Shannon looked at him closely. The cuts on his face were healing well and there was a remarkable change almost overnight as the swelling had gone down. The edges of his bruises had altered from black and blue to a muddy yellow.

She passed her hand over his cheek. No response, not even the flutter of an eyelash. “Looks like you could use a shave, my friend.”

Shannon smoothed a clump of hair from his forehead and gazed at him. She was seeing an almost normal-looking man. She looked at him, but not as a nurse looking for signs of health.

“Like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.

Impulsively, she leaned toward him, her lips pursed.

“Do you believe in magic, that a kiss will awaken you?”

She stopped herself midmotion, straightened up and blinked.

My God, what was I thinking. I’ve never done anything like that. Never. Professionalism is my middle name.

“That is the last time I pull three shifts in a row!” she exclaimed, and walked out of the room.

“This fast-paced book is the perfect choice for readers who crave romances liberally laced with adventure.”

—Library Journal on The Legend Makers

Also available from MIRA Books and CATHERINE LANIGAN

DANGEROUS LOVE

ELUSIVE LOVE

TENDER MALICE

IN LOVE’S SHADOW

THE LEGEND MAKERS

California Moon
Catherine Lanigan

www.mirabooks.co.uk

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

The brightest star in the heavens is the MIRA star. I have been blessed with the brightest angels to guide me through so many books. California Moon shines through the expertise of my brilliant editor Martha Keenan, whom I call friend as well as co-creator. My deepest thanks to Dianne Moggy, Katherine Orr and Stacy Widdrington of MIRA for believing in me and being there for me. To Jennifer Robinson of PMA Literary and Film Management, who aided in the birth of this book, to Charlotte Breeze, founder and owner of CDB Literary Company, who contributed her intellect and love for this story, and to Peter Miller, my agent, whose hope kept it alive.

Dearest Reader,

I hope you enjoyed California Moon as much as I loved bringing it to you. This was an intense story to write because so much of the work was done by me while still living in Quito, Ecuador. During that time the communications systems to the United States were far from stellar, to say the least. I am amazed I ever got it assembled, considering that my copiers, printers and fax machines conked out on me constantly. However, after years in the making, as they say in the movies, it finally comes to you.

For those of you who collect my recipes, I have a follow-up to the “Quick and Easy Tortilla Soup” I offered years ago. This one requires a bit more work, but the result is outstanding.

If you’d like a copy and a California Moon bookmark, please send a self-addressed, stamped (legal size is best for the bookmarks) envelope to me at: 5644 Westheimer Road, PMB #110, Houston, Texas 77056.

I would love to hear your comments!

God bless you all,

Catherine

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

1

He couldn’t be drowning.

He was in too much pain to be dying. No, he was very much alive. At least for the present.

His ribs felt as if they’d been cracked in half. His right arm was numb and flopped against his side. His shoulder was white-hot as if branded. He heard accents, maybe Hispanic, difficult to understand. He had no idea what they wanted from him. He didn’t even know where he was or how he’d gotten there. He was shocked to find himself struggling for his own name.

His head throbbed with pain but he tried to stand anyway. Then they grabbed him roughly under the arms and dragged him from the back seat of the car.

Not my car…a rental from the Shreveport airport.

They frisked him and one of the men took his wallet.

“You want money?” he managed to ask.

“Idiot!” one of the men growled as he clumsily shoved the wallet in a jacket pocket. “No identification. No traces,” he explained in thickly accented English.

Anger exploded inside him as the realization hit that he might not come out of this alive—whatever this was. That was the hell of it. He didn’t know these men. In his bewilderment he reasoned that his wallet was vital to staying alive. He lunged toward the man. “Gimme that!”

A fist slammed into his jaw, stunning him, and his assailant continued frisking him.

“Where eezit?”

“What? I don’t have a gun,” he tried to tell them, but his cut, bruised mouth barely moved.

Hands moved down his jeans and back again. He shivered, the fleece lining of his Houston Rockets windbreaker doing nothing to cut the biting wind. He shivered.

One of the men laughed.

What do they want?

Suddenly, his arms were pulled behind his back. A fist sank into his jaw again. Pain screamed through his body as another blow hit his midsection and another. His face was pummeled.

He fell to the ground and struck his head on a rock.

He saw stars, tiny swirling lights, but then they faded.

And he remembered. He wasn’t alone. He’d been with Adam, his best friend.

He could hear the sound of Adam’s frantic pleadings as the assailants turned their attention to him.

“That’s only my wallet. I don’t have it, I tell you.” Adam groaned.

He heard scuffling of feet on gravel and dirt, the sound of fists pounding on muscles. Then he heard a chilling human wail.

“Please don’t kill me. No!”

What are they doing to him? And why? Adam, do what they want.

Adam screamed. The sound was frighteningly high-pitched, as if he couldn’t take any more.

This is insane! Adam, what have you gotten us into?

He tried desperately to focus his eyes. A dense gray mist swirled around everything. Glancing sidelong toward the long, dark structure to his left, he realized they’d brought him to a bridge.

But where? And why?

He was barely able to make out a sign—the Sabine River. He’d been brought out to Highway 79, south of the city. Down the embankment the murky river flowed deep and wide this time of year.

