“I’m going back to work this afternoon, and you’ll have to clap me in irons to stop me.”

“And you think that can’t be arranged?” he declared, every bit as angry now as she was. For a moment he thought she was going to argue with him, then her lips twisted slightly.

“Mario, I know you’re just trying to protect me, but I have to go back to work. You’ve been a doctor. People need me, and I can’t let them down. I simply can’t.”

“I appreciate that, Kate, I do. But this isn’t a game,” he protested.

“The risk is worth taking.”

Not for him, he thought, as his eyes met hers. If anything should happen to her…If he never saw her laugh again, or smelled her perfume or saw her chew her lip when she was thinking…But he couldn’t tell her that. He hated admitting it even to himself.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “if you want to go back to work, then I’ll let you. But,” he continued as her large grey eyes lit up with clear delight, “there are conditions. You have to let me come back and work in your department—”

“Not a problem.”

“—and you have to let me move in with you.”

Dear Reader,

Before I started writing this book I asked my editor if I could try something a little bit different. “Great,” she said. Trouble was, I couldn’t come up with anything different. I considered forensic medicine, but it didn’t light my fire. And then I thought, “How about a woman-in-jeopardy mystery story set in a hospital?”

As soon as I’d decided that, I was off and running, and the character of Kate followed just as fast. But my hero was a lot tougher to crack. Zach—yup, he was Zach right up until I was halfway through this book—just wouldn’t speak to me. I kept wondering what was wrong, and then one day, right out of the blue, he said, “I’m Italian.” I tried to keep him quiet, to tell him I was the writer and I would decide what nationality he was, but he kept on saying it, so I went back to the beginning of the book and began rewriting it. The minute Mario hustled Kate into that cupboard I knew he’d been right and I’d been wrong. He was suddenly infuriating and intriguing and absolutely everything a hero should be. In short, I fell in love with him, and I hope you do, too!

Maggie Kingsley

The Consultant’s Italian Knight
Maggie Kingsley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘BE CAREFUL what you wish for.’

That’s what her mother had always said to her when she was a little girl, Kate Kennedy remembered.

‘Be careful what you wish for because it might actually come true.’

Well, it had come true, Kate thought, as she gazed out over the crowded waiting room of the A and E department of the General Infirmary in Aberdeen. Three years ago, at the age of thirty-two, she’d become one of the youngest A and E consultants in the country. She’d got the job she’d always wanted, a husband who had loved her, and the perfect home, but now…

‘Broken arm in cubicle 4, Kate. Stomach pains in 6, a wheezer in 1, and a seven-year-old with a cut leg in 3.’

Kate turned to see Terri Campbell, the blonde-haired, middle-aged sister in charge of the nursing staff of the A and E department regarding her expectantly, and managed a smile.

‘Business as usual, then,’ she replied, glancing back at the waiting room in time to see a fight break out between the two young men who had been drinking steadily ever since they’d arrived.

‘You OK, Kate?’

Concern had replaced the expectant look on Terri’s face, and Kate forced her smile back into place.

‘Bad attack of Saturday night blues,’ she lied. ‘Everyone else is out there enjoying themselves, and I’m stuck in here, on a hot August evening, tending to the ungrateful, the ungracious and the just plain stupid.’

‘Yes, but you wouldn’t want it any other way, would you?’ The sister laughed.

Once upon a time she wouldn’t have, Kate thought, but now she was beginning to wonder whether the price she’d had to pay for achieving her dream had been too high. Way too high.

‘Are you sure you’re OK, Kate?’

Terri was frowning at her now and, for a second, Kate hesitated, but she and the unit sister had been friends for the past three years and she knew she’d have to tell her eventually.

‘It came this morning,’ she said with an effort. ‘My decree nisi.’

‘Oh, Kate—’

‘It’s not like it was unexpected,’ Kate interrupted, not wanting the sister’s sympathy, knowing she couldn’t deal with it right now. ‘We both knew there was no way back when John left me last year, but I sort of thought…’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that the decree nisi would be bigger, more impressive, but it was just an ordinary piece of paper. Not much to show for six years of marriage. Five years if you don’t count the year John and I were separated, and I don’t suppose I should.’

Terri stared at her helplessly. ‘Kate, I’m so sorry. I hoped there might be a chance of you and John getting back together again.’

‘He’s found somebody else,’ Kate said. ‘He told me last week. Her name’s Sandy. She weighs seven stone including her hair extensions, and she’s a fashion buyer.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Terri bit her lip, then pushed her glasses firmly up the bridge of her nose. ‘Well, at least some good might come out of this.’

‘Some good?’ Kate repeated faintly, and Terri nodded.

‘If she’s a fashion buyer maybe she’ll be able to talk him out of those God-awful black suits and button down shirts he will persist in wearing. The ones which make him resemble a third-rate undertaker.’

Kate stared speechlessly at the sister for a second, then burst out laughing.

‘Oh, Terri, what would I do without you?’ she exclaimed, and the sister grinned.

‘Be even loopier than you already are?’ she suggested. ‘Seriously, if I can help at all—if you want to scream or yell or just generally vent—I’m here for you.’

Did she want to scream and yell? Kate wondered. Did she really?

She might feel hurt, and confused, and not a little bewildered, but if she was honest with herself—and Kate fully intended to be honest—she didn’t want John back. They’d fallen out of love a long time ago.

‘I’m fine, Terri,’ she declared. ‘Truly I am.’

‘Well, the offer’s there if you should ever want it,’ Terri said. ‘Lord knows, you’ve listened to my worries about my son more times than I care to remember.’

‘Neil will be OK, Terri—I know he will,’ Kate said gently. ‘He’s only eighteen, and we all make stupid mistakes at that age, but he’s got you and Frank, and now this new job. He’s beginning to turn his life around.’

‘I hope so, but working in a bar…It’s not what I imagined for him,’ Terri said unhappily. ‘He was—is—such a clever boy, and if he hadn’t got in with the wrong crowd at school…Frank says the bar work will do him good, make him stand on his own two feet, but…’

‘Terri, he’ll be fine,’ Kate insisted. ‘He will.’

‘And so will you,’ the sister said, clearly deliberately changing the subject. ‘There’s somebody out there who’s just right for you, I know there is.’

‘I don’t want to meet anybody else,’ Kate said firmly. ‘One failed marriage is quite enough for me.’

‘Kate, you’re only thirty-four—’

‘Thirty-five at the beginning of next month,’ Kate reminded her.

‘—and just because it didn’t work out with John,’ Terri continued determinedly, ‘doesn’t mean it won’t work out with somebody else. For all you know, Mr Right could be just about to walk through that door this very minute, and change your life completely.’

Not Mr Right, but Mr Never-in-a-Million-Years, Kate thought, with a shaky inward chuckle, as Terri sped across to their receptionist to see why she was waving frantically at her and the door of the waiting room opened and two men appeared.

The younger of the two men was tall, in his early thirties, with neat blond hair and a frank, open face, but his companion…

Intimidating. That was the only word that could adequately describe him, Kate decided, and it wasn’t just because he was considerably taller and more muscular than his companion. It wasn’t even because his thick black hair brushed the neck of an ancient brown leather jacket, or his denims were faded and worn, or even that he was wearing a pair of the scruffiest trainers she’d ever seen. It was his face.

Darker skinned than the average Aberdonian, she would have guessed him to be Spanish, or Italian, if it hadn’t been for his eyes. Cobalt-blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes that stared back at her with neither warmth nor gentleness, but only a world-weary cynicism that said all too plainly, Don’t mess with me.

‘MVA on the way,’ Terri declared as she rejoined her. ‘Single car hit the crash barrier on the motorway, broken tib and fib, and suspected internal bleeding. Oh, and you’re going to love this,’ she added, her expression clearly suggesting otherwise. ‘We’ve also got a young man coming in from Aberdeen airport. He collapsed just after he came through Customs, and the security guys suspect he’s a body-packer.’

Kate groaned inwardly. That was all she needed this evening. If the young man was a body-packer then his collapse suggested that one of his packets had burst, and the only other body-packer she had ever treated had died. Swiftly, and extremely painfully.

