’s life may be in danger and the only way I can keep him safe is to remove him from this hospital and take him to a location that I can control.”

“And where, exactly, would that be?” the doctor inquired snippily.  “Toad Suck, Arizona?”  Without even looking at the card, he shoved it into the breast pocket of his white lab coat.  He was a blustery, self-important little man who did not like having his authority questioned, not realizing that he actually
had
no authority.

Clay looked around.  The nurses had moved off.  Only the scrubs-clad doctor remained at the nurses’ station, one hand resting on the counter, one knee casually bent as he jotted down notations on the chart in front of him.  He appeared oblivious to anything else going on around him.

Clay’s head swiveled back to Milton Farley, M.D.  “I’d rather not say,” he hedged.  “And I believe Toad Suck is in Arkansas.”

“I demand to know where you’re taking him!” Dr. Farley shouted.  “And by whose authority you think you can just waltz in here and steal a critical care patient right out from under my nose!”

“Pipe down,” Clay commanded.  He glanced at the other doctor, still absorbed in his notations.  “All right, I’ll tell you,” he said, keeping his voice low.  He tightened his grip on Dr. Farley’s arm and began walking him down the hallway, leaning his head close to avoid being overheard.  “I want him transferred to Marshall County Medical Center in Marshall’s Creek, Virginia.”

“Virginia!” Farley bellowed.

Clay’s fingers tightened around Farley’s flabby arm until the doctor was doubled over in pain, gasping for breath.  Clay bent down with him, keeping his mouth next to the doctor’s ear.  “Keep your fucking voice down, you son of a bitch.”  He glanced back toward the nurse’s station, but no one seemed to be paying them the slightest bit of attention.  “If I’d wanted this blabbed all over the hospital I would have announced it over the fucking PA system.”

“If you do not release me
at once
” the doctor said coldly, not bothering to keep his voice down in the slightest.  “I will have you arrested for assault!  Now let go of my arm!”  Clay released him and they both straightened.  Clay crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the diminutive little man, fixing him with his most intimidating glare.  Not meeting Clay’s eyes, Dr. Farley jutted his chin and adjusted his tie with quick, jerky motions.  He shot his cuffs.  Then he tugged at the hem of his lab coat, all in an attempt to reclaim his dignity.  “Moving Mr. Burke is out of the question,” he snapped.  “The trip alone will kill him!  I don’t care
how
fine a facility you think Marshall whatever Medical Center is!  They cannot possibly match the quality of care he will be receiving here.”

Clay was fighting the urge to strangle the man when he heard someone calling his name.

“Raven!”

He turned to see a tall, scholarly-looking black man with close-cropped hair and wire-rimmed glasses walking toward them. He was wearing jeans, a burgundy polo shirt, and sneakers.  “Sorry I’m late, man.  Got here as soon as I could.”  He and Clay embraced, pounding each other on the back as they exchanged greetings and pleasantries, noticeably increasing Dr. Farley’s annoyance.

“Mr. Nighthorse,” he bit out, “Are we done here?  I must get back to my rounds.”

Clay turned back to the irritated man.  “Dr. Farley, I’d like to introduce Dr. Sam Norton.  Sam, this is Dr. Milton Farley.”

Dr. Farley’s eyes widened.  He was clearly taken aback.  “
The
Dr. Sam Norton?” he asked, holding out his hand diffidently, almost as if he half-expected the other man’s touch to turn it to gold.

Sam Norton just laughed and shook Farley’s hand.  “Well, I am at least
a
Dr. Sam Norton.  Don’t know about bein’
the
Sam Norton
,
though.  For all I know,” he joked, “every third doctor in the world could be named Sam Norton.”

“Not every third doctor in the world has your stellar reputation, Dr. Norton,” Farley assured him fatuously.  “You are pre-eminent in the field of cardiovascular surgery and your textbook is the industry standard.  It is an honor to meet you.  But”…his brows drew together…“I thought your practice was in L.A.  What are you doing here?”

“Raven’s an old Navy buddy.  He called me last night and asked if I would accompany Mr. Burke to Virginia, to ease your concerns about his welfare.  I agreed.  I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes here, Farley, but after what Raven told me about the circumstances leading up to Mr. Burke’s heart attack, I have to agree with him.  The longer he stays in this hospital, the more danger he’s in.”

“But he can’t even sit up!” Farley protested.  “How is he going to get on an airplane and fly three thousand miles across the country?”

“In a private Gulfstream jet,” Norton said, the finality in his tone letting the other man know that asking his permission was merely a courtesy.  That the decision had already been made and he, Dr. Milton Farley, M.D., had officially been replaced as Everett Burke’s physician.  “He will have his very own, private bedroom, where he will be personally monitored by yours truly.  I’ve arranged for a private ambulance to transport him to the airport, where all the equipment I’ll need is being set up as we speak.  Now, all we need is your signature on the release form and we’ll get out of your hair.”

Milton Farley clearly wanted to argue, but apparently thought better of it.  With a curt nod of his head, he stalked into the nurse’s station and began searching through drawers for the proper paperwork.  “Hey,” he addressed the other doctor, who was still standing there, although by this time he had finished making notations in the chart and was now typing something into one of the computers. “Do you know if they keep any release forms here at this station?”

“I don’t, sorry.”

“God damn it!  That means I’ll have to go all the way down to Patient Services to get one!”  Milton Farley stalked toward the bank of elevators, muttering beneath his breath, wondering what fucking idiot decided that building a hospital nearly twice as large as a football field was a good idea.  He stabbed the call button with his thumb, hitting it repeatedly, as if that would summon the elevator any faster.  When the elevator door opened, he went inside and did the same to the button marked L.