His arms felt as if they’d been pulled from their sockets. He could barely move his numb fingers as he reached under his jacket for warmth. Behind the Rockets’ heavily embroidered emblem he felt the computer disk. It was safe.

He remembered back to his dinner earlier that night with Adam at the Catfish King. “They’ll kill me if they get their hands on this,” Adam had said, passing the disk across the wooden table. “Thanks for flying in to meet me and not asking why I arranged for your rented car using a phony name. I don’t want anyone tracing you back to me. You’re anonymous in this thing. I swear, I’ll protect you,” Adam had said. “Just do this for me.”

He knew Adam was in trouble then, but still hadn’t fully understood the ramifications at the time. He should have paid more attention. He thought he was helping Adam, but at what price?

His head felt as if it was about to explode. His fingers wrapped around the disk.

Hide it.

His hand moved as if by its own will.

He knew now they were both going to die.

Palming the disk, he slipped it under the bloody rock where he’d hit his head.

No! No good. Think man, think. Your life is at stake!

He moved his hand away from the rock. Pain washed over him. He could barely see them, fuzzy figures looming over him. A booted foot kicked his ribs and shoved hard. He heard the man grunt, then walk away, leaves, twigs and pinecones crunching under his feet.

Adam’s screams rent the still night one last time, shocking him alert. He heard the sound of a muffled gunshot.

A silencer! God…Adam….

Suddenly, he was hauled to an upright position.

“Where de fuck eezit?”

“I don’t…”

Suddenly his vision was keen and clear. A man with pockmarked olive skin and brittle eyes gritted his teeth and pulled back his fist. The blow to his midsection knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t speak.

They pounded his jaw, neck, shoulders. He folded and sank to the icy mud.

“Give it to me or I’ll keel you.”

Bastards! I’m dead either way.

The blow to his kidneys sent a searing pain throughout his body. His lungs burned as he gasped for air. The pain was unbearable.

He wanted to feel angry, feel the need for revenge, but that took more energy than he had. Still, if he could survive, he would find them and return the favor.

If I could stall them…get to the car…

Hope was a virtue he’d seldom utilized but right now it was all he had.

“Adam…where’s Adam?” he managed to groan.

“Dead. Jes like you will be.”

The other man laughed. “No, let’s have some fun. We think maybe you keel your friend. Ha!”

They laughed menacingly together.

Even though he knew it was true, the words shocked him. He felt terrible guilt, crucifying guilt. He should have saved Adam. He should have fought back.

His eyes were swelling shut. He flailed his fists at the air halfheartedly.

They just laughed at him. One of them had a quirky, high-resonating titter. Hatred sprouted mighty and fast inside him.

He would never forget that laugh. Never.

They dragged him to the car and shoved him inside, propping him behind the steering wheel. He heard the car door slam, then another door open and close. Scuffling sounds attenuated.

Unconsciousness descended quick and heavy like a steel door. As the world faded to black, he thought, It’ll be good to die.

2

Shreveport, Louisiana

Shannon Riley had pulled the worst float assignment of her career at St. Christopher’s Charity Hospital—the ER during a full moon, half the staff down with the flu and a green intern on duty.

“But I’m just a ward nurse,” she said to Helen Mayer, the senior administrator who was standing in the doorway to the staff lounge. “Besides, I just finished my shift. I want to go home.” She rubbed her bleary eyes.

“You? Home?”

“I miss my cat.”

“She’ll survive.”

“Aw, c’mon, Helen. I’m tired. I really do have a life.”

“Yeah? What’s his name?”

“I didn’t mean a guy.” Shannon dropped her face to her hand, cupping her mouth. “Does it always have to be a guy?”

“It couldn’t be anyone else. You don’t have any family.”

“I know this,” Shannon looked away and stared at the wall.

“Sorry.”

Shannon was silent for a long beat. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You’re more than just an employee here. You’re a friend. And that was unkind of me,” Helen said. “Please help me, Shannon. I’ve always counted on you, my ace.”

A slow smile warmed Shannon’s face. “You’ll note this sacrifice on my record?”

“Sure,” Helen agreed. “Come with me. You may be young but you’ve got more experience than I do.” She wagged her finger at Shannon. “You never heard me say that.”

Shannon liked Helen. She’d been the one who’d hired her when Shannon came to St. Christopher’s six years ago.

“This place has been pandemonium,” Helen continued. “Thirteen babies were born before midnight and both the labor and delivery rooms are full. I don’t know where we’re going to put them all. Maternity is on double shift as it is. On Four an elderly cardiac ICU patient died with no apparent seizure even though his latest prognosis was that he’d be going home in forty-eight hours. On Two, a stroke case, paralyzed on his left side, reacted to his meds and ripped out his IV, got out of bed and tried to walk out the door. It took five staff to get him into restraints and in the process they broke his arm.

“ER has been plagued with that three car pileup on I-20 that was just on the news. God! I can’t tell you how I despise minicams! We actually ran out of cast plaster. But the worst part is this flu epidemic. Staff is dropping like flies. The doctors—”

“I’ve heard all your good news. Now give me the bad news.”

“Dr. Scanlon.”

“No way.”

“Sorry,” Helen said.

Rising from her chair, Shannon said, “I like it when you need me.”