‘OK, make sure we’ve plenty of house red for the MVA,’ she declared. ‘As for the body-packer…Let’s hope he’s simply an innocent traveller who’s had a heart attack.’

And the man in the waiting room was still staring at her, she noticed as she turned to go back into the treatment room. Staring, and smiling. Not at her, she realised, but at something his companion had said, but that smile…Just for a second it completely softened his face, making him heart-clutchingly attractive. He was still as intimidating as hell, of course, but that smile…Yup, it definitely pushed all of her buttons and, unconsciously, her fingers went up to the hair clips which were spectacularly failing to keep her shoulder-length, auburn hair back in a neat chignon.

Getting her hair restyled was on her ‘to do’ list. So was losing some weight and buying more furniture for the ground floor flat she’d moved into when she and John had separated. The flat that depressed the hell out of her every time she opened the front door, but why she should suddenly find herself thinking about that, and her hair, and losing some weight, just because an attractive—OK, make that very attractive—man was sitting in the waiting room was beyond her.

‘Kate?’

Terri was still waiting for her, and Kate squared her shoulders firmly.

The man was just a man. Someone she’d probably never see again, and that was exactly the way she wanted it. No more relationships, no more heartbreak, plus the likelihood of somebody like him ever being interested in someone like her was nil, she thought wryly, as she began to walk towards the treatment room door. No man who looked as good as he did when he smiled would ever be interested in an overweight little woman like her.

Which was just as well, she told herself, as she risked a quick glance over her shoulder and saw he was still watching her. Relationships might be fraught with uncertainty and danger at the best of times, but this man already had danger written all over him.

‘I thought he’d be here by now,’ Ralph Evanton declared, dragging his fingers impatiently through his blond hair as he sat down on one of the waiting room chairs. ‘According to our info, the ambulance picked him up ten minutes ago.’

‘It’s Saturday night,’ Mario Volante replied. ‘The traffic will be heavy.’

‘I suppose so.’ Ralph glanced round, then lowered his voice. ‘Do you reckon he’s still alive?’

‘If the ambulance comes in with its siren blaring, he’s alive. If it doesn’t…’ Mario pulled over one of the battered waiting room chairs and sat down, too. ‘Either way—alive or DOA—we’ll know soon enough.’

‘You’d think they’d realise it was a mug’s game, wouldn’t you?’ Ralph observed. ‘That what they’re buying into can all too quickly become a one-way ticket to the Big Guy upstairs.’

Mario shrugged. ‘Life’s tough. It’s even tougher if you’re stupid.’

Ralph stared at him silently for a moment, then cleared his throat. ‘You know, you can be a complete and utter bastard at times.’

‘I prefer to call myself a realist.’

‘Yeah. Right.’

Absently, Ralph drummed his fingers against the side of his chair, then pulled his mobile phone out of his jacket only to swiftly pocket it when Mario nudged him and gestured towards the sign on the waiting room wall reminding all visitors that mobile phones must be switched off within the hospital confines.

‘Oughtn’t we to at least introduce ourselves to that woman on Reception?’ Ralph demanded. ‘Tell her why we’re here?’

‘The fewer people who know who we are, the better.’

‘I guess so.’ Ralph turned in his seat as the waiting room door opened, and grimaced as a girl with a badly cut knee limped in. ‘I hate hospitals.’

‘Really?’A glimmer of a smile creased Mario Volante’s lips. ‘I never would have guessed. Look, will you relax?’ he continued as Ralph opened his mouth to protest. ‘I’m trying very hard not to draw attention to myself, but you’re squirming around as though you’ve sat on something.’

‘Sorry. I just—’

‘Hate hospitals,’ Mario finished for him, his smile widening. ‘Yeah, so you said.’

‘It looks like something might be happening,’ Ralph declared, sitting up straighter in his seat and nodding in the direction of the reception desk. ‘That blonde-haired nurse with the glasses looks worried, and so does the pretty little nurse with the auburn hair.’

‘The chubby, auburn-haired one is a doctor not a nurse.’

‘Mario, she only looks chubby to you because you usually date toothpicks,’ Ralph protested. ‘To me she looks like a real woman. A woman with her curves in all the right places.’

‘And does Jenny know you’re looking at other women and deciding whether they have their curves in all the right places?’ Mario said with a quizzical glance.

Ralph looked smug. ‘My wife trusts me.’

‘Uh-huh. Plus, I distinctly remember her saying at your wedding that if you ever cheated on her she’d nail your butt to the wall and use it as a dartboard.’

‘She did, too,’ Ralph said with a splutter of laughter. ‘But I stand by what I said. That girl has all her curves in the right places, and she’s pretty, too.’

But not happy, Mario decided as he stared across at the auburn-haired girl. In his work it was his job to read people, and this girl—woman—was definitely not happy. There were shadows under her large grey eyes, and her face was white and drawn as though she hadn’t been sleeping well recently.

‘That’s what you need,’ Ralph observed, seeing the direction of his gaze. ‘A good woman in your life.’

‘And just when did this paragon become not just a real woman, but also a good one?’ Mario protested, and Ralph shook his head, clearly amazed at the question.

‘She’s a doctor, Mario. It stands to reason she’ll be the caring, nurturing type.’

With a backbone of steel if he was any judge of character, Mario decided as he watched the auburn-haired doctor reply to something the nurse had said. Medicine was a tough profession for a woman, and for this woman to work in A and E she had to be no pushover, and from the stubborn tilt of her jaw he knew she wasn’t.

‘What you need is some stability in your life, Mario,’ Ralph continued, ‘starting with a proper, grown-up relationship.’

‘You’ll be trying to fix me up with your kid sister next,’ Mario said dryly. ‘Or your cousin from Glasgow.’

‘I wouldn’t trust you with either of them, but that girl looks as though she could handle you.’

‘You think I need handling?’ Mario declared, amusement plain on his face, and Ralph raised an eyebrow.

‘Mario, you discard women with as little thought as you change your socks. Now, that girl—’

‘Enough, Ralph,’ Mario interrupted, his patience clearly at an end. ‘I’m not interested.’

‘Then you should be,’ Ralph insisted. ‘Hell, mate, you’ve been divorced for four years, and, OK, so divorce is never pleasant and Sue hurt you badly, but it’s time you moved on, time you buried the hurt.’

He would have done, Mario thought grimly, if Sue really had hurt him, but the trouble was she hadn’t. If she had hurt him he would at least have known he was still able to feel, to care, but when she’d left all he’d felt was an overwhelming sense of relief that the arguing was finally over.

‘Mario, listen to me—’

‘Madre di Dio!’ Mario exclaimed, and Ralph held up his hands in defeat.

‘OK—OK. When you start speaking Italian I know it’s time to shut up. You’re happy as you are. Fine. Great.’

And he was happy, Mario thought as he watched the auburn-haired doctor fiddle with her hair. Lovely hair it was, too. The kind of hair that should never be tied back but allowed to flow loose and free, and Ralph had been right about the curves. They were definitely in all the right places, but he wasn’t interested. He had a job that he loved, the career he’d always wanted, and it was enough for him. OK, so there were times when he was lonely, but if he’d been looking for a new relationship—and he wasn’t—the girl standing at the reception desk wasn’t for him. He preferred his women quiet, placid and accommodating, and he suspected the auburn-haired doctor was anything but.

‘Sounds like it might be show time,’ Ralph declared as the distant wail of a siren split the air.

It did indeed, Mario thought, as he saw the nurse and the auburn-haired doctor disappear back into the treatment room. It also meant their man was still alive, and with a sigh he stretched out his long, denim clad legs. It was going to be a long night.

‘According to his passport, his name’s Duncan Hamilton, and he’s nineteen years old,’ one of the paramedics declared, desperately trying to restrain the arms and legs of the young man who was thrashing about wildly on the trolley. ‘When security at the airport said they suspected he might be a body-packer, we just bagged him, and did a scoop and run.’

‘Symptoms?’ Kate asked.

‘Severe agitation, BP 160 over 90 and rising and he started fitting just as we pulled up outside.’

