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Rebecca closed her eyes and concentrated. Her hunches were usually the product of her subconscious, sifting through clues and facts to produce theories. If she followed the threads of her thoughts, she could usually piece together enough supporting evidence to warrant trusting her hunch. So what had triggered this hunch?
Gillian, obviously. Desmond's devotion to his daughter needed no clarification. But that wasn't enough. How had she made the leap from daughter to family, and from devotion to sacrifice? Something more. Something she was missing.
Had Desmond mentioned any family? No, it was something else. She remembered Dr. Chen's mention of the changed research. That must have been what triggered her hunch.
But now that she considered it, she wondered what research they had been doing originally. What disease did Desmond suffer from? And most importantly, how did he come to be the director of a secret research facility that specialized in that condition?
Chapter 10
PHILIPPE WAITED until Desmond closed the study door before asking, "How's Gillian?"
"She's doing well. I'm watching for signs that her health is improving, even though I know it's too early for the transplant to have taken effect." Anxious father that he was, he'd even imagined evidence. But he knew better than to tell Philippe that. He leaned against the edge of his desk, and tried to look casual. "The transplant itself went smoothly. For Gillian, at least."
"I heard." Philippe settled into one of the leather chairs and crossed his leg comfortably. "How's Rebecca doing?"
"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances."
"Which means?"
Desmond chuckled. "It means she's as obstinate and strong-willed as ever, and likely to drive herself and everyone around her insane if she has to remain in bed for too long. Other than that, she's recovering nicely."
"If she'll be bedridden for at least a few more days, why do you want Evan and me to fetch her car tonight?"
"I don't just want the car retrieved. Bring it to the airport and leave the keys in the all-night drop box."
"Take the car to the airport?" Philippe uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Why not just bring it here?"
Desmond frowned. Philippe didn't question his judgment this much on other matters. But when it concerned Rebecca, Philippe doubted Desmond's every decision.
When Desmond didn't answer, Philippe prodded, "Won't it be easier to let her return it when she gets her flight out? It will only be a few more days."
"No, it won't. She's decided to stay."
"She's staying." Philippe shook his head, as if his ears were playing tricks on him. "Even though all she's wanted to do the whole time she's been here was get out? She's changed her mind?"
"Apparently." Rebecca had fallen asleep by the time he'd brought her dinner in, so they hadn't been able to discuss every detail. She hadn't explicitly said she planned to stay, but how could they get to know each other better if she left? "I asked her to marry me, and she said yes."
"You what?" Philippe leapt out of his chair. "That's crazy! I know you're grateful to her for helping Gillian, but isn't marriage a bit extreme?"
"That's not it at all."
Philippe gripped Desmond by the shoulders, and stared into his face. "You're not taking Dr. Chen's suggestion seriously, are you? Having a child with her to get a donor for Gillian?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Desmond thrust his arms up, breaking Philippe's hold. "I know you can't understand this, but I've never felt anything like what I feel for Rebecca."
Desmond smiled, remembering the bond between them. He didn't have the words to do the feeling justice, but he tried to explain it to Philippe anyhow. "She's like my other half, sharing my thoughts, my desires. I think we could be happy together. It's not impossible, Philippe. I need to give it a chance."
"Uh-huh. Tell me, in all this sharing, did you happen to tell her about your curse?"
Philippe's words destroyed Desmond's wistful mood. Philippe was too blinded by his own bitterness to listen to anything he said. Fine. He wouldn't waste any more time trying to convince him.
But the worries raised by Philippe's question made Desmond answer more sharply than he intended, "It hasn't come up yet, no."
"It's never going to just come up. Voodoo isn't generally a topic of casual conversation. How many cocktail parties have you been at where people say, `These canapés are lovely. By the way, are you cursed?'"
Desmond turned away in disgust, but Philippe grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back around.
"Damn it, Des. You can't hide your head in the sand on this. Think."