“Take that grin off your face and promise me you’ll do me another favor.”

“I haven’t actually agreed to the first one yet.”

“We’ve got a coma and a gunshot to the head coming in from Sabine Pass. The ambulance just left Highway 79. They’ll be here in ten. I don’t have anyone but you. For the record, I’ll state that Chelsea Sikeston is taking this shift. That way, if anything goes wrong…”

“Or right, then she gets the credit.” Shannon didn’t mind the shell game all the administrators played when the situation called for it, but it galled her to no end that twenty-five-year-old Chelsea, fresh out of college with only a year on staff under her belt, out-ranked her because Shannon was only a practical nurse and not an RN. If it was the last thing she did, she would get her degree someday.

The fact that Chelsea used her affair with the wealthy and very married head of administration, Dr. Thornton, to gain special privileges for herself, incensed Shannon, though she pretended indifference.

Helen’s voice brought Shannon back from her musings. “Do I have to say please?”

“Yeah. It would help.” Shannon walked past Helen to the hall and headed toward the ER.

Dr. Bradley Scanlon was not only a new resident to St. Christopher’s, he was new period. After two weeks on staff he’d lost two patients, both in the past six hours. He was exhausted and wanted only to climb onto a cot in the lounge and sleep for two days straight.

“How could I be so unlucky as to pull another shift?” he complained to Shannon as they changed into fresh greens.

“Triple shift is nothing,” she said flatly, cramming her auburn hair into a paper surgical cap. Double wrapping the ties of the smock around her, she heard the ambulance siren at the emergency doors. Two paramedics rushed alongside a gurney bearing the male auto-accident victim the state troopers had dug out from the bottom of the river.

“Is this our John Doe?” Dr. Scanlon asked the paramedic as he quickly checked the chart he was handed. Shoving the clipboard into Shannon’s hands, he began inspecting the patient for internal injuries.

“One and the same, Doc,” the younger paramedic replied. “Collapsed lung. BP is 190 over 130 and coming down. Possible concussion. He’s been out since we found him.”

“Chest tube and intubate him. Seven point zero ET 2. Give him Manatol IV and hyperventilate him,” Dr. Scanlon ordered Shannon who instantly began assembling the proper dosages for the IV. “CAT scan and X rays,” Dr. Scanlon said as he passed his hands along the man’s rib cage. “Feels as if they’re all broken.”

After injecting the proper meds into the IV, Shannon prepared to intubate.

“What’s over here?” Dr. Scanlon asked as he turned toward the second gurney coming into the room.

“Again, unidentified. Richard Doe has been shot, Doc. BP is 80 over 60.”

“I want an EKG and echocardiogram,” he said as he swabbed the blood from the gunshot wound to the man’s stomach. Without glancing at the paramedic, he asked, “Any idea what all these burn marks are?”

The young man shrugged his shoulders. “The police were there nearly at the same time as we were. They think he was tortured. I heard one of ’em say it coulda been a cigar.”

Dr. Scanlon continued groping into Richard Doe’s gunshot wound without further comment. “I can’t see dick. It’s buried pretty deep. Nurse, suction.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“What else did the police tell you?” Dr. Scanlon asked the paramedic.

“That the front end of the car hit the riverbed, squishing it like an accordian. The steering wheel rammed into that one’s chest,” he said, nodding toward the other patient. “It shoulda killed him. He must be tough. We had to cut the steering wheel away in order to lift him out of the car. Only thing is, I couldn’t figure where he got the blow to his head.”

“From the same person who shot this man would be my guess,” Shannon said.

“Retractor.” Dr. Scanlon glared back at Shannon as he held out his hand to her. She properly placed the instrument handle side toward his thumb and fore-finger. Using a clamp to clear his view into the interior, Dr. Scanlon dug for the bullet. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I’ll need a cross-match.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Shannon replied. But as she cast a sidelong glance at his patient’s chalky color and at the readout on the monitors, she mumbled to herself, “Richard Doe won’t last that long.”

“He needs Methahexol, morphine and valium intravenously, if he doesn’t defib,” she said.

Just then the heart monitor went off.

“Flat line!” the paramedic shouted anxiously.

“Damn!” Dr. Scanlon blanched.

Shannon grabbed the epinephrine, filled the syringe and handed the hypodermic to the doctor while she automatically spun around and jelled the paddles.

Quickly injecting the epinephrine into the patient’s heart, the doctor took the paddles from Shannon and placed them on either side of Richard Doe’s chest.

“Clear!”

Shannon held her breath as she watched the patient’s lifeless body jerk on the gurney. “Nothing!”

“Clear!” Dr. Scanlon zapped him again.

Shannon didn’t wait for results. There was still a chance to save the other patient. “John Doe is still alive and needs to be intubated.”

With the chilling sound of the monotone heart monitor behind her, Shannon turned to the bloody, dark-haired man on the first gurney. She looked at his face. Glass from the windshield had shattered throughout his dark hair, cutting his scalp and forehead. Though his clothes were spattered with blood from hundreds of cuts, she noticed numerous hematomas.

“He’s been beaten.”

She lifted his arm, moving it forward and back while resting her hand on the man’s clavicle. Depressing her fingers into his rib cage, she rolled the pads of her fingers back and forth, pressing them into the flesh until they nearly disappeared. She counted seven broken ribs. Then she lifted his side and looked at his back.