Kate bit her lip. Absorption of large amounts of cocaine caused agitation, hypertension and seizures, but Duncan Hamilton’s symptoms could be due to other conditions, too. If she knew for certain that it wasn’t a leaking cocaine packet she would immediately have started him on naloxone, but the drug would have no effect on a patient suffering from a massive overdose.

‘Did he have anything else on him apart from his passport?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Maybe a medic alert disc detailing a preexisting medical condition?’

The paramedic shook his head, and Kate swore under her breath.

If Duncan Hamilton was a body-packer then it certainly sounded as though one of his packets had burst, but she needed more than a suspicion. She needed certainty.

‘Mr Hamilton—Duncan,’ she said, leaning as far over the young man as his writhing body would allow. ‘Do you know where you are, and what’s happening to you?’

A low moan was her only reply, and she gave up on the preliminaries and went for the straight approach.

‘Duncan, how many packets of cocaine did you swallow?’

‘I didn’t…I haven’t swallowed anything,’ the young man gasped as Terri finished cutting off his clothes and began placing plastic suckers on his chest to link him to the heart monitor.

‘Duncan, if one of your packets has burst you could die,’ Kate persisted, ‘so tell me the truth. How many did you swallow?’

For a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer, then he muttered, ‘Hundred. Swallowed a hundred.’

Hell-fire, and damnation. The average lethal dose of cocaine hydrochloride was 500 milligrams. Body-packers commonly swallowed packets containing at least 12 grams each, and Duncan Hamilton said he’d swallowed a hundred of them. If just one of them had burst then more than twenty-four times the lethal dosage was seeping into his body, affecting his central nervous system, and respiratory and cardiovascular systems.

‘OK, Terri, we need to calm him and cool him down fast!’ she exclaimed as the paramedics wheeled their stretcher out of the cubicle. ‘I want 5 milligrams midazolam, supplemental oxygen, his head, neck and chest kept cold with cold water, and can you get me a fan? If we can control his agitation and temperature we might be able to get his BP down. If not…’

The sister’s eyes met hers, and Kate knew what Terri was thinking. Duncan Hamilton could code at any minute, and with so much cocaine travelling through his body the chances of pulling him back were slim.

‘I’ll get the fan,’ Terri said but, to Kate’s dismay, the minute the sister had gone Duncan Hamilton wrenched the ambu-bag from his face.

‘Need to…tell you something,’ he said, his breath coming in great, ragged gulps.

‘Later—you can tell me later,’ Kate declared, desperately trying to get the ambu-bag back in place but he fought her all the way.

‘Important!’ he exclaimed, grasping her wrist tightly. ‘Have to tell you. Names…Important names. Bolton…Faranelli—’

‘Duncan, will you please let me put this back on you,’ Kate insisted, seeing the heart monitor starting to display an increasingly erratic tracing.

‘Mackay…Di Angelis…And addresses—I have addresses. You must hear the addresses.’

‘OK—OK, I’m listening,’ Kate replied, hoping that the quicker the young man told her whatever he wanted so desperately to tell her, the sooner she might be able to re-affix the ambu-bag.

‘6 Mount Stewart Street…12 Picard Avenue…’

Oh, shut up, Kate thought as Duncan rambled on and she scarcely listened. He was dying, and yet he was giving her what sounded like the entire contents of the telephone directory.

‘Did…did you get all that?’ Duncan Hamilton demanded eventually, and Kate nodded.

‘Absolutely,’ she lied, sighing with relief as she snapped the ambu-bag back in place, but neither it, nor the fan Terri brought, nor the sedation, reduced Duncan Hamilton’s soaring temperature.

‘If we don’t get his temperature down soon he’s going to develop hypothermia,’ Terri declared, worry plain in her voice. ‘Will I start him on lidocaine?’

‘It won’t help,’ Kate replied, no less concerned than the sister was. ‘It produces similar effects on the myocardial cell membrane to cocaine. I’ve used sodium bicarbonate for tricyclic antidepressant overdoses and it worked with them so maybe…’

She didn’t get a chance to finish what she’d been about to say. Duncan Hamilton suddenly gave an odd breath, and the heart monitor let out a low and constant tone. He’d coded, and immediately Kate hit him squarely in the centre of his sternum, then glanced across at the monitor. Nothing. No change. The heart line remained resolutely flat.

‘Paddles, Terri!’ she exclaimed.

Swiftly, the sister handed them to her, and equally quickly, Kate rubbed the defibrillating paddles together with electrical conducting gel. It was on occasions like this she wished she was six feet tall instead of five feet nothing. To successfully shock a patient you had to lean over the examination trolley, place the paddles in exactly the right place, then press down really hard, but the trolleys had metal rails and if any part of you touched them…

‘Instant cardiac arrest, Kate,’ she muttered, standing as high on her toes as she could. ‘Stand clear, Terri!’

The sister stepped back from the trolley, Kate pressed the paddles down as hard as she could on either side of Duncan Hamilton’s chest, and he convulsed briefly.

‘Nothing,’ Terri said, her voice tense.

‘I’ll tube him,’ Kate declared. ‘The ambu-bag’s not enough any more, so I’ll tube him and then I want the power up to 300.’

Terri waited until Kate had inserted an endotracheal tube down Duncan Hamilton’s throat, then upped the power on the defibrillator paddles to 300, but though Duncan Hamilton’s body convulsed again when Kate placed the paddles on either side of his chest the monitor reading didn’t change.

‘IV bolus of 500 milligrams of beryllium,’ Kate said in desperation. ‘Power up to 360 joules.’

Again, and again, she placed the defibrillator paddles on either side of the young man’s chest, but no amount of electricity kick-started the young man’s heart and eventually she stepped back from the trolley, and switched off the current.

‘You did your best, Kate,’ Terri declared, watching her. ‘It’s just…’

‘This time we didn’t win.’ Kate’s eyes clouded. ‘I know.’

‘Look, why don’t you take a break, grab yourself a cup of coffee?’ the sister suggested. ‘I’ll clear up in here for you.’

‘Thanks,’ Kate replied. ‘I just want…’

‘A few minutes alone with him,’ Terri finished for her. ‘I understand.’

And Terri did, Kate thought. The sister knew how much she hated losing a patient—any patient—and this man was so young. Nineteen, the paramedic had said. Nineteen, and his whole life should have been ahead of him, but now…

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and desperately she tried to blink them away. It wasn’t like her to break down like this, and if the other consultants at the hospital could see her they’d have a field day.

‘Head of A and E isn’t a suitable position for a woman,’ they’d whispered when she’d got the job three years ago. ‘And thirty-two’s far too young.’

Maybe they’d been right, she thought as she gently closed Duncan Hamilton’s eyes, and whispered, ‘I’m sorry—so sorry,’ as she always did when she lost a patient. Maybe if she hadn’t been quite so driven, quite so determined to prove she was up to the job, but the glossy magazines had said she could have it all, and she’d believed them.

She’d kept on believing them even when John had started muttering that he hardly ever saw her. She hadn’t even worried when he’d begun booking himself on seminars without talking to her about them first, but her morning’s post had burst her illusory bubble once and for all. You couldn’t have it all. Or, at least, she couldn’t.

‘Did you forget something, Terri?’ she said, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand as she heard the sound of the cubicle curtains opening behind her.

‘I’m not Terri.’

He wasn’t. He was the dark-haired, olive-skinned man from the waiting room and, as he advanced towards her, she wondered why she had ever thought him attractive. Up close, with a twoday stubble that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a convict, and a good sixteen inches taller than she was, he looked even more intimidating than he had at a distance.

‘I’m sorry, but we don’t allow friends or family members into this part of A and E,’ she said with a calmness she was very far from feeling. ‘If you’d care to wait outside—’

‘I’m not a friend or family.’

That didn’t surprise her. In fact, she had a sudden horrifying suspicion that he was probably the man who had put Duncan Hamilton into A and E in the first place.

‘If you’re not a friend, or family, you’ll definitely have to wait outside,’ she said. ‘Somebody—’ hopefully not her ‘—will be able to give you an update on Mr Hamilton’s condition in a few minutes.’

