Dangerous Tides (42 page)

"This is where Martinelli lives?"

He glanced at her, quickly recognizing the apprehension in her voice. "You don't have to go in, Libby. I can talk to him myself."

"No, no. I need to do this. I want to look at him while I'm talking to him. It's easier to read someone face-to-face."

"You're not afraid, are you? Ed wouldn't be so stupid as to try to harm you in his own house, especially when he knows the police are aware we're talking to him. When I set up the appointment with him, I made certain he knew we were letting everyone know where we were."

"He has to be involved in something dirty if he sent men to your house to beat up Sam," Libby pointed out. She waited until Tyson leaned out the window to speak into the camera box.

The gates swung open and Tyson drove them up to the house. He'd obviously been there before and knew exactly where he was going. The house was large, Spanish style with a huge courtyard. The grounds were well kept, with flowers and shrubs everywhere. Ed Martinelli held the door open, waiting for them as they came up his walkway.

"Finally, Miss Drake. Thank you for coming." He held out his hand to Tyson. "I can't thank you enough for bringing her to me."

"You can thank me by telling me why the hell you sent a couple of men to beat the hell out of my cousin." Tyson took an aggressive step forward despite Libby's restraining hand. "And it's
Doctor
Drake."

Martinelli looked puzzled. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ty. I sent John Sandoval to ask her to speak with me. I tried to reach her by phone, but didn't get anywhere. When you called me and told me what they'd done, I pulled them out of Sea Haven immediately." He looked at Libby. "Please accept my sincere apologies, Dr. Drake. John takes his job very seriously."

"They had guns," Tyson said.

"I can only repeat my apology, Ty. They're bodyguards. They carry guns. If it makes you feel any better they were fired. I was desperate and I sent men I thought I could trust to handle a delicate situation. When they made it worse, I asked Sam to arrange a meeting and offered to exchange his gambling debt for a chance to talk to Dr. Drake." He stepped back and gestured toward the entryway. "Please come in."

Tyson stepped into the cool interior. "You're telling me you didn't have a couple of your men beat up Sam?"

"You've known me for years. Nearly my entire life. You know I don't operate that way. Sam owes me money. He has before and he will again. Why would I want him hurt? He's your cousin. If there was a problem, I'd go to you and we'd work it out."

"If you didn't send the men after Sam," Tyson asked, "who the hell did?"

Libby remained silent, her fingers curled around Ty's hand, her gaze sharp and clear on Edward Martinelli's face. He looked worn and tired. She could feel waves of distress pouring off of him.

"I have no idea, Ty." He spread his hands in front of him, looking defeated. "I have three uncles involved in criminal activities. I can't help who my father was any more than he could help who his brothers are. Periodically they send bodyguards around to protect my family. I don't ask questions and I don't refuse them. Whatever is happening in their lives, I don't want my family hurt. It may be wrong of me, but I'm not willing to take a chance. I live my life as best I can." He waved his hand toward the sofa, an invitation to sit.

Tyson settled his body close to Libby, his posture protective, his fingers threaded through hers. "If you're not involved in anything, Ed, why does Sam owe you money?"

"Because I have a great deal and he asked me for it. He's always paid me back. And there's always you if he doesn't. You've spent your entire life bailing him out. Everyone knows you're good for the money." Ed switched his attention to Libby. "I had to find a way to talk to you. Ty told me how stupid John was in approaching you. I have no excuses, but I hope you'll at least hear what I have to say without prejudice."

"I'm here, Mr. Martinelli," Libby pointed out.

"I heard you were able to heal people." His gaze shifted, obviously embarrassed. "I've never believed in that sort of thing, but I'm so desperate at this point I'd take my wife and son to a tent in the woods if I thought it would help."

"I take it they're ill?"

He nodded, rubbing his hand over his face. "For the last few years, my wife has had an autoimmune disease. At least that's what the doctors tell me. She gets so tired sometimes she can hardly function. It started up about three years ago and they diagnosed her with everything from Lyme disease to chronic fatigue syndrome. When Robbie first started showing signs about a month ago, I thought it was the same thing, or maybe mono. But the doctors thought I was overreacting. Since then he's gotten so much worse, but no one seems to be able to figure out what's wrong with him. I find doctors so frustrating. They know they're sick but they have no idea with what so they've given us ten diagnoses, none correct. But he's going to die. I see him slipping away from us every day. My wife is beside herself and so am I."

"Have you taken them to a place like the Mayo clinic for a diagnosis?"

He shook his head. "I gave up on doctors. I just feel so damned helpless. Can you just look at him?"

"He's here?" Libby asked incredulously. "Not in a hospital?"

"I've hired a full-time nurse for him, but after his doctor and two others diagnosed him as autoimmune, I brought him home. I have his records."

"I'd like to see those before I see him."

Edward immediately picked up a large envelope from his coffee table and handed it to her. Libby began a methodical read through the thick file. "He has bouts of fever, itching, headache and joint pain that moves around." She read aloud, her voice thoughtful, lines appearing between her eyebrows as she frowned. "I see here that you've never been to Africa. I know you travel extensively."

"Why does everyone keep asking us that? No, I've never been near Africa and neither has my wife."

"Has anyone checked your wife's heart?"

"This is about our son. My wife isn't nearly as bad."

"Chances are whatever is wrong with your wife is also what's wrong with your son. Give me another couple of minutes and I'd like to examine him as well as your wife if she's available."

