M.D. Most Wanted

The woman’s vital signs had never faltered once. They’d remained strong throughout the lengthy procedure, as if her will to live was not to be snuffed out by whatever curve life and the road had thrown at her.

He wished all his patients were that resilient.

Weary, hungry, relieved, Reese stripped off his surgical mask and cap for the second time that day. Now that this newest crisis was over, he became aware again of the deep pinched feeling in his gut. It felt as if his stomach was stuck to his spine. He still hadn’t had a chance to take in anything more substantial than a stale candy bar.

This time, he promised himself, he didn’t care if the paramedics brought in Santa Claus and his eight tiny reindeer laid out on nine stretchers, he was determined to go get something to eat before he literally passed out from hunger.

At this point freshness would no longer play a part in his selection. He didn’t care what he ultimately got to eat. His only criterion was that it remain relatively inert long enough for him to consume it.

Even the bran muffin was beginning to sound pretty tempting.

But first, he knew, he had to go out and face the sentry out in the hall. The man who had remained steadfast throughout the entire procedure, standing there like an ancient gargoyle statue, guarding the door and watching the surgeon’s every move. Reese hadn’t had to look up to know that the deep-set brown eyes were taking in everything that was being done in the small, brightly lit operating room.

“How—” The single word leaped out at him as soon as Reese pushed open the door.

“She’s fine,” Reese said quickly, cutting the man off. He didn’t want to stand around for any more threats or whatever it was that the man had in mind now that the operation was over. “Like I said, she had some internal bleeding, but we found all the openings and sutured them. She had a couple of fractured ribs as well—”

Wallace stopped him right there. “Fractured?” he demanded. “You didn’t mention them before.”

Reese chose to ignore the accusatory note in the other man’s voice. Instead, he cut him some slack. It was pretty clear that they were both a little over-wrought, he thought.

“It could have been a great deal worse. The paramedic who brought her in said her car was totaled.” Reese saw guilt wash over the wide face. Had that somehow been his fault? he wondered.

“Yeah, it was.” And then, just as suddenly, the guilt left his eyes. His expression turned stony. “How soon can she be moved?”

“Why don’t we wait and see how she does first?” Reese calmly suggested. The next twenty-four hours would decide that. “In the meantime, maybe you should go to admitting and give them any information you can about her. Administration has forms to keep your mind busy for a while.”

“I don’t need to have my mind kept busy,” the man snapped.

“But I do.” With that, Reese turned on his heel and began to walk away.

“Hey, Doc.”

For a moment, Reese debated just continuing to walk away. There was no sense in encouraging any further confrontation. But if there was going to be another scene, he might as well get it over with now.

Suppressing a sigh, Reese half turned and looked at the larger man. “Yes?”

There was what passed as a half smile on the man’s face. He suddenly didn’t look the least bit threatening, but more like an overgrown puppy whose limbs were too big for his body.

“Thanks.”

Surprised, it took Reese half a beat to recover. He nodded. “It’s what I do.”

Mercifully, Reese’s stomach had the good grace to wait until he was well down the hall before it let out with a fearsome rumbling.

Each eyelid felt as if it was weighed down with its own full-size anvil.

Either that, or someone had applied glue to her lashes.

Maybe they should apply the same compound to the rest of her, London thought giddily, because she felt as if she had shattered into a million pieces.

A million broken, hurting pieces.

Breathing was almost as much of a challenge as trying to pry her eyes open. It certainly hurt a great deal more.

And right now there was a herd of drunken African elephants playing tag and bumping into one another in her head.

London heard a deep, wrenching moan echoing all around her, engulfing her. It sounded vaguely familiar.

It took her a beat to realize that the noise had come from her.

The pain was making her groan. And why did it feel as if there was a steel cage wrapped around her upper torso?

London opened her eyes or thought she did. The only thing that seemed to be filtering through was white. Lots of white.

Heaven? It didn’t feel hot, so it couldn’t be hell.

No, it felt cool, very cool.

Was she dead?

Where was the light everyone had always talked about? The light that was supposed to lead her to a better place. Or was that just a lie, a myth like unconditional parental love?

She thought she heard a male voice.

St. Peter?

Lucifer?

Batman?

Her mind jumped around from topic to topic like a frog attempting to reach safe ground using lily pads that kept sinking beneath his weight.

The male voice spoke again. This time she heard real words. A question. “How are you feeling?”

Was he talking to her?

With one last massive effort, London concentrated on pushing her lids open. This time she succeeded and saw—a man.

Not Batman, Superman, she amended. No cape, no blue tights that showed off rows of muscles, but definitely Superman. Right down to the chiseled chin and blue-black hair falling into brilliant blue eyes.

She swallowed. Her throat felt like rawhide. He’d asked her something. What? London searched the vacant caverns that comprised her mind and finally found the words, then laced them together.

Feelings, he’d asked something about feelings. No, wait, he’d asked her how was she feeling, yes, that was it.

It was a damn stupid question. How did she look? If she looked half as bad as she felt, Superman had his answer without her saying a word.

“How are you feeling?” Reese repeated for the third time.