against the wall.
Shoot.
She settled herself onto her knees in the chair and leaned over the back, allowing the tail of her gown to flap as she strained to extend her arm. She was concentrating so hard on reaching her coveted prize that she didn’t hear the door whisper open, but the next sound drew her attention.
A throat being cleared.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dr. Tyler Fresno demanded.
Chapter 2
Her head came up. Her eyes were wide and scared, but Tyler could not get the image of that round little fanny from his mind. When he had walked through the door and spotted the woman bending over the back of that chair, the thin cotton hospital gown draping loosely around her legs and revealing her naked backside, his initial response had been utterly masculine and not at all professional.
Physical passion, hot, hard and more powerful than anything Tyler had experienced in the past six years kicked him solidly in the gut. He had no business entertaining these thoughts. None whatsoever. Yet there they were.
Jane Doe scurried to her feet and spun around, a red stain coloring her cheeks. “I was just trying to find my things,” she said, fumbling to close her gown and hide her nudity.
Immediately contrite, he was embarrassed at his overt sexual desire.
Then surprise ambushed him as he realized what she had been doing. The woman should not be able to stand on that leg, much less kneel in the seat of a chair. The pain would be too great.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded, stalking toward her.
She backed up, her chest rising and falling so rapidly he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the swell of her firm, unfettered breasts beneath that skimpy gown.
He shifted his stare to her right leg. The limb supported her without even trembling. Impossible! Confused, Tyler shook his head. The intern must have been wrong about the hairline fracture.
Jane Doe squared her shoulders, raised her head and took a stand. “I’m leaving the hospital against medical advice. Please, get me my clothes.”
“No,” he said.
“You can’t hold me here against my will. I know my rights as a patient.”
“The police are outside. They want to talk to you.”
Her color paled and she looked stricken. “The police? Why would they want to speak to me?”
“About the accident. They’re saying that someone tried to run you off the road.”
“No.” She forced a laugh. “Where did they get that idea?”
“Eyewitnesses.” She was clearly afraid of the police. Why? Was she in some kind of trouble?
Tyler sank his hands on his hips and studied her face. The look of desperation in her eyes sliced him deep. He’d seen a similar expression before. In his own mirror. He remembered what it was like to feel utterly desperate and completely out of control.
After Yvette had died he’d gone off the deep end, drinking too much and isolating himself. Six weeks after her death, he’d taken off for Big Bend National Park and walked into the desert without any supplies, determined to stay there until he died. Three days later, dehydrated and malnourished, he’d become delusional and staggered into an illegal immigrant’s camp. The man could have left him for dead. He’d taken a great risk, but he had stayed with Tyler and nursed him back to health. If a considerate stranger hadn’t given him sanctuary during that grim time in his life, he would not have survived.
Did Jane Doe need that kind of help from him now?
Yeah, like you’re capable of giving it. When was the last time you altruistically did anything for anyone? his cynical voice taunted.
After Yvette’s death, he had become so accomplished at shutting off his own feelings that his concerns for his patients never extended beyond their surgical recovery time. What mattered to Tyler was that he performed their operations to the best of his ability. After that, it was out of his hands. He hadn’t cared about their family life or spiritual well-being. He hadn’t bothered with learning how they got around at home or if they had someone to cook and clean for them while they recovered. That was the job of social workers and nurses, not surgeons.
He was too rusty. His do-gooder instincts were flabby and out of shape. He should just get someone from social services to come consult on her case so he could wash his hands of everything but her medical condition.
Inside his head, he heard Yvette click her tongue that way she had when she was disappointed in him. He could almost feel her disapproving frown burning the back of his head.
Angrily, he shrugged off the sensation. Dammit! He had no reason to feel guilty. He hadn’t asked for this assignment. He wasn’t this woman’s savior. Nor was she even asking him to be. He didn’t want to get involved.
I’m my brother’s keeper. Yvette’s motto—his own old motto before he’d lost touch with his humanity—echoed in his ears.
Ah, hell.
“No one forced me off the road,” Jane Doe denied. “The eyewitnesses are mistaken. It was wet and getting dark. I was driving too fast. My car hydroplaned and flipped.”
“You can remember the accident but you can’t remember your name?”
She shrugged.
He swept his gaze over her body, befuddled at the suddenness of her physical transformation. A short time ago she had been immobile, barely conscious. Her face had been lacerated and her blood pressure low. She had come into contact with an unknown chemical that was quite possibly toxic and she had acute upper-right quadrant pain. Now, she presented the picture of health. Her pasty color had been replaced by a lively pink sheen. Blond hair that had been damp and matted with blood now hung soft and luxuriant down her back. Plus, she was placing full weight on the bone that supposedly had a hairline fracture.
Something didn’t jive. He had seen Olympic athletes that hadn’t looked as good.
Then he remembered the results of the woman’s blood work. The low white blood cell count, the elevated platelets, the numerous lymphocytes. She didn’t look like an advanced cancer victim, either. Tyler narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin as he contemplated the evidence.
Maybe the chemicals she’d absorbed through her skin during the accident had altered her blood values, mutating her cells in some bizarre manner that resembled cancer. It was possible, although rare, to see such a change so quickly after exposure, but then again nothing about this woman seemed normal or predictable.
He had to get to the bottom of this anomaly. He had to find out how she could go from obtunded to robust in the span of half an hour.
What exactly had been in those vials?
“Get back on the gurney,” Tyler commanded, pointing a finger at the stretcher.
Jane Doe raised her chin and glared at him defiantly. “No.”
“I