"She's with Robbie. She hardly leaves his side." Ed rubbed his hands over his face and peered through his fingers at Tyson.

"I don't have a lot of time to devote to threatening people. I don't know why someone might be after Sam, but the only conversation we had was when I begged him to talk to Dr. Drake. I put in numerous calls to you and never got through. With Eva and Robbie sick, I just don't think about much else."

"I don't check the messages."

"Can she heal people?"

Tyson winced at the plea in Edward's voice. He glanced at Libby. There was no question she was feeling his pain and frustration—his desperation. He had always been able to read Libby's expressions, her face was so transparent to him, and she was definitely forming an opinion. Libby had worked for Doctors Without Borders as well as WHO. She'd worked for the Centers for Disease Control and she'd seen both domestic and exotic illnesses, far more than most doctors. He wondered if her healing ability aided her in diagnosing, but had no chance to ask her.

"Mr. Martinelli," Libby began, an edge of desperation in her voice.

"Libby," Tyson interrupted decisively, interjecting a note of warning.

Tyson found himself responding to the pain and weariness so evident in Edward. And he could see how it would be so difficult for Libby to walk away from a situation like this one, but she wasn't recovered from healing Jonas—or him. He couldn't let her risk her own health or possibly even her life. "Libby's a brilliant doctor, Ed. If it's possible to figure out what's going on, I have every faith in her that she'll be the one to do it."

Libby's eyes met his and his heart nearly stopped at the look she gave him. He'd never seen love in another's eyes, not directed at him. He had the sudden urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her, just for looking at him that way. He was smart enough to acknowledge to himself that there was a part of him that felt he was unlovable and no amount of telling himself to grow up would get him over those childhood feelings of rejection. He was beginning to believe Libby Drake could love him, and all of his careful planning to get her to see she needed him was every bit as important as he'd first thought.

Edward shook his head. "I've lost all faith in doctors."

"Don't give up yet, Mr. Martinelli," Libby said, standing up. "Please let me see your son. Has your wife and or your son ever traveled with you to a foreign country?"

"Not Robbie. We haven't been out of the country since before he was born."

"Which country?"

"I traveled in South America. I wanted to see the rain forest. Eva flew to Mexico to meet me when my trip to the rain forest was over, and no, she wasn't bitten by any bugs. She wasn't near any bugs. I was very conscious of her health and kept her in the best hotel available. We've had the same questions asked over and over by the doctors."

"It's the only way we can get a clear diagnosis, Mr. Martinelli." Libby preceded him into the room where a nurse sat beside a bed and a young woman lay beside a small boy. He was about five and very pale and weak. Eva Martinelli looked just as weak.

"This is Dr. Drake, Eva. She's come to take a look at both you and Robbie," Ed said, his voice gentle.

"Don't get up, Mrs. Martinelli," Libby said, her smile easy as she pulled gloves out of the small bag she'd brought with her. "I won't disturb him too much."

She approached the bed, noting the woman's breathing. "Have you been short of breath for a long time?" Libby slid her hands down Eva's neck, feeling the swelling in the cervical glands. "On this trip you made to Mexico to meet with your husband some years ago, you don't recall being bitten by anything at all? Nothing unusual happened?"

"Nothing to do with bugs," Eva said.

Libby paused, her hands sliding down to the deeper glands. "What do you mean? What did happen on that trip?"

"I flew to Mexico to meet Ed. I wanted to swim with the dolphins. I love the water and we have a favorite place we enjoy going."

Libby nodded encouragingly as she moved to the sleeping child, her hands sliding over his neck to feel similar swelling in the glands.

"Eva's leg was cut open on a piece of metal embedded in the wall of a swimming pool just below the surface of the water. We were at the estate of some friends of ours and the cut was very deep. We barely got her to the hospital in time."

Libby straightened up and turned to face Eva. "You suffered severe blood loss?"

Eva nodded. "It was just a cut though. It didn't get infected."

"But you had a blood transfusion."

"I don't have AIDS. They checked us for AIDS."

"I don't believe you have AIDS, Mrs. Martinelli, but I believe I've seen your symptoms many times before. The signs are very indicative of Chagas's disease. You can get Chagas three different ways and one of them is through a blood transfusion. The symptoms often don't show up, particularly in an adult, for years. Adults many times get a more chronic form where a child can often get an acute form. You both will need some tests run immediately."

"But I thought the blood was screened for everything," Ed protested.

"I obviously could be wrong," Libby said, although she was certain she wasn't. The swelling in the cervical glands was very symptomatic of Chagas. "But the disease is very easy to misdiagnose. Did you tell the doctors about the transfusion in Mexico?"

Eva exchanged a long look with her husband. "We talked about South America quite a bit, but not Mexico. The subject didn't come up."

"Someone mentioned Chagas once," Ed said, "but she was never exposed to the bug that carries it."

"I think she should be tested and Robbie as well. She obviously was transfused before she ever conceived him. If I'm correct, Mr. Martinelli, time is of the essence to get treatment for them both, particularly Robbie. I'd like to call their doctor if you don't mind and arrange things immediately."

"I don't want to put them through a lot of tests again and then have the doctors say they have no idea."

"Chagas is present in eighteen countries on the American continent. In the early eighties, over seventeen million people were infected. Even now with all the work being done to eradicate the problem we see between seven hundred to eight hundred thousand new cases per year. I'm telling you, I've seen this over and over. Get them to the hospital and get treatment started. If you let me use your phone, I'll speak with their doctor and we can get things rolling."

Chapter Seventeen