could have right now.
Gabe returned with a whisper of the door, Dr. Aebischer behind him. The doctor’s commanding, godlike air should have given her comfort, but she looked to him with as much apprehension as hope. She wasn’t sure she could take another shock to the system, no matter what news he gave her.
“Mrs. Santiago-Marshall.” He took her hands as he greeted her. He had an air of cool competence, which was reassuring.
“What can you tell me?” she asked.
“His progress isn’t obvious, but there are signs of improvement. He’s returned to proper wake-sleep cycles, even though his periods of wakefulness are not periods of consciousness as we typically experience it.” His accent was crisp and intellectual.
He turned to the bed and said very clearly, if sternly, “Harrison Marshall.” Then he smiled at her. “If we had him in the MRI, as we did yesterday, you would see that the pattern of his brain activation changes at the sound of his name. That’s very promising.”
Did that mean Harrison had heard her admit she was having an affair? Her heart juddered to a stall in her chest. It took everything to keep a neutral, optimistic expression on her face.
“Is that all you’re doing? Testing?” Gabe asked with a lilt of challenge in his tone.
“No, of course not. I’ve spoken extensively with your son,” he said, turning back to Mariella. “About standard treatments and more radical ones. There are some experimental drugs that have been shown effective over time. Your son wanted a better understanding before I begin trials with any of them.”
“Luc is not in charge of Harrison’s treatment. You are,” Gabe said tightly, gaze locked with the doctor’s.
Mariella reached out to touch his arm. These boys and their rivalries.
“What sort of drugs?” she asked. “I mean, if they’re experimental, then I think that’s a good thing that Luc is looking into them, to understand side effects and things like that? I don’t have the education to understand those things.”
Gabe’s mouth stayed flat.
“One is completely new. Another has been tested on Parkinson’s patients. The mechanism isn’t fully understood, but they stimulate the wake centers. Four weeks of treatment is standard—”
“Four weeks?” Gabe fairly spit the word. Hadn’t he been the one to tell her these things took time? “I thought you were the best. That we could expect results, not four weeks of snake oil.”
“Gabe,” Mariella cautioned, squeezing his arm.
“Exactly my concern,” the doctor said, standing taller and speaking more sharply. “I, too, would prefer to try something else first. Not as well-known and also still experimental. It involves stimulating the brain with electrical charges. Not unlike implanting a pacemaker.”
“In his brain? With surgery? That’s—” Alarm had her shaking her head. “Surely...” She looked to Gabe. This was beyond her. Her hand closed into a fist on his sleeve. “We should definitely talk to Luc about that.”
“You think this would show results faster,” Gabe confirmed, expression tense and grim.
“I would like to run a few more tests, to ensure he’s an appropriate candidate, but yes. That is my preferred treatment option. I’ll contact you when it’s time to make a decision.”
“Thank you,” Mariella said, gaze, voice, all of her feeling hollow.
The doctor left, and she stood unmoving next to Gabe, still clutching his sleeve.
With a long inhale, like he was waking up after a long sleep himself, Gabe gave her shoulder a gentle rub. “It will be okay, Tía. You’ll see.”
She shook her head. “It’s too much. I can’t even take in...”
“We want him back, right?”
“I want to shake him awake with my bare hands!” She had so many questions, but the only one she could reveal in front of Gabe was, “I want to know who the Fixer is.”
“Don’t obsess about the Fixer. I told you, that’s not important now.”
“It is!” There were too many things she didn’t know, so few people she could trust. “The Fixer could be responsible for this.” She waved at Harrison’s still form.
She looked up at her beloved nephew, catching that flicker of something in the backs of his eyes before he drew her close as though she was some fragile thing that needed shelter, not a woman taking control of her life after a long absence from the driver’s seat.
“I refuse to believe that. Not when the money benefits the family,” he said. “Clearly the Fixer is working in the Marshalls’ best interest.”
“You’re being naive. How can you be so sure he—or she—is not a threat? Whether it’s an audit of those unreported funds, or outright criminal behavior, or simply the fact that Harrison didn’t trust me, that’s all damage.”
“You have enough on your plate. Concentrate on keeping the business running until Harrison wakes. Then we’ll worry about the Fixer.”
She shook her head, pushing away. “No. I have to find him now. I have to destroy the Fixer before he destroys us.”
* * *
Traffic was heavy on the way back to Casa Cat, leaving them trapped in the limo with their thoughts. Mariella seemed lost in her plans to uncover and obliterate the Fixer while Gabe struggled with whether to tell her the truth—that he was the Fixer and had every intention of protecting the family’s interests until Harrison came to.
Which included sidelining Joe, if necessary.
Her bleakness was to be expected, he supposed, along with her need for comfort. He was as worried as anyone, and that talk about implanting something in Harrison’s brain wasn’t any more palatable to him than it was to her.
But he didn’t like the way she was turning to her husband’s best friend. The fact that Joe was moving in when Harrison was so vulnerable put him at the top on Gabe’s watch list. Joe had always been part of the inner circle, but now Gabe thought some distance would be a shrewd move. His Fixer wheels began turning at high speed, wondering what sorts of skeletons Joe had in his closet.
Whatever was going on between Joe and Mariella had to stop.
His atavistic thoughts must have shown on his face. Mariella said, “What’s wrong?”
“Thinking about Harrison’s treatment,” he prevaricated, smoothing his expression. “When Dr. Aebischer said radical, I didn’t think it would be that drastic.”
She made a noise of agreement, reaching to squeeze his hand. “I know. And you’re so good to me, offering comfort and supporting me when Harrison is the only father you’ve ever known. You must be very troubled yourself.”
If he let himself think about it too deeply, yes, he was. Harrison was his confidant and mentor, the man who had taught him how to be a man. Harrison had set