The man glanced down at Duncan Hamilton.

‘Not much need of an update when he’s rather obviously dead,’ he said. ‘What I’m more interested in is what he might have said to you before he died.’

That didn’t sound good, and neither did the way this man was looking at her.

‘We don’t give out information to non-relatives,’ she declared, ‘so will you please go back to the waiting room.’

He didn’t look as though he was going to. In fact, a look of distinct irritation appeared on his face and, as he reached inside his leather jacket, every police drama she had ever seen on TV suddenly flashed into her mind.

He was going to kill her. He was Duncan Hamilton’s fixer, or agent, and though his accent was surprisingly Scottish he was probably a member of the Mafia as well, and he was going to kill her.

But that didn’t mean she had to give in without a fight, she decided.

‘OK, I’ve tried polite!’ she exclaimed, snatching a syringe from the instrument trolley beside her, ‘but polite is clearly something you don’t understand. This syringe contains a sample of your friend’s blood and if I’m not very much mistaken he’s probably HIV positive. Come one step closer to me and you’re going to be HIV positive, too.’

He glanced down at the syringe, then at her. ‘That syringe is empty.’

Damn, and blast, but she’d picked up the wrong one.

‘It’s…plasma.’ She bluffed. ‘Plasma is a part of blood, but it has no colour—’

‘Lady, that syringe is empty, and I am…’ He reached inside his jacket again, and she closed her eyes.

This was it. She was dead, finished, history, and she could see the newspaper headlines now.

Forty-five-year-old, divorced female consultant…because the newspapers always got your age wrong…murdered at the General Infirmary. Ms Kate Kennedy was found lying in a pool of blood having been shot at close range by—

‘…Inspector Mario Volante.’

Her eyes flew open to see the man was holding out a police identity badge towards her and felt more foolish than she’d ever done in her life.

‘You’re a policeman,’ she said faintly. ‘But you…’

Quickly she bit off the rest of what she’d been about to say. Maybe he was undercover, and it was part of his brief to look scruffy. And then again, maybe she was just an idiot.

‘You thought I was some sort of hit man, didn’t you?’ he said, his mouth twitching into a smile, and she flushed.

‘What else was I supposed to think?’ she demanded. ‘You appear out of nowhere, looking like…’

‘Like what?’ he said, clearly confused, and the colour on her cheeks darkened.

‘The way you’re dressed…All the policemen I’ve ever seen have worn uniforms, with caps, and badges, and…and stuff.’

‘I’m CID, Drugs Squad, as is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Evanton. We don’t go in for uniforms, and caps, and badges, and…stuff.’

He was laughing at her. She knew he was, and nobody—but nobody—laughed at Kate Kennedy.

‘You don’t sound Italian, Inspector Volante,’ she said tersely, and his eyebrows rose.

‘I was born in Aberdeen to an Italian father and a Scottish mother, but even if both my parents had been Italian that doesn’t mean I have to sound like I’m auditioning for a part in The Godfather.’

It was a rebuke, and a just one. It also, she thought, explained his amazingly blue eyes.

‘Let’s cut to the chase, Inspector Volante,’ she declared, tossing the syringe back onto the instrument trolley. ‘As you so correctly noticed, Mr Hamilton is dead, so neither you nor your colleague is going to get any information out of him.’

‘Did he say anything to you before he died?’

‘Just some names and addresses—nothing that made any sense—and now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a waiting room full of sick people—’

‘I want to hear what he said.’

‘And didn’t you hear what I said?’ she exclaimed. ‘It was just a random list of names, and addresses, and I’m busy. B-U-S-Y.’

He squinted at her name tag.

‘Dr Kennedy, I’m busy, too,’ he said, his tone even, ‘and if you don’t give me ten minutes of your time I’ll take you downtown and book you for obstruction and, believe me, that will take a whole lot longer than ten minutes particularly if we include the strip search.’

He meant it. She could tell from the cold, hard gleam in his blue eyes that he meant it, and she gritted her teeth.

‘OK. All I can remember him saying—’

‘Not here,’ he interrupted. ‘I want somewhere quiet—private—where we can’t be overheard. What’s through there?’ he added, nodding at the door at the end of the treatment room.

‘A store cupboard.’

‘Perfect.’

Not for her, it wasn’t, Kate thought, as Mario Volante steered her into the cupboard and shut the door. If she’d thought he was big and intimidating in the treatment room, it was as nothing to how big and intimidating he felt when he was standing toe to toe with her in a cupboard.

‘Cosy, isn’t it?’ he said, as though he’d read her mind, and her chin came up.

He was laughing at her again—she knew he was—and she’d had enough of him laughing at her. More than enough.

‘Look, can we get on with this?’ she demanded.

‘Fine by me,’ he said, extracting a small black notebook from his pocket and elbowing her in the ribs in the process. ‘OK, tell me exactly what Hamilton said.’

With an effort she forced herself to think of nothing but the few minutes she’d spent alone with Duncan Hamilton.

‘First he told me some names. Di Angelis was one, and Mackay was another. Fascali—’ She frowned. ‘No, that’s not right. Faranelli. Yes, that was it. Faranelli.’

‘Any other names?’ he said, his pen flashing across the page of his notebook.

‘There was one more. It was the name of a town, but…’ She thought hard, and eventually shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s gone.’

‘Don’t worry about it. It might come back to you later. Tell me the addresses.’

‘Inspector Volante,’ she protested. ‘Duncan Hamilton had pulled off his ambu-bag, and I was trying to get it back on again so I wasn’t really listening.’

‘Please,’ he insisted. ‘Anything you can tell me—anything at all—might be vitally important.’

His blue eyes were fixed on her, searching, intent, and she swallowed hard. Concentrate, Kate. Concentrate.

He has beautiful eyes.

No, not on that. Concentrate on remembering what Duncan Hamilton told you.

‘He mentioned a house in Mount Stewart Street,’ she said quickly. ‘Number 6, I think. And somewhere in Lansdowne Drive. Number 4—or maybe it was number 5. Then there was 55 Cedar Way, and somewhere in Picard Avenue, and…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember any more.’

‘You’ve done very well,’ he replied, snapping shut his notebook.

‘I just wish I could have saved Duncan Hamilton’s life,’ she murmured.

‘Once a packet bursts, it’s odds on that the body-packer will die.’

‘Then why in the world would anyone choose to do it?’ she protested, and he shrugged.

‘Because money can be a very powerful persuader if you’re poor and up to your eyeballs in debt.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And they don’t all do it for the money,’ he continued. ‘Some of them are offered safe passage into a country that wouldn’t take them if they tried the legal, immigration route, and others do it because their family members are being held as collateral to ensure their cooperation.’

‘But that’s blackmail,’ she gasped, and he smiled a smile that held no warmth at all.

‘Welcome to the twenty-first century, Doctor.’

‘Are you always this cynical?’ she exclaimed before she could stop herself, and his eyebrows rose.

‘No, I’m not. According to a very reliable source, I’m also occasionally a complete and utter bastard.’

‘Then maybe it’s time you got out more,’ she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. ‘Opened your eyes, smelt the flowers, and saw what a beautiful world this can be.’

‘Despite all the wars, famines, drugs, unnecessary deaths and diseases?’ he observed.

‘Despite even that,’ she said stoutly, and to her surprise he smiled again, but this time it was the smile which completely softened his face.

The smile which stupidly—ridiculously—made her wish she’d made time for that hairdresser’s appointment, lost some weight, maybe even bought herself a new blouse. Something pretty, feminine, and…

She really had to get a grip. Good grief, her divorce had only just come through this morning, and just because this man was standing close to her—so very close—and smiling that smile…

He was probably married, with umpteen kids, and, even if he wasn’t one look at him should have been enough to tell her she’d be toast if she ever got involved with him.

‘Look, can we get out of this cupboard now?’ she exclaimed.

‘What?’

‘This cupboard—I don’t think we need to be in here any more, do you?’

‘Probably not, but I was kind of beginning to enjoy it.’

