In a Heartbeat (5 page)

She looked into his eyes and for the first time wondered if that were true. Warmth spread from the base of her spine. The same protected, secure warmth that she had felt in his arms as he carried her effortlessly along the bank of the reservoir.

Oreo whimpered from the back seat. Angie slid out from under his hand. “We’ve got to go.” She tugged Oreo forward. Using the toes of her injured foot for balance, she staggered out of the car.

“Wait a minute, let me help you,” Hank called, his door already creaking open.

“No, I need to do this myself.” Angela opened the back door, retrieved the crutches then braced herself for the hobble across the street.

“Will you at least turn a light on, or wave from your window, or something, so I know you got inside all right?”

She nodded her head and closed the car door.

He watched her step-swing-step across the street, Oreo trotting by her side. She managed to scale the porch steps and unlock the front door. She paused, then gave him a little wave. The late afternoon sun www.samhainpublishing.com 33

Donna Richards

broke through the clouds, highlighting her pale blond hair as she disappeared into the dark forbidding house.

The memory of that silken hair flowing across his thighs on the muddy bank made his groin tighten. And her eyes, those clear, expressive blue eyes that in unguarded moments spoke of vulnerability and frailty. He glanced up at the dark windows. Frail. That’s hardly the word he would have used when she plowed into him earlier. He chuckled.

The last thing he had expected when he decided to sort his life out over the arch of a fishing pole was to play nursemaid to an elfin chauffeur/accountant. Damn. He meant to ask her about that. He glanced at the windows.

Still dark. Of course, the way things were going their paths had to cross again. The thought pleased him. It should scare him to death, he modified. First thing Monday he would check the provisions of his health insurance.

Health insurance. He frowned at the still dark windows. Medicine.

What was all that about? She didn’t look sick. She certainly hadn’t felt sick when he held her in his arms. She felt good, too damn good. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. What was she trying to hide? He reached for the door handle. And why wasn’t that damn light on?

He found her a few minutes later, sitting midway up a flight of steps, crying her eyes out.

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In a Heartbeat

“Earth to Reggie, earth to Reggie.” A young woman in a white lab coat smiled down on the dark-haired man seated at the reception counter.

“Excuse me?” He glanced up from his stack of papers, forgetting for a moment that his nametag said “Reggie”, the alias he’d adopted for this position at the Organ Transplant Clinic.

“Aren’t you the industrious one?” She leaned on the counter, flashing her cleavage his way. “Where is everybody? This place is like a tomb.”

“One of girls is pregnant and the rest took her out to lunch to celebrate. I’m holding down the fort.”
And doing a bit of investigation
when you nosey bitches aren’t around.

“Well,” she said with a sniff. “You must take this data entry job seriously. I’ve been standing here for five minutes already.” She pouted.

“Or are you ignoring me on purpose?”

“Never,” he protested, searching his memory for the woman’s name.

Manipulation of fools could be so tiring. “You must be exaggerating. I could never ignore such an attractive woman.” She practically purred at the praise. It never failed to amaze him how women fell for those insipid compliments.

“I must have been concentrating too hard on these numbers.” His finger tapped the computer monitor. “I key these long chains of numbers all day and get to wondering if there’s any rhyme or reason for them.”

“Oh, I can tell you that, silly.” She slipped around the counter and leaned over, almost buffeting his nose with her breast. “See, these numbers tell you what hospital the organ came from.” She pointed to the first block of digits in a thirteen-digit case identification number. “This www.samhainpublishing.com 35

Donna Richards

series tells you what was transported.” She glanced to her side. “One donor can provide organs and tissue for more than two hundred people, did you know that?”

“Wow, that many.” Pretending to care, he leaned back a bit in his chair. “It’s a wonder that anyone would have a problem getting a transplant with that kind of efficiency.”

“Well, not everyone agrees to donating. And then there’s the timing factor.”

“Timing factor?” he prodded.

She nodded. “Certain organs have a limited life span. Hearts, for instance, have to be implanted within six hours from the time they’re harvested. Even then there’s no guarantee the recipient’s body won’t reject the new heart.”

He smiled, silently thanking Miss Whoever-You-Are for providing this important piece of information. Knowing that his search would be limited to within six hours of Miranda’s death should narrow the field considerably. He tapped his finger on the billing form in question. “Do any of the numbers tell you who the organ went to?”

“Not who, like an individual or anything. That information would be confidential, you know, like adoptions.” She beamed at her analogy.

“So if I wanted to find out who received,” he waved a hand in the air,

“oh, say a heart transplant, I couldn’t do it?”

“Not from here. The closest you could get is the hospital it went to.

That’s all we need for billing purposes anyway. That’s this group of numbers”

“For billing purposes,” he repeated softly. “Isn’t it amazing how entire lives are reduced to a bunch of numbers for billing purposes?” He paused, already planning the next segment of his search. Computers made it so easy.

“Yeah, sure,” she looked at him intently, as if she hadn’t seen him before. He had the uncomfortable feeling that she might suspect his real purpose for his questions.

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In a Heartbeat

“Listen,” she said, returning to the opposite side of the counter. “I’m free for dinner tonight if you’d want to make a night of it.”

“Can’t do, sweetheart.” He gave his full attention to the computer screen. “Maybe some other time.”

Her eyes narrowed and lower lip protruded. “But you said—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” he growled. “I said I was busy.”

“Well, excuse me for living,” she said in a huff before stomping down the hall.

The alternative could be arranged,
he thought with a smile. But his current mission left no time to indulge in Miss Pouty Puss’s petty fantasies. He waited till the sound of her footsteps faded down the hall.

Opening one of the drawers, he removed a listing of hospital codes that he had confiscated from his supervisor. Now that he knew what block of numbers signified the supplier hospital he could begin his search in earnest.