“Kick marks. Especially around the kidneys.”

Gently pressing her fingers to his kidney area, she felt for lumps or signs of detachment. There were none.

“I’ve lost him!” Dr. Scanlon said, handing the paddles to the paramedic.

Shannon glanced at the young doctor’s ashen face, and realized there was no way he could handle another death tonight.

He stepped next to Shannon. Eyes vacant, he looked at her patient. “Good job, Riley.”

“I’ll take him up to X ray myself,” she said, glancing at the paramedic behind her as he pulled a sheet over the dead man’s face.

Police and state troopers scurried in the hallway as Shannon and the paramedics wheeled their patient out of ER.

Brushing past a holstered gun, she shivered. How ironic. Guns and lifesaving equipment in the same room.

Police officers jammed the doorway, forming a blockade against the approaching local news-station reporters who couldn’t wait to film gruesome live shots of bloody bodies for their early-morning newscasts.

Minicam lights blasted Shannon in the face. She froze. “What the—” Shielding her eyes with her hand, half covering her face, she turned away and quickly pushed the gurney toward the elevator. Accidentally, she bumped into one of the reporters.

“Hey, watch it,” he growled.

Her mouth went dry. “Sorry,” she said tensely. She avoided eye contact with the man by keeping her head down.

“Hey, is that one of them?” He turned on his camera.

Shannon felt the blood drain from her face. Though her hands were shaking and her knees quivered, she pulled the sheet over her patient’s head. “Please don’t,” she said meekly.

“I was only doing my job,” the heavyset young man said defensively.

“Me, too,” she mumbled, hurrying past him.

Grumbling, the cameraman turned away.

Shannon made it to the elevator in a flash and impatiently depressed the button twice. She could hear the barrage of questions and the distinct voice of the chief of police, Jimmy Joe Bremen, talking to Dr. Scanlon as they emerged from the ER.

“Did he say anything before he died?” Jimmy Joe asked, pushing aside his underlings.

“No.”

“Did you remove the bullet?”

“Yes,” Dr. Scanlon said wearily.

“Forensics will want it. The body as well.”

“I understand.”

Jimmy Joe’s large belly heaved up and down when he spoke and his lungs rattled, reminding Shannon of the pneumonia he’d had last winter when he’d been admitted to the ER with a high fever. He was the most demanding and stubborn patient she’d ever attended.

She hit the elevator button again.

She realized now that Chief Bremen had lied to Dr. Timmons when he said he hadn’t touched a cigar for over a year. What bothered her most at the time was that he lied so effortlessly and convincingly. She didn’t trust him and it gave her the jitters to be anywhere near him.

Jimmy Joe pressed past the reporters into the hall and Dr. Scanlon followed.

The reporters swarmed.

“What about the other John Doe? Did he say anything? Did you find anything on him we might have overlooked?”

“No, nothing. Should I have?”

Jimmy Joe scratched his head. “Hell, I don’t know. These two fellas were in a bunch o’ trouble, but without any identification and no witnesses, we’re at a loss.”

A brash young female reporter stuck a small microphone in Dr. Scanlon’s face. “What have you got, Doctor?”

“Other than the fact that I place the gunshot wound at around midnight since he hadn’t yet bled to death, the only other medical specifics I can give you at this time is that one man is dead and the other barely alive.”

Jimmy Joe pressed his index finger in Dr. Scanlon’s bony chest. “When the other one comes around, I want to know about it.”

Dr. Scanlon frowned, rubbing the sore spot. “Of course, but it won’t be any time soon. He’s comatose.”

Jimmy Joe slapped his gray hat against his trousers as he walked toward the elevators. “I’ll check on him in the morning.”

“It is morning, Chief,” Dr. Scanlon said wearily.

Jimmy Joe smiled wanly. “Then I’ll call you later,” he said and ordered his men back to the station.

The elevator doors opened. Shannon secured the gurney, IV and respirator on the elevator.

“Appears it’s going to be a nice day,” Jimmy Joe said, watching her as she pushed the gurney into the elevator.

She held her breath, feeling his eyes free-falling across her backside.

Shannon rammed her thumb against the fourth-floor button and glanced down at her patient. When the doors slammed shut, Shannon exhaled with relief. “Safe once again.”

3

Ben Richards was the newest addition to the Shreveport Police Department, and therefore drew the unlucky assignment of standing guard over the comatose John Doe at St. Christopher’s Charity Hospital.

“I suppose you want to get reassigned,” Jimmy Joe said, exhaling heavily as he spoke.

“No, sir. I’m quite satisfied.”

“Satisfied?” Jimmy Joe eyed him suspiciously.

“Absolutely. If this is where you need me, then this is where I’ll be,” Ben said firmly.

“Good. You let me know the minute that guy comes around. I’ve got some questions that need answering,” Jimmy Joe continued. “You’ve only been here a few days…”

“And everyone else is needed for more important work?” Ben offered.

“That’s right.” Jimmy Joe smiled. “Glad to see you understand.”

“Of course. No problem.” Ben clasped his hands behind his back.

Jimmy Joe grinned widely. “You catch on quick, son.” He assessed the tall, thirty-six-year-old man. “You’re kinda old for a rookie. Why’d it take you so long to get through the academy?”