He was also enjoying wrong-footing her, she realised, seeing the glint of laughter in his blue eyes, but she wasn’t going to play. Not when she had the very decided feeling that she would lose.

‘If there’s nothing else, I really do have to get back to work,’ she said, reaching for the door handle only to feel an annoying jolt of sensation as her arm brushed across his chest.

‘There’s just a couple more things,’ he replied. ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell anybody what you’ve told me, and I’d also prefer it if you didn’t tell your colleagues that Ralph Evanton and I are policemen. The fewer people who know anything about what happened here tonight the better.’

‘That’s fine by me,’ she said but, as she opened the cupboard door, and squeezed past him, her heart sank.

Terri was standing outside in the treatment room, and it was all too obvious from the look on her face that she’d got completely the wrong idea of what she and Inspector Volante might have been getting up to in the cupboard.

‘Terri, this is…’

Kate came to a halt. If she was not supposed to say who he was, then how on earth was she supposed to introduce him?

‘I’m Mario Volante,’ he declared, coming to her rescue. ‘An old friend of Dr Kennedy’s. A very old friend.’

He’d said that deliberately, Kate thought angrily, seeing Terri’s eyes glance from her to Mario avidly. He’d said that on purpose, knowing full well that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—contradict him, but she wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

‘Shouldn’t you be going?’ she said sweetly. ‘You don’t want to be late for your over forties reunion.’

‘Oh, nice one,’ Mario said, his face lighting up with genuine amusement. ‘She’s just kidding,’ he continued, flashing a smile across at Terri. ‘She knows very well that I’m only thirty-eight, but she’s right about me having to go.’

‘Must you?’ Terri protested, and he nodded.

‘Afraid so. See you around, Kate,’ he added, and before she could reply he’d gone.

‘Wow, and double wow!’ Terri exclaimed. ‘Where have you been hiding him?’

‘He’s a friend of mine from…from med school,’ Kate replied, improvising wildly. ‘I haven’t seen him for years.’

‘So, you two aren’t an item, then?’

‘No, we’re not,’ Kate said firmly, and Terri looked disappointed.

‘Pity,’ she murmured.

Not from where I’m standing, it isn’t, Kate thought as her pager went off, and she reached into her white coat to answer it. OK, so she couldn’t deny that every time Mario Volante had smiled that particular smile she’d felt odd, and hot, and totally unlike herself, but he was also rude, opinionated and arrogant, and any one of those three traits was a complete turn-off. Plus, he was also probably married, which made him a complete louse for chatting up strange women in cupboards.

‘You’ll never see him again, Kate,’ she murmured as she walked down the treatment room, ‘and you should thank your lucky stars you won’t.’

‘Did you manage to get anything out of the receptionist?’ Mario asked, pulling the parking ticket off his car windscreen, and tossing it indifferently onto the road.

‘Just the standard you’re-not-next-of-kin garbage,’ Ralph replied as he got into the car. ‘The one thing I did find out, though, was that your auburn-haired doctor is the consultant.’

‘Kate Kennedy’s head of A and E?’ Mario frowned. ‘Bright lady.’

‘Pretty, too,’ Ralph declared, shooting Mario a meaningful glance, but Mario ignored him.

‘Take a look at this,’ he said instead, extracting his notebook from his pocket and throwing it into Ralph’s lap. ‘Hamilton died before I could speak to him, but he told Dr Kennedy some very interesting things.’

‘Interesting?’ Ralph repeated as he read through the pages. ‘Mario, this is dynamite. Did you tell Dr Kennedy that what she heard could send down three of the biggest drug dealers in Aberdeen for a very long stretch, plus identify possible drug outlets?’

‘It’s better she doesn’t know,’ Mario said. ‘It’s better nobody knows for the moment.’

‘You think she’ll keep her mouth shut?’

‘I told her to, so we can but hope.’

‘Then, if your conversation with her was private—and I’m sure it was,’ Ralph declared, ‘we should be OK.’

Mario had a flashback recollection of himself crushed up against Kate Kennedy in the store cupboard, of her hair smelling of flowers and hot summer evenings, and her full breasts gently rising and falling against his arm, and stamped on the image immediately.

‘The trouble is, her conversation with Hamilton wasn’t private,’ he observed. ‘Hospital cubicle curtains are notoriously thin, and you know as well as I do that the fixers have their spies everywhere which means I’m going to have to keep an eye on Dr Kennedy.’

‘Purely professionally, of course,’ Ralph said slyly, and Mario gave him a hard stare.

For sure, it had been fun to keep wrong-footing Kate Kennedy, and to watch her large grey eyes grow more and more flustered by the minute, but it had just been a bit of fun at the end of a long and tiring day. He had no intention of taking it further. Not personally at any rate.

‘Ralph, all I want from Kate Kennedy is facts, and I want them while she’s still alive to give them to me.’

‘You think our lady doctor could be in trouble?’ Ralph asked as they pulled away from the kerb.

Mario executed a fast U-turn in front of the hospital, completely ignoring the angry cacophony of car horns that greeted his manoeuvre, and nodded.

‘Yup, I do.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘HE’S’ back,’ Terri said.

‘That’s nice,’ Kate murmured vaguely, more intent on inserting the final suture into the badly cut hand of the young woman sitting in front of her than on what the sister had just said. ‘OK,’ she continued, straightening up, ‘I think that should do it.’

‘Will my hand be scarred?’ the young woman asked. ‘Not that it matters, of course, but…’

‘I’m afraid you’re going to be left with a couple of faint white lines once those cuts heal,’ Kate admitted, ‘but, considering what you fell on, it could have been a lot worse. A few centimetres higher, and you would have cut an artery.’

‘That’ll teach me to pay proper attention when I’m carrying bottles of wine out to a barbecue,’ the young woman said with feeling, and Kate chuckled.

‘Get some brawny man to do it for you in future. They like looking macho.’

The young woman laughed. ‘I’ll remember that. Do you want me to come back to get the stitches out?’ she added, and Kate shook her head.

‘Your own GP can remove them for you, but don’t forget to call in at the hospital pharmacy before you leave to collect some painkillers. Once the anaesthetic wears off, I’m afraid your hand is going to feel as though somebody’s been inserting red hot needles into it.’

The woman rolled her eyes. ‘I’m definitely going to get some brawny man to carry the wine in future,’ she declared but, the minute she had gone, Terri cleared her throat discreetly.

‘I said, your friend’s back.’

‘What friend?’ Kate asked, rotating her neck wearily, then pulling off her bloodstained surgical gloves and binning them.

‘Mario Volante.’

He was back? But she still hadn’t remembered the fourth name that Duncan Hamilton had given her on Saturday night, and Mario Volante must know she wasn’t likely to remember it two days later. Plus, she’d had a long afternoon. A very long afternoon.

Not to mention the fact that you never wanted to see him again, a little voice whispered at the back of her head.

Too darned right, I don’t, she thought. He’s too unsettling, too aggravating, too everything.

‘Tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk to him right now,’ she declared. ‘If he’d like to phone—’

‘He said you’d say that,’ Terri interrupted, ‘so he also said to tell you…’ The sister’s eyes danced. ‘That the strip search offer was still on.’

‘Oh, did he,’ Kate said grimly. ‘Well, we’ll see about that. Where is he?’

‘The waiting room.’

But he wasn’t. When Kate marched out of the treatment room, fully intending to give Mario Volante a very large piece of her mind, he was walking down the corridor towards her looking every bit as scruffy and unkempt as he had on Saturday night.

‘Don’t you own a suit?’ she demanded. ‘Or at the very least something that doesn’t make you look like the people you’re supposed to be arresting?’

‘Well, hello, and it’s nice to see you again, too,’ he said, a maddening

smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Are you always this cranky?’

‘Only when people seem determined to waste my time,’ she replied irritably. ‘Look, much as I want to help, you already know everything I do, so why don’t you just run along and do some really important police work like arresting some little old ladies for jaywalking?’

‘I’m back because I need your signature on a transcript.’