“Come on,” Clay said, clapping his hand on Sam Norton’s shoulder.  “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

As they walked away from the nurse’s station, the doctor looked at the site he’d Googled. 
SinTech Securities.  Headquartered in Marshall’s Creek, Virginia. 
Typing in “Marshall’s Creek, Virginia,” he noted its location, then clicked on Hospitals, stifling an exultant laugh. 
Marshall County Medical Center. 
He jabbed his index finger triumphantly at the screen before logging off.
  I’ve found you, you fucking bitch!  And I’m coming after you. 
With a smile that was pure evil, he rapped his knuckles against the metal cover of the chart he’d been scribbling nonsense all over, pretending to make notations.  He wondered idly what the real doctors would think when they saw it. Looking around to make sure he was unobserved, he began frantically opening drawers until he found what he was looking for.  A woman’s purse.  Quickly rifling through it, he found a wallet.  He left the cash—it was only twenty-seven bucks anyway—but removed three credit cards.

He turned one of them over and his eyes widened as he saw the four digit number printed on the back with a Sharpie pen. 
Oh!  My!  God!
  Each of the other cards had a different number on it. 
Stupid cunt actually wrote her PIN numbers on the backs
of her fucking credit cards!
 
Jeez, did I just hit the jackpot or what?  High fucking time, too!
  With any luck, she wouldn’t even notice they were missing until after he’d had a chance to do what he needed to do.  Get his hands on Leah Stanhope.
 
His face turned ugly.

Pocketing the credit cards, he ripped off the surgeon’s cap, mask and beard cover he’d donned to give himself as much of a disguise as possible, and tossed them in the trash.  He left the nurses’ station with a grin on his face. 
Now all I have to do is book a seat on the next flight to Richmond or Charlottesville, rent a car, and drive to Marshall’s Creek.  I’ll finally have Leah Stanhope right where I want her.  Dead. 
He sauntered toward the stairs, whistling beneath his breath.

While Clay was introducing Sam Norton to Leah and Daniel, the private ambulance crew arrived and efficiently transferred Everett Burke onto a gurney.  They re-connected all his various tubes and drips while Dr. Norton consulted Burke’s chart to see what medications were being added to the elderly patient’s IV drip.  He made a few notations and photographed the pages with his iPhone.  Clay just stood to the side with his arm around Leah, an amused expression on his face as he watched his friend take charge and get things done.  That’s what SEALs do, he thought, filled with pride.
  We get things done.

“What do you want me to do with all these flowers?” Daniel asked, startling Leah out of her reverie.

“What?”  She looked around, noticing for the first time that the room was literally over-run with floral arrangements.  They were on the windowsill, the night stand, the bed table, lined up on the floor along the walls.  “Oh.  Send them to some of the local nursing homes.  At least someone there will be able to enjoy them.”  Daniel left to get that taken care of.

When Dr. Farley came in with the hospital release form, Sam scribbled his name on the appropriate line, thanked the good doctor, and the EMT’s wheeled the patient out of the room, followed by Clay, Leah, Daniel, and Dr. Sam Norton.

An hour later, Everett Burke was comfortably ensconced in one of the plane’s staterooms.  Clay was in the cockpit with Simon Rafferty, acting as his co-pilot, running through the final checklist and preparing to pull back from the terminal.  Leah hovered anxiously at the foot of her uncle’s bed, watching Sam Norton remove the dressing and inspect the incision.  She winced at how long it was and how raw and red and painful it looked.  Dr. Norton began carefully placing the leads on Burke’s chest, hooking him up to the heart monitor that began its reassuring beep, beep, beep the minute he turned it on.  He watched the readout for a long moment, satisfying himself that everything was normal. Then he replaced the nearly-depleted bag of glucose and hung a fresh one, adding some sort of medication via syringe before adjusting the rate of drip.  Finally, he hooked his stethoscope, which had up until then been hanging around his neck, into his ears and listened to his patient’s heart.  Then he looked at Leah and smiled.  He had a lovely smile.  “Nice and strong.  Your uncle’s going to be fine,” he assured her.

Her knees went weak and she felt herself start to fall.  Before she knew what was happening, Dr. Sam was holding her up with one hand and shoving a chair beneath her with the other, bending her forward and pushing her head down between her knees.  After a few seconds she began to struggle, so he released her and stepped back.  When she sat up straight, her face was bright red, as much from humiliation as from being nearly upside down.

“Sorry,” she muttered, lifting her hand to wipe a few stray hairs off her forehead.  No matter how long she let it grow, there were always a few hairs that managed to escape the wide clip confining the rest of it at the nape of her neck.  “I’m not normally such a wuss.”

“Don’t be sorry.  Your reaction is normal and understandable.  Here.”  He handed her a bottle of water.  “Drink this.  Sip it slowly, don’t gulp.”

She did as he instructed.  “How do you and Clay know each other?” she asked curiously.

“We were SEAL teammates.  I left during his second year on the team to finish my residency and earn my Fellowship in cardiovascular surgery.”

“You must have a very busy practice.  How were you able to just drop everything to look after my uncle?”

He shrugged.  “SEAL teammates are like brothers,” he explained.  “My brother needed me.”  He leaned back against Everett Burke’s bed and crossed his arms.  “Now, can you tell me exactly how this heart attack occurred?”

Leah gave him a brief history of her marriage to and subsequent divorce from Richard Gordon, including his stalking and the events that led to her and Clay’s precipitous flight from Palm Beach to Passion Lake.  She described the confrontation in the restaurant between Richard and Everett Burke and how she’d found out about it and how Simon Rafferty had flown them out to California.