“I didn’t know what I wanted out of life until two years ago. I just kinda bummed around, I guess you’d say.”

“I see. Just so you know, every case is top priority to this office.”

Ben held his palm in the air. “Don’t apologize, sir. I’m happy to take this responsibility. If there’s any information forthcoming from John Doe, rest assured I’ll be on top of it.”

“Fine.”

“Did we ID the body in the morgue?” Ben slipped the question in easily.

Jimmy Joe nodded. “Even though there was no ID on either one of them when we brought them in, we found his initials inscribed inside his watchband. Then we ran his fingerprints. He had a misdemeanor arrest when he was sixteen. Probably got busted on prom night. His name is Adam Rivers, of New Orleans. I just got the call his wife’s coming in. She’s probably downstairs right now. Let’s go.”

Ben followed Jimmy Joe.

Shannon wrapped a pilled black cardigan around her shoulders as she waited outside the hospital, where she was to meet Alice Rivers, then take her to the morgue.

The automatic glass doors opened. Chief Bremen, Ben Richards and Helen Mayer walked toward her.

“Mrs. Rivers isn’t here yet?” Helen asked.

“No,” Shannon answered, glancing quickly at Chief Bremen. She felt chills surge across her back. She wished she was anywhere but here. She looked away from the older man to Ben. “Who’s he?” she asked quietly.

“John Doe’s bodyguard,” Helen whispered.

Ben overheard Shannon’s question. “My name is Ben Richards,” he said, putting out his hand.

She looked at his hand and nodded while hugging herself against the cold. “A bodyguard? He’s unconscious. He can’t hurt anyone.”

Shannon looked away from Ben’s probing eyes. The wind whipped around the corner, stinging her eyes. It gave her an excuse to close them and pretend she was nowhere near these men. Cocking her head toward Helen, she whispered, “This case gets more bizarre by the minute. And why should Alice Rivers need me…a nurse?”

Helen gave her a sidelong glance, pointing to the squad car as it pulled up. “Wait and see.”

Gallantly, Ben opened the car door and extended his hand to the woman inside.

“My God. She’s pregnant.” Astonishment cut through Shannon’s voice.

“Overdue, actually,” Helen replied.

“What are these bastards trying to do? Send her into shock?” Shannon glared at Ben.

He ignored her and smiled at Alice.

Helen shrugged her shoulders. “I thought the same thing. They say it’s for security. I’ve alerted Maternity. Watch her closely, Shannon. She’s in your hands now.”

Shannon moved toward the squad car, intent on taking over from Ben.

Alice Rivers was child-size despite the pregnancy. Her face was pale as she shifted her weight grimly.

“I’m Shannon Riley. I’m here to help you.” Shannon said, casting Ben an icy glare and he backed away. Shannon shook Alice’s hand. “You’re trembling.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Alice asked.

“Of course.”

“I’m Ben Richards, Mrs. Rivers. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know,” he said in a comforting tone of voice that surprised Shannon with its depth.

Alice nodded curtly to Ben and Jimmy Joe rather than touch their extended hands.

“You’ll be fine,” Shannon assured her.

Alice gave her a grateful look.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Rivers,” Jimmy Joe said. “I must warn you, Mrs. Rivers, this may not be your husband, but from the description you gave the New Orleans police—”

“You think it is,” she finished for him.

“Yes.”

Alice’s eyes went pleadingly to Shannon. “He didn’t tell me he was coming here. Adam doesn’t know anyone in Shreveport.”

“We think he knew the man in the hospital,” Ben said.

“What man?” she said, looking at the police officer once more.

“The man we found with your husband.”

“Who is he?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Ben said.

Alice shook her head vehemently. “We don’t know anyone here.”

“I understand,” Ben replied calmly. “Perhaps we should get this over with.”

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes going back to Shannon.

Shannon put her arm protectively around Alice’s back.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Mrs. Rivers.” Shannon said.

“How can you say that? My husband is missing, for God’s sake. And the best I can do at this moment is pray it’s not him in there on a slab.”

Shannon saw the tears in the woman’s eyes and her heart went out to her. “Believe me, I do know what you’re going through,” she whispered. “It’s hell, but we’ll do it together. Just you and me. Okay?”

Their eyes met in that knowing glance women share when their hearts are open. Alice clutched Shannon’s sleeve. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Good girl.”

They went inside to ICU, where three men and one elderly woman were attached to high-tech monitoring equipment. Black screens with waving lines and tiny blinking lights indicated that the still bodies were alive.

Alice braced herself.

Shannon felt her own skin turn cold. “C’mon.”

Alice’s frantic eyes flitted from gurney to gurney. “This isn’t happening.”

Shannon’s arm tightened around Alice as if she were the one needing strength.

Alice lumbered awkwardly, her arms strapped over her abdomen clearly trying to hold herself together. Fear crept back into her eyes. “Adam isn’t here?”

“No,” Jimmy Joe said flatly. “We were hoping you could identify John Doe for us.”

Ben stood next to the last gurney in the area. “Do you know this man?”

Shannon watched Alice intently.

