Angel Falling Softly - By Eugene Woodbury Page 0,88
the shareholders. He’s still got to deliver the unregistered shares.”
“Right now Kim’s looking at fourteen and change.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Ciao.”
“See you, Garrick.”
After hanging up, she checked to see if she had missed any other calls. A voice message from Garrick: “Milly, turn on your phone!” Before that, a text message from Kammy received at 11:55 the night before, which meant 9:55 Mountain Daylight Time: 7 yr old fem. CCR5D32x2!!! DCH invoice. WTF???
Milada decoded the message: Seven-year-old girl with two CCR5 Delta 32 alleles. Test invoiced to Deseret Children’s Hospital.
A cold chill ran down her spine. She felt the actual shiver. The message must have been sent from Wylde. How could Kammy have found the record so quickly? Why would she be asking her about it? Milada set the phone down on her desk and stared at the display, her forehead resting against her hands.
“Stupid,” she said to herself. “Stupid.” All she’d ordered was the CCR5 test. No normal person did that. It would stand out like a sore thumb. But with nobody to trace it back to—
Milada leaned back and closed her eyes and concocted her excuse: she was putting Wylde’s B2B operations to a real-world test. There wasn’t anybody to trace it back to. The child was dead. One more notch in her belt.
There wasn’t anybody to trace it back to. The child had died. She was certain. But she’d never checked. She was certain. But she didn’t want to know. She straightened her chair and picked up the phone and scrolled through the address book.
The nurse’s station on the DCH bone marrow transplant unit. For some reason she’d saved the number.
Her thumb rested against the button. She hesitated. Perhaps her instincts had been right all along. Except that if she was right then it would be a relief to know. And if she was wrong—let some sleeping dogs lie, and they’d bite her leg off.
She pressed the button. Two thousand miles away, the phone rang at the nurse’s station on the third floor of Deseret Children’s Hospital. “DCH BMT,” a woman’s voice said.
Milada softened her accent to sound more like her sister. “Hello, this is Dr. Daranyi. I was wondering if I could get the current status on Jennifer Forsythe.”
A pause, and the nurse’s voice raised half an octave. She said, positive cheer in her voice, “She’s on outpatient status. She was discharged last week. I could transfer you to Dr. Ingebretsen—”
“No, that’s fine.” Milada forced calm into her voice. “I’ll be seeing him later. Thank you anyway.”
She set down the phone. Her hand was shaking. She pushed the chair back and walked to the window. She folded her arms across her chest, pressed her forehead against the tinted glass. Deep breaths. She felt something strange on her cheek and brushed her fingers against the skin. A tear like a small bead of glass. She stared at it with a sense of wonder that only brought the foreign emotions closer to the surface.
Milada hurried to her private bathroom and washed her face. “Jesus, God, what have you done?” she asked her reflection. The white-faced woman in the mirror had no answer.
She collected her wits, returned to the office, and dialed Jane’s extension. “Something just came up. How early can you get me into Salt Lake?”
“Today?”
“Today.”
Jane called back five minutes later. “The earliest seat available is on the 3:15 from JFK. Gets into Salt Lake City at 6:35.”
Milada pressed her fist hard against her temple and clenched her teeth. Almost twelve bloody hours, and she had no idea what Kammy would be doing. “Yes. That’s fine. Have the limo pick me up at my place. Oh, and reserve a rental. It’ll be late enough by the time I arrive.”
“Will do.” A touch of concern crept into Jane’s voice. “Anything wrong?”
“Oh, no,” Milada said, with all the nonchalance she could muster. “Odds and ends.” She added, “But as far as anybody else is concerned, I’m out of the office for the rest of the day. Incommunicado or whatever.”
“Got it.” Jane didn’t sound terribly convinced but let the matter drop.
Milada packed only a carry-on and her laptop. Her mind couldn’t focus on work. She ignored the solicitations of the flight attendants and closed her eyes and tried to figure out what she had done wrong. This was so unlike her. Running the numbers. Playing out the scenarios. Looking at the big picture. Taking the long view. That’s what she did for a living. Why not in her personal life?