the elderly,» Manny drawled, «why are you macking on my trauma
surgeon? And what did you think of her?»
There was a slight pause. «What are you talking about? I got a message Thursday from some guy
saying she had to reschedule. I thought that was why you're calling. To gloat that she blew me
off and you were keeping her.»
A nasty sensation wrapped around the back of Manello's neck, like someone had slapped a
palmful of cold mud on him.
He kept his voice level. «Come on, would I do that?»
«Yeah, you would. I trained you, remember? You get all your bad habits from me.»
«Just the professional ones. Hey, the guy who called-you get his name?»
«Nope. Figured it was her assistant or something. Obviously wasn't you. I know your voice, plus
the guy was polite.»
Manny swallowed hard. Okay, he needed to dump this call right away. Jesus Christ, where the
hell was Jane?
«So, Manello, can I assume you're keeping her?»
«Let's face facts, I've got a lot of things I can offer her.» Himself being one of them.
«Just not the chairmanship of a department.»
God, at the moment, all this bullshit medical politicking didn't matter. Jane was MIA, as far as
Manny was concerned, and he needed to find her.
With perfect timing, his assistant poked her head through his door. «Oh, sorry-«
«No, wait. Hey, Falcheck, I've got to go.» He hung up as Ken was still saying good-bye and
immediately started dialing Jane's house. «Listen, I need to make a phone-«
«Dr. Whitcomb just called in sick.»
Manny looked up from the phone. «Did you speak to her? Was she the one who called?»
His assistant looked at him a little funny. «Of course. She's been down all weekend with the flu.
Goldberg's going to cover her cases today and man the chute. Hey, are you okay?»
Manny put the receiver down and nodded even though he felt light-headed as hell. Shit, the idea
that something had happened to Jane thinned his blood to water.
«You sure, Dr. Manello?»
«Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for the info on Whitcomb.» As he stood up, the floor only weaved a
little. «I'm due in the OR in an hour, so I'm going to food up. You got anything else for me?»
His assistant ran through a couple of issues with him, then left.
As the door shut Manny sank back into his chair. Man, he needed to gather the reins in his head.
Jane Whitcomb had always been a distraction, but this shaky relief that she was fine surprised
him.
Right. He needed to go eat.
Kicking himself in the ass, he got to his feet again and picked up a stack of residency applicant
flies to read in the lounge. In the process of taking them in hand, something slipped off the desk.
He bent over and picked it up, then frowned. It was the printout of a photograph of a heart… that
had six chambers.
Something flickered in the back of Manny's mind, some kind of shadow that moved around, a
thought on the verge of actualization, a memory about to crystallize. Except then he got a sharp,
shooting pain right at the temples. As he cursed, he wondered where the hell the photograph had
come from, and checked the date and time at the bottom. It had been taken here, on his premises,
in his OR, and the print job had been done in his office: His machine had a hiccup in it that left
an ink dot on the lower left-hand corner, and the mark was there.
He turned to his computer and did a search of his files. No such photograph existed. What the
fuck?
He checked his watch. No time to keep digging, because he really did have to eat before he went
to operate.
As he left his big-cheese office, he decided he was going to be an old-fashioned doctor this
evening.
Tonight he was going to pay a house call, the first of his professional career.
Vishous pulled on a pair of loose black silk pants and a matching top that looked like a smoking
jacket from the forties. After he put the godforsaken Primale medallion around his neck, he left
his room while lighting up. On his way down the hall he heard Butch swearing out in the living
room, the rolling, under-the-breath litany marked by a lot of F-words and an interesting twist on
a-hole V was going to have to remember.
V found the guy on the couch, glowering over Marissa's laptop. «What's doing, cop?»
«I think this hard drive has bitten it.» Butch glanced up. «Jesus Christ… you look like Hugh
Hefner.»
«So not funny.»
Butch winced. «I'm sorry. Shit… V, I'm's-«
«Shut up and let me look at the PC.» V picked the
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