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I was just about to put away my cell when I saw a message from Kate.
I was glad to hear that Ethan was feeling better. He seemed that he’d be ready to travel back to New York when the time came. I was hopeful. There were a few days when Kate was really worried that he might pass away. I was glad he was on the mend and that nothing bad happened to him while I was away. I would hate for that to happen, and I would not be there for Kate.
I determined to myself at that moment that once we were back in New York, I would never leave her again. If I had to travel, we would travel together.
I called the number Kyle had given me for the security’s limo service and got a text back that it would be ready in fifteen.
With that settled, I dressed in something casual, eager to meet with my new colleague and hear what he had to say about himself, NYP and what he hoped to accomplish in his career. Being a mentor to younger staff was something I enjoyed, and I thought Dane seemed like a bright young surgeon with a very promising future ahead of him.
When the time came, I left the 8thAvenue apartment and there, waiting at the curb, was a black limo. The driver was standing outside by the rear passenger door.
“Dr. Morgan?”
“That’s me,” I said, and he opened the door.
I noted the red thermos in the cup holder, so I stepped inside and waited for him to get in.
“Name’s George Black. Where can I take you tonight, Dr. Morgan?”
I gave him the address to the restaurant near NYP.
As we drove through the streets, I wondered about the kind of man who worked for Kyle and how much training in security they had, just in case I needed a bodyguard.
“How long have you worked for Brimstone?”
“Since I got out of the service,” the man said. “I’m former Army. Drove armoured trucks.”
“You like working for Brimstone?”
“Sure as hell beats driving over landmines and dodging IEDs in Helmand Province.” George tipped his cap and smiled in the rear-view mirror.
“I’ll bet it does.”
I smiled to myself and watched the streets of Manhattan pass by.
* * *
When we arrivedat the restaurant, I thanked George, told him I’d text him when I needed him again, and went inside.
Dane was sitting at a table on the patio, a pair of sunglasses on, and a beer in his hand. Gone were his scrubs and surgical cap, replaced by a crisp white button-down shirt and black jeans with a black leather jacket and black Doc Marten boots. His white sleeves were rolled up and I could see a dark blue tribal tattoo of some sort on his arm and on the other, a sleeve tattoo with reds and blues. He looked every inch the young Manhattanite enjoying the weather after a long day at his job.
“Dr. Morgan,” he said and stood, extending his hand for a shake.
“Drake,” I said, shaking his hand firmly. “Please call me Drake.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Drake, have a seat. Glad you could make it.”
I sat and ordered a beer from the waitress, who came by before I’d even got sitting. Then, I turned to Dane and glanced around at the scenery.
“This is nice,” I said. “I didn’t know there was a restaurant here.”
“It’s new. The head chef is an old high school friend of mine. I try to patronize him to help him out, but by the looks of how busy the place is, I don’t have to worry. It looks like a success.”
“What’s on the menu?”
For the next few minutes, we checked out the food — local cuisine featuring organic foods. I ordered a steak and salad, and he ordered the ribs.
With that out of the way, talk turned to the hospital, and we spoke for a while about his time at NYP after I left and how he and his co-worker shared surgical duties in my place.
