Night of the Living Dandelion (28 page)

I was going to have to go to Plan B sooner than expected.

I let him help me into my chair, then, as he made his way around the desk, I crossed my legs so that my good foot swung free and my wrapped ankle was hidden. Naturally, the first thing he did when he was seated was stare at my bare knee. I wondered how many swings of my foot it would take before he was hypnotized.

I leaned forward and said with a sheepish smile, “You caught me, Doctor.”

With a convincing show of modesty, he said, “Did I now?”

“You knew right away I wasn’t French.”

He shook his finger at me. “Many have tried to fool me, but few have succeeded.”

“You were going to go along with my act because your curiosity got the better of you, didn’t it? Shame on you for trying to fool
me
!”

“Well, it appears that now
I’ve
been caught.” Holloway put on a good front but was unable to stop a blush of embarrassment from spreading up his neck, not because he believed he’d outsmarted me, but because he knew he hadn’t.

We had a laugh; then he sat back and studied me, or rather, my breasts. “So why are you here, Miss La Cour?”

“I’m working on an article entitled ‘Brilliant Surgeons Who Give a Damn,’ for a national magazine. I’m not at liberty to reveal the name of this publication just yet, but you would be exceedingly pleased.” Not that any magazine editor would ever see such an article.

Holloway’s gaze was focused on my face now. He was not only intrigued but also flattered. “I’m a little puzzled as to why you couldn’t have told me this at the outset.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about the piece until after it was written. That’s to ensure that the surgeons I interview don’t treat me any differently than a real consult.”

“I think my patients would tell you that I treat all of them very well, Miss La Cour.”

What patients? “I’m sure they would. Unfortunately, I can’t use you now because you know why I’m here.”

He tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment, then shrugged and stood up. “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

Damn. He wasn’t falling for it.
Think, Abby. Stroke his ego!

I reached for my crutches and got to my feet as he walked toward his door. “Ironic, isn’t it?” I said. “The other surgeons will be in the piece because they’re not as smart as you.”

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Then he turned. “Unless . . .”

I waited.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, coming toward me with his hand outstretched. “I’m Dr. Sebastian Holloway. And you are?”

A genius.

“S
o,” Holloway said, leaning back in his chair, “how can I help you, Miss—La Cour, was it?”

Unbelievable. Holloway was actually enjoying the charade. It made my work so much easier. Continuing the ruse, I took out my notebook and pen. “As I told your nurse, I’m interviewing doctors for my
employer
. He’s seeking a second opinion from the top cardiac specialists in the world, but he’s asked for a dossier on each candidate first.”

A dossier. Wow. I’d pulled that right out of the air. Marco was going to be blown away. I only wished he could have been there to watch me work.

Holloway gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I understand. What would your employer like to know?”

“I already have the names of your schools, the hospital where you did your internship, et cetera, so could you tell me of any honors or awards you’ve received?”

Holloway was in his element now. He laced his fingers behind his head and rattled off the information, while I jotted notes furiously to make it look real.

After ten minutes of writing, I flexed my fingers to get rid of the cramps. “Very impressive, Doctor. Now tell me a little about your personal life. Children, marriages, that sort of thing.”

“Okay,” Holloway said with a little less enthusiasm. He went straight into a spiel about his kids, noting how they were taking after him by excelling at science and math. He got up to show me the photo of them, remarking how they also took after him in looks, then sat back down, clearly pleased with himself.

“Are you married or divorced?” I asked.

He gave me a distinctly lecherous smile. “Let’s just say I’m available.”

Like that was any different from when he was married. It was all I could do not to make gagging sounds. “I’m going to have to get a little more personal now, Doctor. I’ve found that it helps to explore some of the more painful moments in life to expose the human side, something that patients don’t often get to see in their physicians.”

“Okay,” he said warily.

“I came across a reprimand that you received a few years back—”

Holloway smacked the top of his desk with his open hand, making me jump. “That should never have happened!”

He stood up, pushing his chair away from his desk so hard it hit the window behind him. “I was the victim of a vicious, vindictive—” He cut himself off and shook his head, as though he were about to say something revealing. “A vindictive act.”

Had he stopped himself from naming Lori Willis?

“Would you clarify that for me?” I asked.

He chose his words carefully, pacing with his head down and his hands clasped behind his back. “I suppose you could call it retaliation by a person who wanted to discredit me.”

“Was this person a patient?”

“It’s really not pertinent, Miss La Cour.”

“What was the reprimand for?”

Holloway shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “An infraction of hospital policy. Nothing that would warrant what happened.”

“Which was what?”

“To start with, my reputation was tarnished and I nearly lost my hospital privileges. It also caused my marriage to fall apart and almost ruined me financially.”

“That must have been quite an ordeal.”

“It was a living hell, Miss La Cour. A. Living. Hell.”

I could see that he was enjoying the role of martyr, so I played up to it. “What would cause someone to seek retaliation against such an esteemed surgeon as yourself?”

“Jealousy,” he said, as though it should be obvious.

“Over your success?”

“Of course. Among other things.”

“Such as?”

“Let’s just say everything that comes with success.”

“There have to be other skilled surgeons at County Hospital who have had great achievements. Have they been targets, too?”

Holloway smiled. “Just yours truly.”

“Because of your success.”

“Yes.”