Alice stared at the mangled swollen face of the man who appeared more dead than alive. She gasped and turned ashen. “My God! Did they crush his face?” She put her hand over her mouth, holding back her nausea.

“They thought they killed him.”

“You mean, like they killed Adam?”

“Yes,” Jimmy Joe answered. “Unless this man killed your husband first. We simply don’t know.”

She gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth. “Did they torture them?”

“Alice…” Shannon’s voice was filled with concern.

“I’m okay.” She breathed in heavily, obviously anticipating the worst of all possible answers.

Jimmy Joe started to answer truthfully, but Ben interrupted. “No.”

The stark terror in Alice’s eyes faded. Shannon cast Ben a grateful look. He caught it and smiled back, then gave her a slight nod, letting her know he was there to help her make Alice feel at ease.

How chivalrous. He read the reports. He knows the truth, but he wants to protect her.

Shannon was surprised at the flood of relief that overcame her. She wasn’t used to relying on others for assistance of any kind. And certainly not a cop. She wondered why his aid suddenly meant something to her.

Shannon smiled back and Ben’s smile widened. She felt her heart flutter. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in so long, she instantly discounted it.

Jimmy Joe asked Alice, “Are you sure you’ve never seen him before?”

“I told you, we don’t know anyone in Shreveport. My husband and I have a fine circle of friends in New Orleans. My family has lived in New Orleans for two hundred years. We would never, ever associate with anyone so unseemly as this man. For any of this to have happened to Adam is beyond my comprehension. Frankly, it’s my belief Adam was kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” Shannon asked, surprised.

“Yes. That kind of thing is happening more and more these days. People of our class and wealth are more vulnerable than ever to danger. Always have been,” she said resolutely.

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Jimmy Joe said.

“I’m not surprised. You don’t honestly believe we involve the police every time one of us is threatened. We have the money to deal with these things.”

“Have you ever been kidnapped, Mrs. Rivers?” Ben asked curiously.

“No. But my sister was when I was ten. She was returned unharmed. My father has always believed in a great deal of security.”

“I see,” Ben said. “Did you receive a call demanding ransom for your husband, Mrs. Rivers?”

“No,” she replied sadly.

“Then why would you think he was kidnapped?” Shannon blurted out the question before she realized she’d spoken. After all, this wasn’t her investigation. She kept telling herself she could care less. She was assigned. She hadn’t volunteered. She wanted to be as far away from here as possible. Yet, something kept her rooted to the spot.

“There’s no other acceptable explanation,” Alice said. “My husband was a well-educated, honorable man. He wasn’t a criminal. Nor would he consort with such people. He was kidnapped and the kidnappers killed him before making the call to either myself or my parents.”

Jimmy Joe stuffed his fists in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he considered her explanation.

Shannon dismissed her views. She suspected that Alice Rivers not only led a sheltered life, but that her husband had clearly lied to her. No telling what the police would dredge up.

Ben gestured toward the door. “I think it’s time we get the worst over with.”

The lights in the morgue were blinding as the coroner rolled the slab out of its file in the wall.

Shannon kept her arm clamped around Alice’s shoulder while the coroner unceremoniously flipped back the white sheet.

Alice’s eyes gaped at her husband’s bloodless body.

Shannon felt shock waves rivet through Alice’s body. She wished she could absorb the impact, lessen Alice’s pain, but she was powerless.

“Oh, God!” Alice screamed. “Oh my God! Adam!” She clamped her hands over her face. Bursting into tears, she turned into Shannon’s shoulder, looking more ghostly than the corpse.

“Your husband?” Jimmy Joe asked emotionlessly.

Shannon couldn’t help wondering what made him so impassive.

“Yes,” Alice groaned and clutched her abdomen. She folded in half.

“She’s gone into shock!” Shannon said, casting an imploring look at Ben. “Hit the call button! I need help!”

Ben rushed to the wall and slammed his palm on the red button. He barked orders into the intercom.

“Oh, God,” Alice cried. “This can’t be happening!” Terror struck her eyes.

“What’s going on?” Jimmy Joe asked, flustered.

Ben put his arms around the rotund, but frail woman. “She’s going into labor, Chief.”

“Shit!” Jimmy Joe said, standing aside as Shannon and Ben lowered Alice to the floor.

Alice’s water broke. “Don’t let this happen here! I want to go home!”

“You’ll be fine,” Shannon assured her.

“I don’t think…” Pain shot through her again. Her eyes darted to her dead husband. “I’m alone…”

Shannon squeezed her hand very hard. “No, Alice, you have this baby.”

“Yes, the baby…”

Shannon tried to lift her.

“Here.” Ben put his hands on Shannon’s shoulders, easing her aside. “I’ll do this.” He scooped Alice up into his strong arms. “Where to?”

Shannon gaped at him. She wasn’t used to heroes. “Fifth floor.”

Ben rushed toward the door with Alice in his arms and Shannon fast on his heels.

“Damn it!” Jimmy Joe grumbled. “Now there’s no chance she’ll ID our John Doe.”

4

Alice Rivers’s baby was born healthy. Within fourteen hours her sister from Gretna had driven to Shreveport to take her and the baby back to New Orleans.

Throughout her ordeal, Ben kept telling Shannon he was convinced Alice might have been able to identify John Doe had his features been more normal.

