A smile played at the corners of his mouth. Michael lowered the phone onto the cradle, then glanced at his watch. He’d need to catch the ferry from the Aerie Islands back to St. Basil now if he was going to make it in time.
Slipping out of his white coat, he hung it on the hangar in the corner and grabbed his briefcase. Everything was looking up. In a few hours, he’d be face to face with his wife. He would not blow it this time. He’d keep his cool and show her she was wrong about him.
Walking toward his office door, Michael stopped as it flew open.
Dr. Quentin Tufa barreled inside, almost colliding with him. The poised, professional demeanor was gone. Dr. Tufa looked haggard, salt-and-pepper gray stubble on his face. His clothes disheveled and wrinkled. What the hell was going on?
“I’m having my sister transferred here this afternoon. I need you to start your protocol on her and bring her out of the coma.” The desperate words rushed out of Dr. Tufa’s mouth.
Michael shook his head. He didn’t care about the resources Dr. Tufa had promised him. He’d give it all back before he helped the woman who’d tried to destroy Mena’s life. “You’ll have to find another doctor. I don’t have room for a psychopath in my clinical trials.”
Dr. Tufa glared at him. “My sister is the only one keeping your clinical trial supplied with embryonic stem cells.”
“I doubt you’d want a doctor under the distress of being blackmailed responsible for treating your sister. That wouldn’t be a wise move on your part to put her life in my hands,” Michael countered, unfazed by Tufa’s threats. He wasn’t going to be beholden to anyone for his groundbreaking research.
Tufa’s anger was palpable. Michael had gotten his point across.
“It’s wise if you think more clearly about what you have to gain by bringing Priscilla out of the coma,” Tufa said, a hint of taunting in his tone.
Michael wanted to walk away but couldn’t resist finding out what angle Tufa was working. What could he possibly gain by bringing back the woman who’d terrorized Mena?
Dr. Tufa continued, “Priscilla can give you exactly what you really want—your wife. Mena.”
Michael lowered his briefcase to the floor. How the hell did Dr. Tufa know about his marriage? “How so?”
“You wife’s new boyfriend tried to kill my sister. He’s in jail right now and will stay there until the trial. There’s only one person who can confirm the heinous crime he committed.”
Michael whispered, “Priscilla Dumay.”
“You wake her up. She testifies of Julian’s attempt to murder her and he goes to jail for a very long time, leaving Mena Nix available for you to rekindle your defunct marriage. Sounds like a win-win all around. Now, let’s try this again. My sister will be transferred here this afternoon. Will you treat her with your protocol?”
Chapter Sixteen
Staring at the window, a four-inch slit within the concrete wall in front of him, Julian flinched as the steel bars slammed shut. A tiny sliver of sun shone through the glass.
Another loud thud.
The outer door of his prison cell. Closed and locked.
Standing in the center of the room, he vaguely registered a man on the concrete bed to his left. Julian wasn’t in the mood to play nice or make friends. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Mena’s gasp rang in his ears, over and over, drowning out every other sound. Her pained reaction to the Judge’s ruling. The confusion in that simple sound had resonated from her to him. He’d let her down. He’d lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, inhaling the intoxicating scent of sandalwood and orange from her skin. Walking out of the courtroom, he didn’t dare look back at her. He couldn’t let his last glimpse of her face be one etched with fear, worry and disappointment.
The prison guards had shackled him outside the courthouse behind the Governmental Promenade and forced him into the back of the van. In all the madness, he’d still felt her presence. Mena was standing across the street underneath the towering palm trees, alone. The hopeless and lost look in her eyes made him hate himself for what he was putting her through.
Opening his eyes slowly, Julian glanced to his right. A steel toilet rested against the stained concrete wall. Next to the toilet was a three-foot partition enclosing a shower stall. A mattress rested on top of a concrete slab inches from the toilet on the other side.
The gasp grew louder. Julian squeezed his eyes shut, tried to force it away.
“Fuck!” Julian yelled. Spinning around, he landed a fist against the wall. The sharp pain dulled the sound of Mena’s voice. He swung another fist and another, pummeling the wall until he couldn’t hear her anymore.
Blood smeared the rough surface.
His hands howled in pain, throbbing and aching from the force of the blows. Julian glanced down at his swollen, scratched and bloody fists, then leaned his forehead against the cold, rough concrete.
The mattress creaked from behind him. Slow footsteps grew nearer. A hand rested against his shoulder.
“It’s good you got that shit out of the way. First couple of minutes were hell for me too, but it gets better. Kind of.”