Somehow I had to get him to admit that Lori was behind it. “Excuse me for saying so, Doctor, but I’m not buying it. Someone targeted you alone, and that smacks of more than jealousy. That sounds like retaliation for something much more personal. Am I right?”

He continued to walk back and forth. Finally, he looked at me, his head at an angle. “Why are you so interested in this?”

“Can’t you see how this will play out on the written page? Think about it, Doctor. There you are, a prominent surgeon, attacked and nearly brought down by a vindictive—colleague?”

He smiled cagily. “Perhaps.”

“Wounded professionally, cast adrift emotionally, you rose above it all to be where you are today, one of the preeminent cardiac surgeons in the
world.
”

If that didn’t get to him, nothing would.

“Cardio-thoracic,” he corrected.

I made a show of amending my notes. “And you did it in spite of this
colleague
who wanted to destroy you. What a great human-interest story. The readers will eat this up.”

“And it’s all true,” he said, nodding sagely.

“All because you rejected this colleague’s, what, advice? No, that’s not it. I can tell by your expression. You rejected this colleague’s—ah, of course—advances.”

Holloway paced for a few more moments, as though gathering his thoughts, then stopped by the window to gaze out toward the hospital across the street. “You’re very shrewd, Miss La Cour. And you’re right. She was a woman in desperate need of power. A woman who would do anything to get ahead. What she saw in me was a way to have more authority and prestige.”

“By having an affair with you?”

Holloway turned, his arms wide-open. “What else?”

“While you were married?”

“The fact that I was married didn’t matter to Lor—”

He’d said it!

Holloway pressed his lips together and turned to stare out the window.

“Lori? Is that her name?” I asked, pretending to scribble more notes.

He waved it away. “Names aren’t important.”

“How did Lori hope to gain prestige and authority if your affair was to be kept secret?”

“Her name wasn’t Lori,” Holloway snapped, turning to give me a fierce glare. “
My
name is the only one you need to be concerned about.
My
name! Understand?”

“I am so sorry, Doctor. Yes, I understand, and you’re one hundred percent correct. This piece is about you. We’ll simply refer to her as a colleague, then. So let me rephrase my question. Can you explain how your colleague planned to reap any benefits from the affair if it was clandestine? Through blackmail?”

“No, of course not,” Holloway said irritably. “None of this matters anyway because I made it perfectly clear to her that I wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship. After that, she left me alone, or so I mistakenly believed. But all the while she was biding her time, and when she saw an opportunity to bring me down, she grabbed it. Fortunately, neither my patients nor the hospital deserted me, nor did I keel over from the shock of what I went through, which is a tribute to my strong constitution.”

“It must have been a bitter pill to swallow,” I said. “What helped get you through it?”

He turned back to stare out the window. “Careful planning.”

As in, planning a bloodletting? “Would you share that plan with the readers? Something they can take away with them?”

He rocked back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. “How does one plan anything, Miss La Cour? A vacation, for instance. You pick your destination, determine the best way to get there, arrange your accommodations, and hope for no bad weather.”

“What was your destination in this case, Doctor?”

“Redemption.”

I waited for Holloway to elaborate, but he continued to stare out the window, so I said, “Would you like to explain how that worked?”

“It’s self-explanatory.”

Okay then. “From what you’ve told me, the reprimand put you in a tailspin. People often seek solace from traumatic situations by engaging in unhealthy habits. Did that happen to you?”

He turned to give me a puzzled look. “Unhealthy habits? Are you asking if I became an addict?”

“There are many types of addictions. Drinking, drugs, gambling . . .”

“I don’t believe in polluting my body with excessive alcohol or recreational drugs, Miss La Cour, and I don’t have the time or interest for gambling. In fact, I opposed legislation allowing casinos to operate in this state.”

I jotted that down. “This is going to make a fascinating in-depth piece on you, Dr. Holloway. I appreciate your granting me this interview. All I need now is a way to end it. Clearly you’ve moved on with your life. What of your colleague? Do you ever see her? Have you had any contact with her since the reprimand?”

“Does it matter? I’m here, aren’t I? I survived it.”

But Lori didn’t
, I wanted to say. “That’s true, Doctor. However, what I meant was—”

“I know what you meant.”

I glanced at him uncertainly. He couldn’t possibly know.

He smiled coyly. Was he going to accuse me of lying? Demand to know my real purpose for being there? Have me thrown out? Should I grab my crutches and make a run for it?

If only I could.

I uncrossed my leg and leaned down for my purse. No sense delaying the inevitable.

When I straightened, Holloway was coming toward me. I watched warily as he turned the chair next to mine so it was facing me. He sat down, the tart men’s cologne he had bathed in that morning washing over me like a lemon tsunami. He took my pen, stuck it in the pocket of his white coat, then picked up my hand and began to stroke the palm with his thumb.

“The magazine article is a ruse, isn’t it?”

My face instantly got hot. “Why would you think that?”

“All these questions about my personal life—whether I’m married, whether I’ve moved on—they have nothing to do with my being a preeminent surgeon. The simple truth is that you’ve been wanting to meet me.”

He couldn’t be serious. “I’m sorry if you somehow got that impression from my questions, Doctor, but—”

“Call me Bastian.”

What a coincidence. I was thinking of calling him something very similar to that.

Holloway stroked my wrist, making little circles with his thumb. “Let’s be honest, Miss La Cour. We both know the primary reason you chose me for your article is not because I’m a brilliant surgeon—not that it didn’t help, of course.”