Miranda had been rushed to Euclid General Hospital when her parents had discovered her with the back of her head bashed in. That much he remembered from the newspapers. “Served her right, stupid bitch,” he muttered under his breath. She should never have laughed at him, or called him a freak. “Well, she’s not laughing now.”

Get a grip,
he cautioned himself.
Now’s not the time to relive the
memory. Save it for later.

He flipped through the thick stack of computer printouts until he found an alphabetic listing of hospitals. He dragged his finger down the pages until he found the line he sought. After scribbling the code for Euclid General in a small pocket notebook, he quickly returned the listing to the drawer.

He checked around the office, verifying that everyone had left. Using a pilfered credit card, he opened the manager’s office and turned on the computer. He lifted the computer keyboard and removed the slip of paper he discovered on an earlier search that held the manager’s password.

With a few deft strokes, he accessed the clinic’s invoicing database.

Perfect.

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Donna Richards

Initiating Hospital?
The cursor blinked waiting for a response. He pulled out the notepad and entered the scribbled numbers.

Organ code?
The cursor waited.

Damn. He looked in the desk drawers for a list of codes but didn’t find anything that remotely resembled an organ list. He stood, nervously running his fingers through his hair. Think! He looked around the office.

Where would she keep… He spotted it on her bulletin board. He quickly entered the required code for a heart.

Range? (Optional)
He entered the date of Miranda’s death for a start and the day after for an end.

Five data lines appeared on the screen.

Laughter from the hall announced the return of the billing department.

Print?
The cursor blinked at the bottom of the screen. He typed in a

“Y” and the printer sprung to life. “Come on, come on,” he urged the grunting machine. The voices intensified in the hall. They’d be here any minute.

The printer spit out the requested document. He flipped the switch on the terminal reducing the lines of information to a fading green dot.

Slipping the purloined document into his pocket, he quickly vacated the office.

“Reggie.” The manager greeted him as he crossed the department floor. “Thanks so much for staying behind. Any problems?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he replied smoothly.

“Great. Why don’t you take your lunch then, and don’t worry about hurrying back. We owe you one for letting us celebrate.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” He stopped at his desk and grabbed the listing of hospital codes and headed out the door with no intention of ever returning.

* * *

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In a Heartbeat

Oreo worked her furry, white head beneath Angela’s elbow, looking up with huge remorseful eyes.

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” Angie sniffed between sobs.

Once the tears started, she just couldn’t get them to stop. Thanks to a stumble on the steps, her ankle throbbed painfully in its restraining bandage. Her favorite pale blue sweater looked as if it had been dragged through the mud, which, as she recalled her embarrassing “slide into home”, it had. The shrill irritating beep of the answering machine meant her mother had called with another round of questions. And to top it all off, come Monday, Renard would probably insist on a more professional auditor for his company, causing her undue embarrassment and most likely costing her that promotion. All things considered, it had been a god-awful day.

Oreo licked her chin in sympathy, then cocked her head and looked at the front door.

Renard peered through the tiny windows flanking the door. Darn, she thought he would have left by now.
Go Away!
she telepathed, swiping her damp cheeks with her hand, blinking furiously to keep the fresh ones at bay.

The doorknob turned and within moments he rushed to her side, leaving the front door wide open in the process.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” He sat down beside her on the step, pulling her into the curve of his arm. The concern in his voice, combined with the security of his surrounding warmth melted her initial resistance. Oreo, tail thumping madly against the step risers, perked up at the sound of his voice and practically jumped into Angie’s lap.

“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. “I was going upstairs to change.”

A tear escaped, sliding quickly down her cheek. She pressed her face against Hank’s side, hoping his jacket would absorb the fresh evidence of her lack of control. “And Oreo bumped me from behind. I tripped and banged my ankle.” He swore something under his breath. “It stung like anything, but I’m fine now.”

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“Like hell, you are.” His glare sent Oreo sulking down the steps, her ears flattened close to her head. “I knew this would happen,” he said.

“What kind of person keeps a dog in such a tiny house?”

“She was a gift.” Indignation burst through her humiliation.

“Some gift.” He snorted.

“My brother gave him to me after he moved out.” She pushed herself free of his arm, and rummaged in her purse for a tissue. “For protection.”

“Protection, hah.” He glowered at Oreo and the dog’s tail drooped another inch. “Your brother is an idiot.”

“He is not.” The crumpled napkin at the bottom of her purse would have to do. One good blow and hopefully the nasal whininess of her voice would dissipate. She saw Hank wince at the honk worthy of an elk in heat. “Stephen’s not an idiot, he’s just con—”

Oreo’s intimidating growl halted her rebuttal. A man not much older than herself stood on the front porch, separated from them by the screen door. His stiff posture at odds with his casual attire, her neighbor always made her uncomfortable.

“I heard noises,” he said, making no attempt to move closer. His uneasy glance rose from the low-growling dog up to Angela. “Do you need assistance?”

She smiled politely. The poor man looked like he would run in the opposite direction if she were to open the screen door. “I’m fine, Mr.

Thomas. But thank you for your concern.”

“Walter,” he said. “Please, call me Walter.” He frowned briefly at Hank. He probably disapproved of Hank’s rumpled shirt, Angie thought.

Of course Hank’s unfriendly glare didn’t help. Walter cleared his throat.

“Then I needn’t call your brother?”

“My brother?” Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know my brother?”

“He stopped by a week ago and left his card. He said you’d be alone and if you were hurt or in trouble, or if anything unusual occurred that required his attention, I was to call.”

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Angela wanted to stomp her foot so badly, it would almost be worth further injury. “That meddling, son-of-a—”

A low chuckle interrupted her tirade. She looked over at Hank, his eyes crinkled with laughter.