Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,82

told her, her manner as professional as DJ had ever seen. “I’ve been monitoring it since we left home. The ride was difficult for him.”

Coleen was not, to DJ’s knowledge, a real nurse. Her first husband in Eden had been both a Founding Elder and the compound’s actual doctor. He’d taught her to be his assistant. When he’d died they’d been unable to get a replacement and Coleen had become the healer.

Pastor was moved to a stretcher and the second nurse began setting up an IV. “We’re going to run some scans before the doctor scrubs in,” she said. “We need to know the extent of his injuries before he’s put under anesthesia. Has he received anesthesia before?”

“Not that I know of,” Coleen replied. She climbed down from the truck, her body swaying a little. Probably from exhaustion. “I’ve been our community’s healer for thirty years.”

Both nurses lifted their brows at the term “healer.”

“We live in a remote town and we don’t have a board-certified physician,” DJ hastily explained, shooting Coleen a warning glare. “We’ve learned to be self-sufficient. This injury was outside our expertise.”

Coleen dropped her gaze to her feet, folding her hands at her waist. The picture of female subservience. Just as Pastor demanded. “Can you help him?”

“We’ll do our best,” Nurse Jones promised, then turned to the man with the rifle. “Mr. Saltrick, please show our guests to the family lounge. Get them a meal and a place to rest.”

“This way,” the man commanded.

Coleen hesitated, casting a worried glance at Pastor. The nurses pushed the stretcher up a ramp and into the garage before disappearing through a door marked Employees Only.

“This way,” Saltrick repeated.

DJ and Coleen followed. Once they were in a lounge with comfortable sofas and chairs that reclined into beds, Saltrick pointed to the refrigerator, a cabinet full of soup, and a microwave. “Help yourself,” he grunted. “If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll park your vehicle.”

DJ hesitated, then handed the man the keys to the truck. They could have had the cops waiting here for them had they been so inclined. That they hadn’t suggested he and Coleen would be safe here.

Saltrick gave each of them a folder with no external labels or markings. “Inside you’ll find an explanation of how things are done here. Once your father is finished with surgery, he’ll be taken to a rehabilitation center for his recovery and for any other medical services he might require. Sunnyside Oaks’s key mission is to provide quality care with the utmost privacy. We serve mostly celebrities—stars of film, TV, and sports. Some of our patients require privacy of a different sort, like your father.”

In other words, DJ thought, protection from law enforcement.

“Due to privacy concerns,” Saltrick continued, “we do not file claims with insurance companies. We require all patients to pay with cash. When your father is ready to be transferred, there will be an additional payment due for the rehab services. Dr. Arnold’s office manager will provide the details. Please familiarize yourself with the rehab center. Do you have questions?”

Coleen timidly raised her hand. “The nurse said they’d do scans. What kind of scans?”

“CT scan,” the man replied brusquely. “And an MRI, should he need one.”

Coleen nodded like she understood the terms, which surprised DJ. “Do you have the equipment here?” she asked.

“We do,” Saltrick said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He strode to the door, leaving DJ and Coleen alone. She was staring at the microwave with confusion and fear.

“What?” DJ barked.

She flinched. “I haven’t used a microwave in thirty years. I’m not sure I remember how.”

DJ was starving, so he got up to make them a meal. “I’ll show you. It isn’t difficult.”

“Brother DJ? Will we have enough money to pay for the rehabilitation center?”

“Yes. We’ll have enough.” He opened the cupboard. “We have chicken soup, clam chowder, and beef stew. Which do you want?”

Coleen’s eyes were wide before she dropped her gaze to her feet. “Choose for me, please.”

It didn’t surprise him. Women of Eden did not make their own choices. Ever.

“Come and watch me,” he commanded. “You can make my food from then on.”

“Yes, Brother DJ.”

ROCKLIN, CALIFORNIA

THURSDAY, MAY 25, 4:45 A.M.

“Yes?” Raeburn snapped. “It’s four forty-five, Agent Hunter. I assume this is important.”

“Critical, sir. There’s been a wire transfer from the offshore Eden account.”

“Oh.” The word was uttered on a huff of surprise. “When?”

“Four minutes ago. I got an activity alert. One hundred thousand dollars was wired to a Dr. Arnold in Sacramento.”

“Give me a minute.” A woman’s