Jimmy Joe blew him off, saying, “Drop it, Ben. Alice Rivers doesn’t know him.” But Shannon couldn’t help thinking Ben was right.

Shannon doubled her shift time to watch over John Doe. Because of the police investigation and the myriad questions swirling around John like a whirlpool, she became fascinated with him. Every time she looked at him, she was amazed the man had survived the torture, much less the car crash. There was little about him that looked human.

But you are human, aren’t you, John?

More than that, she sensed he had an incredible inner strength. In the first thirty-eight hours of his confinement, she’d watched his condition improve from critical to stable status. His heartbeat regulated. His breathing became stronger. Even the swelling in his face had begun to subside today as she tended him.

“You want to live, don’t you, John?” She held his hand, counting his pulsebeats. His skin was warm—a good sign. His heart was strong, beating a Morse code that coursed through the nerve endings in the pads of her fingers.

“I want you to live, too. I want you to get well and strong. Maybe then you can tell the police who did this to you. I’ll help you, John.” Shannon was a firm believer in the power of the subconscious.

Today she’d brought in an old cassette tape player she’d bought at a clearance sale and played classical music and New Age meditation and healing tapes. She owned a collection of subliminal-healing tapes she brought to her favorite patients from time to time. The staff never said anything about her tapes, knowing that Helen Mayers had twice requested financial funding for just such equipment, only to be rejected by the hospital board.

Shannon depressed the start button on the player and turned the volume down low. “It’s a Chopin nocturne. I love this part, John,” she said, listening closely.

She glanced at him, wanting to believe she saw a tiny tic at the edge of his mouth. But it was only the morning-light shadows playing across his face.

“Keep listening. It will help you wake up.” She patted his hand and began marking down his vital signs on his chart.

Routine was easy for Shannon. She’d been through this process many times before, with herself as the healer. She realized she played a catalytic role in all her patients’ lives. She believed she was part of the reason John was alive and would, in time, become healthy again. He would awaken. He would heal. They would get to know each other without the machines as interpreters. He would tell her about himself and clear up these mysteries around him. The police would be satisfied. He would tell her where he was from and about his family. About his life. His wife and children, possibly. About how much he loved them and missed them. They would come for him and he would tell her he was eternally grateful to her for helping to save his life. They would bond in a special way that patients did with their nurses. Eventually, he would leave the hospital. He would say goodbye to her and go back to where he came from and she would never hear from him again. It was always like that in Shannon’s world.

The John Doe case was more than perplexing to Ben Richards. It bugged the hell out of him. After a week of standing guard at the hospital, Ben had learned little about the man. No one had come to visit him. No one asked about him. There were no calls, no flowers.

Even the police were dumbfounded, it seemed.

Ben stood stock-still in Chief Bremen’s office. “Sir, I have a feeling that Alice Rivers knows John Doe. Her ability to recognize him was impaired not only because of his physical condition but because she was stressed over her husband.”

“Don’t you think I know all that?”

“Sir, I was only recounting your thoughts on the matter.”

“Well, then, don’t you have any new thoughts to add, Richards?”

“Not at this time, sir.”

Jimmy Joe took out a cigar, considered it and put it back in his drawer. “Doc says those things will kill me.”

“Yeah, they tell me that about cigarettes.” Ben shrugged his shoulders. “But, what can I do? I’m hooked,” he said with a sheepish grin. “You ran John Doe’s fingerprints?” he asked, sliding the question easily into his conversation.

“Yes, but we found nothing. No criminal record. No military record.”

“And the rental car?”

“Issued to a Harvey Ackerman. But we tracked him down. He’s alive and well in Bossier.” Chief Bremen answered pointedly and with a terse nod for emphasis.

“John Doe stole Harvey’s credit card and driver’s license?”

“Apparently,” Jimmy Joe said dismissively. “Look, Ben, I handled all this myself. I don’t want any more screwups. Your job is to bird-dog John Doe. I’ll take care of the rest. You got that?”

Ben watched Jimmy Joe’s reactions to his questions like a scientist searching for microscopic clues. Something was wrong. Jimmy Joe was lying through his teeth about something. Ben just had to find out what that something was. “Got it.”

“I’m glad we got that straight. Helen Mayer called from the hospital and said they’re moving our guy out of ICU. Room 505. I told her I wanted as few people to know about his presence as possible.”

“Chief, the fact that he has a guard twenty-four hours a day will draw attention,” Ben said.

“I told you to look as inconspicuous as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hopefully the guy will come around in another couple days. So far we’ve been able to keep the press at bay. We’ve still got a chance to unravel this thing.”

“I understand.”

“Dr. Scanlon will continue to be the attending physician and I understand Helen has assigned a permanent nurse.” He looked down at his pocket spiral notepad. “Shannon Riley. Wasn’t she his nurse when they brought him in?”

“Yes. She’s been with him every day,” Ben said. “She seems dependable, even taking double shifts.”

“She’s probably being paid double time and a half.”

A moment later, Ben told his boss that he was headed for the hospital. What he didn’t tell him was that he wasn’t going there immediately. He had some investigating of his own to do.

Ben’s conversation with Jimmy Joe bothered him. He was smarter than Jimmy Joe and knew how to read people. The man was lying and Ben had to figure out what he was lying about and why.