‘Oh.’ Suddenly she felt stupid and, if there was one thing she hated, it was feeling stupid. ‘Of course I’ll sign—’

‘Plus, I have some photographs I want you to look at,’ he interrupted. ‘They’re of people you might have noticed hanging around the waiting room the night Hamilton died, or perhaps since then. ’

She gazed up at him, hardly able to believe her ears. ‘Inspector Volante—’

‘It’s Mario. ’‘Whatever,’ she said dismissively. ‘Do you honestly think I have time to run out into the waiting room and stare at who’s sitting there?’

‘You might recognise somebody.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You might.’

‘I won’t,’ she insisted, and he sighed.

‘Dr Kennedy, I’ve had a long day, and I really want to get back to my office before midnight, so we can do this the easy way, or…?’

She stared up into his resolute face. That he was not going to take no for an answer was plain, and if she kept on refusing he’d probably make good on his threat to take her down to the police station and that would be an even bigger waste of her time.

‘OK, let’s get this over with!’ she exclaimed. ‘Give me the transcript to sign and then I’ll look at your damned photographs.’

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Not here. It’s too open, too exposed, and somebody might overhear us.’

‘I’m not getting into a cupboard with you again,’ she said quickly, and his blue eyes glinted.

‘Spoilsport.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘Inspector Volante—’

‘It’s Mario, remember?’

‘OK, Mario,’ she said. ‘Look, I’m having a bad day…’ Bad day, bad week, bad year. ‘…and I really don’t have time for this.’

‘Time for what?’ he said, all faux innocence, and she let out a huff of frustration.

He was winding her up again, she knew he was, and she didn’t know who she was angrier with—herself, or him. Why couldn’t she effectively silence this infuriating man? She’d never had any trouble in the past. She’d always been able to inflict a crushing snub or a biting retort on anyone who dared suggest she was anything but a doctor first, and a woman second. Why was she so apparently incapable of making that clear now?

Because she didn’t want to completely shut him up, she realised as she gazed at him and saw the glint of laughter in his deep blue eyes. Because when he wasn’t infuriating her, it was fun to spar with him, and she had to stop thinking it was fun or she was going to be in big trouble.

‘My office is down that corridor,’ she said frostily. ‘We’ll use that.’

‘Terrific,’ he said, and strode off without even waiting for her to lead the way.

Rude, she thought as she followed him. He was rude as well as being opinionated and arrogant, but no way was she going to allow him to continually get the better of her. It was time somebody brought him down to size. Well past time.

‘I can give you half an hour, tops, because I have an admin meeting at six o’clock,’ she said when they reached her office. ‘If you need longer I’ll come down to your office on my day off.’

‘Fair enough.’ He pulled a chair over to her desk, extracted a notebook from his jacket pocket, and flipped it open. ‘OK, before I give you the transcript I need to confirm your personal details against those we have on file.’

‘You have a file on me?’ she said faintly, and he smiled without warmth.

‘We have a file on everybody, Dr Kennedy. Your full name is Kate Elizabeth Kennedy. You’ll be thirty-five on the 2nd of next month, your address is 33 Union Grove, and you’re married to John Elliot.’

‘No.’

A frown pleated his forehead. ‘No, to what?’

‘Your information is wrong on two counts,’ she replied. ‘My address is 33A Union Grove. The house is split into two, and I have the ground floor flat.’

‘And the second error?’

‘I…I’m not married any more,’ she said, trying to sound offhand, casual, but failing miserably. ‘My divorce came through on Saturday.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he declared, and there was genuine sympathy in his face. ‘It’s tough when a marriage ends acrimoniously.’

Hurt struggled with honesty within her, and honesty won.

‘It wasn’t an acrimonious divorce,’ she said with an effort. ‘He didn’t leave me for somebody else. He has somebody else now, but that wasn’t why he left. He left because…because he just didn’t love me any more.’

Probably because he hardly ever saw me, she thought miserably, and when we did meet we seemed to have run out of things to say. Unless it was to hurl angry, hurtful words at one another.

‘He was stupid.’

‘I—W-what?’ she stammered.

‘Kate, you’re bright, funny, attractive.’ He shrugged. ‘What else did he want?’

‘He didn’t…I didn’t…I mean…’ To her annoyance she could feel herself blushing. Pull yourself together, Kate. OK, so this attractive—very attractive—man has said you’re bright, and funny, and attractive, but that’s no reason for you to completely fall apart. ‘I…umm…Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ he said.

Dio, but he shouldn’t have either, he realised, as he saw a blush creep across her cheeks. OK, so she was bright, and funny and attractive, and he did think her husband was an idiot, but what the hell was he doing here? He never paid women compliments unless he was making a play for them, and he had no intention of making a play for Kate Kennedy. In fact, he’d been more than a little relieved to discover when he got back to his office on Saturday night that she was married which meant she was strictly off limits as far as he was concerned.

She still is, he told himself, as her large grey eyes met his then skittered away quickly. Divorced—separated—single—it made no difference. No way was he ever going to get involved with this woman. OK, so maybe she possessed the kind of lush, full breasts guaranteed to send a man’s blood rushing to his head, and a pair of hips that simply cried out to be touched, but she was trouble. He didn’t know how she possibly could be, but he could feel it, sense it.

‘What can you tell me about Terri Campbell?’ he said brusquely.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ she asked in confusion, and saw his eyebrows snap down. ‘OK—All right—for some reason best known only to yourself you want to know about Terri,’ she continued quickly. ‘She’s worked at the General for more than twenty years, has been a sister in A and E for the past ten years, is married to Frank, and has two children—Neil and Lissa.’

‘Has she any money or family worries?’

Kate blinked. Quite what he was trying to get at here was beyond her, but she had no intention of telling him anything about Terri’s problems with her son, Neil. That was the sister’s private business.

‘None as far as I know,’ she said.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Don’t you trust anybody?’ she exclaimed, and his lips curled as he wrote something down in his notebook.

‘God perhaps, but everyone else I regard as a suspect.’

‘Wow, but with that sort of attitude you must have a real fun social life,’ she said without thinking, then winced as she waited for him to explode, but to her amazement his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile.

‘You’re right, I don’t,’ he murmured. ‘What can you tell me about Paul Simpson, your specialist registrar?’

‘Paul?’ she echoed, desperately trying to marshal her thoughts, and not think about why a man with looks like Mario Volante should have a lousy social life. ‘Not a lot, really. He’s worked in the department for almost a year. He’s bright, efficient, and very organised.’

‘And you don’t like him,’ he said shrewdly.

She didn’t, and it had nothing to do with Paul’s capabilities. He was bright and efficient, but she also had the distinct impression that he didn’t like working for a woman. It wasn’t because of anything he’d said—he was far too astute to leave himself open to an accusation of sexual bias—but there had been the occasional look, the odd throwaway comment, that had more than ruffled her.

‘I can’t like everybody,’ she declared, suddenly realising Mario was expecting her to reply, ‘and as long as he continues to work efficiently I’ll have no complaints. ’

‘Colin Watson?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know him well enough to comment. He just qualified last month, and this is his first week with us.’

‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘The dreaded August intake. Never be ill or have an accident in August because that’s when all the still-wet-behind-the-ears newly qualified doctors are let loose on the wards.’

‘Exactly.’ She could not help but laugh. ‘And before you ask me about the nursing staff,’ she continued, seeing him glance down at his notebook. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re all terrific, and if you want personal details about them you’ll have to ask Terri. The only other member of staff I know well is our porter, Bill, who’s worked in the department for twelve years, and is an absolute gem.’

Mario closed his notebook, and extracted a sheet of paper from his pocket.

‘This should be an exact transcript of what you told me on Saturday night. Could you read through it, then sign it if you agree that it’s accurate?’

She took the piece of paper from him, scanned it quickly, then reached for her pen.

‘What about the photographs you wanted me to look at?’ she said, scrawling her signature across the bottom of the page.

From his other pocket he pulled out a plastic envelope but before he could shake its contents out onto her desk, they both heard a distant thud.

