Manuel
Manello, M.D., chief of surgery at St. Francis Medical Center, was coming down the hall at her
like a bull. And she knew why.
This was going to get ugly.
Jane scribbled her sig at the bottom of the drug order, handed the chart back to the nurse, and
watched as the woman took off at a dead run. Good defensive maneuver, and not uncommon
around here. When the chief got like this, folks took cover… which was the logical thing to do
when a bomb was about to go off and you had half a brain.
Jane faced him. «So you've heard.»
«In here. Now.» He punched open the door to the surgeons' lounge.
As she went in with him, Priest and Dubois, two of St. Francis's best GI knives, took one look at
the chief, scrapped their vending-machine cuisine, and beat feet out of the room. In their wake,
the door eased shut without even a whisper of air. Like it didn't want to catch Manello's
attention, either.
«When were you going to tell me, Whitcomb? Or did you think Columbia was on a different
planet and I wasn't going to find out?»
Jane crossed her arms over her chest. She was a tall woman, but Manello topped her by a couple
of inches, and he was built like the professional athletes he operated on: big shoulders, big chest,
big hands. At forty-five, he was in prime physical condition and one of the best orthopedic
surgeons in the country.
As well as a scary SOB when he got mad.
Good thing she was comfortable in tense situations. «I know you have contacts there, but I
thought they'd be discreet enough to wait until I decided whether I wanted the job-«
«Of course you want it or you wouldn't waste time going down there. Is it money?»
«Okay, first, you don't interrupt me. And second, you're going to lower your voice.» As Manello
dragged a hand through his thick dark hair and took a deep breath, she felt bad. «Look, I should
have told you. It must have been embarrassing to get blindsided like that.»
He shook his head. «Not my favorite thing, getting a call from Manhattan that one of my best
surgeons is interviewing at another hospital with my mentor.»
«Was it Falcheck who told you?»
«No, one of his underlings.»
«I'm sorry, Manny. I just don't know how it's going to go, and I didn't want to jump the gun.»
«Why are you thinking about leaving the department?»
«You know I want more than what I can have here. You're going to be chief until you're sixty-
five, unless you decide to leave. Down at Columbia, Falcheck is fifty-eight. I've got a better
chance of becoming head of the department there.»
«I already made you chief of the Trauma Division.»
«And I deserve it.»
His lips cracked a smile. «Be humble, why don't you.»
«Why bother? We both know its the truth. And as for Columbia? Would you want to be under
someone for the next two decades of your life?»
His lids lowered over his mahogany-colored eyes. For the briefest second, she thought she saw
something flare in that stare of his, but then he put his hands on his hips, his white coat straining
as his shoulders widened.
«I don't want to lose you, Whitcomb. You're the best trauma knife I've got.»
«And I have to look to the future.» She went over to her locker. «I want to run my own shop,
Manello. It's the way I am.»
«When's the damn interview?»
«First thing tomorrow afternoon. Then I'm off through the weekend and not on call, so I'm going
to stay in the city.»
«Shit.»
There was a knock on the door.
«Come in,» they both called out.
A nurse ducked her head inside. «Trauma case, ETA two minutes. Male in his thirties. Gunshot
with probable perforated aorta. Crashed twice so far on transport. Will you accept the patient, Dr.
Whitcomb, or do you want me to call Goldberg?»
«Nope, I'll take him. Set up bay four in the chute and tell Ellen and Jim I'm coming right down.»
«Will do, Dr. Whitcomb.»
«Thanks, Nan.»
The door eased shut, and she looked at Manello. «Back to Columbia. You'd do the exact same
thing if you were in my shoes. So you can't tell me you're surprised.»
There was a stretch of silence then he leaned forward a little. «And I won't let you go without a
fight. Which shouldn't surprise you, either.»
He left the room, taking most of the oxygen in the place with him.
Jane leaned back against her locker and looked across to the kitchen area to the mirror hanging
on the wall. Her reflection was crystal-clear in the glass, from her white doctor's coat to her
green scrubs to her blunt-cut blond hair.
«He took
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