After speaking with Jimmy Joe at the station, Ben drove to the airport car rental where John Doe had falsely rented a car. He asked the supervisor to show him the records regarding that particular transaction.

“Mabel Yates, one of our clerks, dealt with that customer. The police were already here once about it. She knows she messed up.”

“Messed up?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, she didn’t check the signature against the customer’s credit-card signature on the back.”

“I see,” Ben said, nodding. “Did she remember the man at all? Give a description?”

The supervisor shook his head. “Most folks look the same to us, we see so many. But she did remember that he was short.”

“Short?” Ben was surprised. John Doe was at least six foot tall. But Adam Rivers is short.

“Yeah. Mabel is tall—five-ten. He was shorter than she is. She says she always notices people’s height.”

Ben reasoned that Adam Rivers had undoubtedly rented the car under an assumed name, then left it somewhere for John Doe to pick up at a later time. But why? Was Adam Rivers protecting John Doe? Was Adam the gofer, doing odd jobs for John Doe the mastermind? Or was Rivers protecting himself? Or both?

After leaving the car rental place, Ben went to a pay phone. Picking up the phone book, he quickly turned to the Bossier City section. There were three Ackermans in Bossier City, but there was no Harvey nor even an initial “H.” He called all three numbers and each call confirmed there had never been a Harvey Ackerman in Bossier City.

Why would Jimmy Joe lie about this? Ben wondered. Or is someone in the department lying to Jimmy Joe?

Ben had thought he’d find answers to his questions.

He’d thought wrong.

John Doe had been assigned to private room 505, located at the end of the hall, surrounded by unoccupied semiprivate rooms. Chief Bremen and the hospital administration had agreed that until more was known regarding the criminal status of John Doe, the safety of patients and staff was of primary concern. No one was allowed admittance to that end of the hall except Ben Richards, Dr. Scanlon, Shannon Riley and Chief Bremen.

“I can understand having Ben around when John was in ICU. But now that we know it may be weeks, months, before John comes out of the coma, is it necessary to have cops on duty all the time?” Shannon asked Helen.

“Chief Bremen thinks so,” Helen said. “He doesn’t want a gang slaying up here any more than I do.”

“Slaying? They think John is in that much danger?”

“Yes.”

“My God.” Shannon swallowed hard, looking around the nurses’ lounge for escape. “I had no idea…”

“Don’t cop out on me, Shannon. I need you on this case. You’re damn good.”

“Besides, no one else will take it?” Shannon offered.

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’ve never worked with an armed guard at the door. All this past week, it’s given me the willies.”

“He’s supposed to make you feel safe.”

“Well, he doesn’t,” Shannon replied tersely. “Maybe I just don’t like cops.”

Helen nodded. “I’ve noticed that about you.”

“What?” Shannon asked, clearly shocked.

“You shake like a leaf when Ben is around. Chief Bremen, too.”

“I do not,” she answered with more confidence than she felt. “It’s the case that has me rattled. You have to admit, this entire case is out of the ordinary.”

“It is.”

Shannon rolled her eyes. “How did I get myself into this?”

“You didn’t. I did,” Helen smiled.

“Remind me to thank you later,” Shannon replied. Making no further comment, she walked down the hall toward John’s room, closing the door behind her.

“Good day, John,” she said cheerily, opening the miniblinds. “Sunny. That’s good.”

She smiled at her patient. “You look better already without your ICU attachments.”

She looked at him closely. The cuts on his face were healing well after only a week in the hospital. There was a remarkable change almost overnight as the swelling had gone down due to Shannon’s trick of placing frozen peas inside the fingers of plastic gloves and laying them across his eyes and cheeks. The edges of his bruises had altered from black and blue to a muddy yellow. She passed her hand over his cheek. “I think Mozart has had a hand in this.” Shannon had continued to play him classical music each day. She leaned over him, putting her face close to his.

No response, not even the flutter of an eyelash.

“Looks like you could use a shave, my friend.”

She prepared water, towels, soap and a plastic disposable razor. After thoroughly washing his face, she smeared a small amount of shaving cream on his left cheek. “Nasty cut on the other side. Better not risk it.”

She carefully shaved his cheek, sliding the razor over abrasions with skilled ease. She applied more shaving cream. “I’ve never shaved a man with such a deep cleft in his chin. How many times did you cut yourself when you first started shaving? Did your father teach you? Did he have a cleft, too?”

She smoothed a clump of hair from his forehead and gazed at him. She was seeing an almost normal-looking man.

“Or was it your mother you inherited it from?”

She looked at him, but not as a nurse looking for signs of health. In some part of her mind, she knew she was projecting herself onto her patient. Patients projected their emotions onto their healers all the time. It was so common it was a cliché in the medical world. In this case, though, Shannon believed that John was a mirror of herself—a person alone, wounded and waiting.

“Like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.

Impulsively, she leaned toward him, her lips pursed.

“Do you believe in magic, that a kiss will awaken you?”

She stopped herself midmotion. She straightened up and blinked.

“Stupid. What was I thinking?”

I’ve never done anything like that. Never. Professionalism is my middle name.

Quickly, she gathered up the shaving utensils. “That is the last time I pull three shifts in a row!” she exclaimed and walked out of the room.

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