Kate half rose to her feet, then slowly sat down again. If anything major had happened in the treatment room, Terri, or somebody else, would come for her. She knew that. She was fully aware of that, but the thud had sounded as though something or someone had fallen over. Maybe she ought to check it out, but Paul was on duty, and despite the fact that she didn’t like him, he wasn’t an idiot. Having said which…

‘Your department isn’t going to collapse simply because you’ve taken a half hour break,’ Mario declared, watching her, and she flushed.

‘I know.’

‘It’s just you don’t think anybody else can do the job as well as you can,’ he observed. ‘So which are you—a control freak, or an over-compensator?’

John had asked her that once, too, she remembered with a stab of pain. She’d yelled back at him that nobody ever questioned a man’s dedication to his work, and he had stared back at her for a long, silent moment, and then he’d walked away.

‘Kate?’

Mario’s eyes were fixed on her, curious, thoughtful, and she sat up straighter.

‘I thought you wanted me to look at some photographs?’ she declared.

For a moment she thought he was going to press the subject but, to her relief, he shook the photographs out of their packet onto her desk, then sat back.

‘Take your time. Don’t rush at it, but examine each one carefully.’

She was sorely tempted to tell him she wasn’t an idiot, but didn’t. Instead, she did as he asked, but when she’d reached the last one she shook her head.

‘I’m sorry. Nobody looks even remotely familiar. As I said before—’

‘You don’t run out into the waiting room and stare at the people sitting there,’ he finished for her. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was a long shot anyway, and thanks for trying.’

‘Is that everything?’ she asked.

‘Almost.’ He gathered up the photographs and pocketed them. ‘You might be interested to know we’ve got a full ID on Duncan Hamilton. He was originally from London, and had been doing casual work around Aberdeen for the past ten months. According to his widowed mother, he was a Grade A student who dropped out of university and had never been in trouble before.’

‘Then how in the world did he ever get mixed up in something like this?’ Kate said, and Mario’s face grew grim.

‘As I told you on Saturday, it can happen to anybody. The fixers prey on the weak and the unhappy. People who are in debt, people who think they’ll only have to be a mule or a body-packer once, and then all their worries will be over.’

But it was such a waste of a life, she thought, as she remembered Duncan Hamilton’s face as he’d thrashed and gasped in agony on the trolley. He ought to have had his whole life ahead of him, and now his body was lying, cold and stiff, on a mortuary slab.

And then something else occurred to her.

‘Your department knew Duncan was a body-packer, didn’t they?’ she said slowly. ‘I mean, if somebody collapsed in front of me, my first thought—even though I’m a doctor—wouldn’t be “body-packer”, and yet the security guards at the airport immediately thought that. They were expecting him, weren’t they?’

A glimmer of a smile curved his lips. ‘My department could do with people like you. ’

‘And that is not an answer,’ she pointed out, and he sighed.

‘Yes, we had a tip-off about him. It happens sometimes. Just last week we picked up a girl from Colombia who turned out to have two kilograms of snow stuffed down her bra. ’

‘Snow?’ she repeated, and he nodded.

‘“Snow”, “Charlie”, “coke”, “nose-candy”—cocaine goes by as many names as it does uses. You can snort it, smoke it, inject it, or mix it with heroin. I understand that rubbing it onto somebody’s genitalia and then licking it off is considered very stimulating. Not that I’ve ever tried it myself, of course,’ he added.

‘Right,’ she said, all too aware that a tide of heat was creeping up the back of her neck, and irritated beyond measure that it was.

Good grief, she was a doctor. She’d probably seen more female—and male—genitalia in her time than this man had eaten hot dinners, so what he was saying shouldn’t be making her blush, but it was.

‘Who tipped you off about Duncan?’ she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

‘His fixer.’

‘His fixer?’ she repeated. ‘But, why would the man who recruits the body-packers tip you off about one of his own?’

‘Because the fixer knows we can’t search every passenger who comes off a plane,’ Mario replied, ‘so sometimes he’ll phone us anonymously and give us a name. We arrest that mule or body-packer and somebody else on the plane, somebody who’s carrying perhaps twenty-five times the amount of cocaine of the person we’ve been tipped off about, walks free.’

‘So Duncan Hamilton could simply have been nothing more than an unwitting decoy?’ she said in disgust, and Mario smiled, a small bitter smile.

‘It’s a dirty business, Kate, but it’s also a very lucrative one. £6.6 billion is spent on drugs in Britain alone every year. There’s a huge demand for it, and the farmers in the poorer countries of the world are only too keen to supply that market.’

‘But why can’t they grow something else?’ she protested. ‘Why can’t they grow something that will help the world’s population, not destroy it?’

The bitter smile on Mario’s face faded to be replaced by a gentler one.

‘Kate, if you were a dirt-poor farmer in Colombia, and coffee was selling on the world market for 35p a kilo while cocaine was fetching £2,000, what would you be growing? And £2,000 a kilo is peanuts compared to the mark-up. By the time that kilo has reached the UK it has a street value of around £35,000.’

‘Then you’re saying it isn’t ever going to change!’ she exclaimed. ‘That there’s nothing you can do that will stem the tide.’

‘No, I’m not saying that. The things I’ve seen, Kate…Kids as young as twelve acting as body-packers, pregnant women…’ His face became suddenly strained. ‘I have to believe I can somehow—even in a small way—stop the death and destruction that these drugs cause. If I didn’t believe it, I couldn’t do my job.’

And he did it well, she knew he did. She could see the complete commitment in his deep blue eyes. It was a commitment she understood, a commitment she shared towards her own profession, and she wondered if he’d had to pay a price for that dedication. She’d had to. Her dedication had cost her the love of a man who had once pledged to spend the rest of his life with her. Had Mario Volante needed to pay a similar price?

‘Mario…’ She came to a halt as the door of her office opened, and Terri’s head appeared. ‘Problem?’ she asked, and the sister shook her head.

‘I just wanted to tell you—in case you were concerned by the thud earlier—that it was nothing to worry about. Colin had a crasher in cubicle 6.’

‘Thanks, Terri,’ Kate replied and the sister’s head disappeared again, but not before she had glanced from Mario to Kate, then back again, with patent curiosity.

‘It’s amazing how often it’s not the patient who faints,’ Mario observed once they were alone again, ‘but the person who brought them in.’

‘How do you know that a crasher is somebody who’s fainted?’ Kate asked curiously. ‘Come to think of it,’ she added. ‘How do you know about August being the worst time to come into hospital if you’re a patient?’

‘Because I originally qualified as a doctor, but I found the hours a real killer.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she said, not bothering to hide her disbelief, ‘and a policeman works nine to five, with every weekend off. Why did you give it up?’

He raked his fingers through his too-long black hair, and smiled a little ruefully.

‘It was a mistake for me to go into medicine in the first place. My parents were both doctors, you see, and though they didn’t pressurise me into following in their footsteps I suppose I just sort of assumed I would. I became an A and E doctor—was eventually promoted to specialist registrar—but when I hit thirty…’ He shook his head. ‘I realised it wasn’t for me.’

‘But why?’ she asked, bewildered.

‘I’d spent six years treating car crash victims, victims of domestic abuse, neglected children, people completely spaced out on drugs, and I thought…’ He frowned, as though groping for the right words. ‘Setting broken bones, patching up injuries…I wanted to stop the broken bones from happening, nail the idiots who drove at 100 miles per hour in a 40 mile zone, collar the drug pushers who offered hits for fifty pence a time to ensnare the unwary, the unhappy, the desperate.’

‘You wanted to make the streets a safer place for all of us.’ She smiled, and abruptly he got to his feet.

‘Something like that,’ he muttered. ‘And now I must go. I’ve taken up more than enough of your time.’

He had, but now that he was going, she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to ask him why he’d chosen the drugs squad rather than any of the other police specialisations, to persuade him to tell her more about himself, and that, she thought wryly, was more than enough reason to push him out the door.

‘Will I have to appear in court?’ she asked as she followed him out of her office and down the corridor. ‘I mean, if you catch Duncan Hamilton’s fixer, will I be needed as a witness?’

‘I doubt it,’ he said, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

Which was odd, she realised, because she was normally all too aware of his blue eyes burning into her.

‘Mario—’

‘There you are, Kate!’ Paul exclaimed, coming out of the treatment room clutching a clipboard. ‘Terri said you were talking to an old friend…’ The specialist registrar’s eyes took in Mario’s creased leather jacket, faded denims and beat-up trainers, and his lip curled slightly. ‘So I thought I’d better remind you—in case you’d forgotten—that you’re due at an M and M meeting in fifteen minutes.’

Of course she hadn’t forgotten, she thought acidly. She wished she could. Morbidity and mortality conferences were a necessary evil after a patient died, but all too often the conferences became an occasion to embarrass the consultant in charge, and she was all too aware that there were more than enough people at the General longing to see her fall flat on her face.

‘That was very thoughtful of you, Paul,’ she replied as evenly as she could. ‘Is everything OK in the treatment room?’

‘Naturally,’ he said airily. ‘We had a gomer in cubicle 2 earlier but I turfed him.’

A gomer. A and E shorthand for Get Out of My Emergency Room. A derogatory term applied to a geriatric patient who had multiple complicated medical problems rather than one acute one. Kate had never liked the term, and she liked it even less today.

‘Don’t forget you’ll be old yourself one day, Paul,’ she said, and saw the specialist registrar’s lips clamp down hard on the retort she sensed he was itching to make.

‘I see what you mean,’ Mario observed as Paul hurried away in answer to his bleeper. ‘I don’t like him, either.’

Professional courtesy told her she should immediately spring to her specialist registrar’s defence, but she was all out of courtesy today.

‘He’s a complete prat,’ she said, and Mario laughed.

‘Good luck with the D and D.’ His smile widened as he saw her confusion. ‘In my med days, M and M conferences were also known as death and doughnut affairs if they laid on refreshments.’

She let out a gurgle of laughter. ‘I must remember that.’

‘See that you do, and don’t let the top brass grind you down.’ He held out his hand. ‘I might see you again, Kate Kennedy, and I might not. If I don’t, it’s been nice meeting you. ’

It had certainly been different, she thought, as she shook his hand then dropped it quickly when she felt a warm tingle of sensation race up her arm, but it was better if she never saw him

again. Her work was exhausting enough without added complications, and if Mario Volante was married then he was strictly off limits as far as she was concerned.

And if he’s single? her mind whispered as she watched him walk away.

He was still most definitely off limits, she told herself firmly.

‘Have those bozos in Admin ever tried to save the life of a body-packer?’ Terri asked, incensed, when Kate returned from her conference, stressed out and exhausted. ‘Do they have any idea of the complications, the difficulties—’

‘They play it as they see it, Terri,’ Kate interrupted wearily, ‘so let’s just forget it, OK?’

And the sister said no more, but throughout the rest of their long and tiring shift Kate heard her muttering under her breath.

She wanted to mutter, too, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Duncan Hamilton had died whilst under her care and, though nobody in Admin had come right out and said it, she knew there was always going to be the underlying implication that he might have lived if somebody else had been treating him.

‘Would you like a lift home?’ Terri asked when their shift finally ended.

‘Thanks, but I’d prefer to walk,’ Kate replied. ‘It might clear my head.’

‘You’re sure?’ Terri said uncertainly, and Kate forced a chirpy smile to her face.

‘Of course I’m sure. It’s a lovely evening, and I could do with some fresh air.’

She could, too, Kate thought, as she hitched her shoulder bag onto her shoulder, and left the hospital. It had been a long day, and an extremely tiring one. The kind of day when she wondered if it was worth it. The endless paperwork, the drunken abusive patients who almost never died, whereas the nice people, the kind people, all too often did. And then she remembered the little girl she had treated this afternoon. Her mother had been so certain her daughter had meningitis, and the look of relief and gratitude on her face when Kate had been able to tell her that the rash was simply an allergy had been worth more than winning the lottery.

It was all worth it, she decided, breathing in deeply and savouring the late evening sunshine as she stepped off the pavement to get past the scaffolding that had been erected round the Edwardian building on the corner of the street. Everyone had days when they wondered whether they’d made the correct career choice. Everyone had moments when they wondered whether this was all there was to life. OK, so maybe today she’d had a bad day, but every job had its bad days.

Though maybe not quite as unremittingly awful as this one was turning out to be, she thought, as she felt someone’s hands slam into her back and the next thing she knew she was lying face down in the road.

Mugger, was her first thought, but, as she turned, ready to hit out with her feet and fists at her assailant, she saw to her amazement that Mario Volante was kneeling on the ground behind her, covered in dust, and the shattered remnants of a baluster were lying in the road not six feet from where she’d been standing.

‘Are you all right?’ he said, getting to his feet quickly. ‘Did any of that masonry hit you?’

‘I’m fine,’ she gasped. ‘Bit winded, that’s all.’ She squinted up at the building from which the baluster had fallen. ‘No wonder they’ve got all that scaffolding up. That place is literally falling to bits.’

‘Kate—’

‘Oh, hell, would you look at my skirt?’ she continued in dismay as she got unsteadily to her feet. ‘I’ll never be able to mend it, and I only bought it six—’

‘Forget about your skirt,’ he interrupted. ‘Did you notice anybody hanging about before the baluster fell?’

‘Did I notice…?’ Her mouth fell open. ‘You think somebody deliberately pushed that baluster, don’t you? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mario. The building is simply unsafe, and I was unlucky enough to be walking past it when a bit fell off.’

‘Maybe. ’

‘Are all policemen this suspicious?’ she demanded. ‘Or are you just especially paranoid?’

‘Kate—’

‘And what are you doing here, anyway?’ she continued, her eyes suddenly narrowing. ‘Are you following me?’

‘Of course I’m not following you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I just happened to be conducting an enquiry across the street, and came out of the house as the baluster began to fall. Come on, my car’s over there. I’ll drive you home.’

He had already caught hold of her arm, clearly taking her agreement for granted, and she shook herself free with annoyance.

‘I don’t need—or want—you to drive me home,’ she replied. ‘My flat’s just three blocks away, and I’m perfectly capable of walking there.’

‘I’m sure you are but Union Grove is not three blocks away, and I’m driving you home.’

‘Don’t you ever take no for an answer?’ she protested, irritated beyond measure by his implacable expression. ‘I am fine—OK?—and I want to walk home, so why don’t you just go away and get on with your police work?’

‘Because I’m fresh out of little old ladies to harass and now I’m targeting a younger age group. Kate, are you going to come quietly,’ he continued, as she glared up at him, ‘or am I going to have to cuff you?’

Would he? She couldn’t be one hundred per cent certain that he wouldn’t, and with ill-disguised bad grace, she hitched her shoulder bag back up onto her shoulder and strode across the road to the dusty, nondescript Volkswagen that was sitting there.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, yanking open the passenger door and clambering in. ‘Haven’t you got a wife, or significant other, to go home to?’

‘My wife divorced me four years ago, and there is no significant other in my life.’

‘I…I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly, ‘about your wife, I mean.’

‘I loved my work, my wife didn’t,’ he replied as he slid into the driver’s seat beside her. ‘End of story. Want to talk about why your marriage failed?’

‘No. ’

‘Fair enough,’ he replied. ‘He’s a doctor at the General, isn’t he, but his speciality is Orthopaedics rather than A and E.’

‘How did you…? Oh, of course,’ she continued tightly. ‘You have all my information on file, don’t you, right down to the size of shoes I take, and the make of my underwear.’

‘We only carry detailed dossiers of known and suspected drug dealers,’ he observed, then his eyes glinted. ‘But if you’d like to tell me the make of your underwear—purely for our file, of course…’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said stonily, ‘and John doesn’t work at the General any more. He got another job six months ago, and can we drop this subject, please?’

‘It must be tough when two consultants get married,’ he observed as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Two huge workloads, two equally large amounts of responsibility.’

‘John isn’t a consultant. He’s a specialist registrar.’

‘Ah. ’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she demanded.

‘Some men have problems with a woman—even if that woman is their wife—making it to the top if they haven’t.’

‘John isn’t—wasn’t—that petty,’ she protested, and saw one of Mario’s eyebrows rise.

‘If you say so,’ he murmured.

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