drew in a deep breath and returned to his office. Patricia glanced up at him as he passed her desk but he said nothing. With his office door closed, he moved to the window overlooking the meticulously manicured grounds surrounding the facility. Trees and shrubs were precisely placed amid the expanse of asphalt, lending a welcoming, pleasing appearance. He’d insisted on extensive research for design purposes. What aspects would make the family members of patients feel more at home? What could be done to set a soothing tone for patients? A patient’s outlook and sense of well-being and safety were immensely important to healing.
Devon stared at nothing in particular for a long while. When his mind and pulse rate had calmed sufficiently, he settled behind his desk. A couple of clicks of the keyboard opened the patient portal. He pulled up the chart for the Caucasian female he’d observed in surgery. He surveyed the injuries listed as well as the paramedic’s comments. The kinds of injuries she had suffered were alarmingly similar to those his late wife had suffered in the car accident that had taken her life.
Pierce, Cara Reese, thirty-seven. Her address was listed as the Lake Bluff residence Devon had built for his late wife more than a decade ago...the house he had inhabited alone for the past six-plus years.
He scrolled down the file to a copy of her driver’s license.
His breath trapped in his lungs.
Blond hair, blue eyes. Height five-six, weight one-ten. Date of birth, November 10—all the statistics matched the ones that would have been found on Cara’s license. But it was the photo that proved the most shocking of all. Silky blond hair brushed her shoulders. Mischief sparkled in her eyes.
The woman in the photo was Cara. His Cara.
Devon was on his feet before his brain registered that he had pushed up from his chair. The DMV photo was the same one from the last time his wife renewed her license eight years ago. As if that September morning had happened only yesterday, he recalled vividly when she realized her driver’s license had expired. She’d been so busy planning another trip before the holidays were upon them she’d completely forgotten. He’d teased her relentlessly.
His chest screamed for oxygen, forcing him to draw in a tight breath. The name could certainly be chalked up to pure coincidence. Even the physical characteristics and the shared birthday. The photo...that was an entirely different story.
A rap on his door pulled him back to the present. Devon reluctantly shifted his attention there. Why wasn’t Patricia handling visitors? He needed time to untangle this startling mystery. At the sound of another knock, he called, “Come in.”
The door opened and a young man stuck his head inside. “You wanted to see me, Dr. Pierce?”
Devon didn’t recognize the face but the uniform was as familiar as his own reflection, maybe more so since he hadn’t scrutinized himself in a mirror in years. More than six, to be exact. The contrasting navy trousers and light blue shirt marked his visitor as a member of the Elite Ambulance service. The identifying badge above the breast pocket confirmed Devon’s assessment. The paramedic.
“You brought in the female patient from the automobile accident?”
He nodded. “My partner and I. Yes, sir. It appeared to be a one-car accident on the Kennedy Expressway near Division. It was the strangest thing.”
Devon gestured to the pair of chairs in front of his desk and the young man took a seat. The badge clipped onto his pocket sported the name Warren Eckert. “Strange in what way, Mr. Eckert?”
Devon lowered into his own chair as Eckert spoke. “Nobody witnessed the accident. There was a sizable dent on the front driver’s-side fender, but nothing to suggest an accident capable of causing the kind of injuries the patient sustained.”
“What kind of vehicle was she driving?”
“A brand-new Lexus. Black. Fully loaded.” Eckert whistled, long and low. “Sharp car for sure.”
Cara had driven a Lexus. Devon had bought it for her on her last birthday before she died.
“Do you recall seeing anything in the vehicle besides your patient? Luggage perhaps, or a briefcase?”
Eckert shook his head. “I don’t remember. Sorry.”
“What about the officers investigating the scene?” Obviously the police had been there, probably before Eckert arrived.
“Joe Telly was the only cop on the scene. He called us before he called backup.”
“The woman was not conscious when you arrived?”
“No, sir.”
“Was she able to speak to the officer before your arrival?” Devon’s instincts were humming. How had a woman involved in such a seemingly minor accident been injured so severely?
“She was unconscious when Telly pulled over to check on her.”
“How would you describe the woman?” Devon thought about the photo on the driver’s license. “I’m sure you concluded an approximate age and such.”
The other man nodded. “Blond hair, blue eyes. Medium height. Kind of thin. Midthirties, I’d say.”
“Well dressed?” Her clothes had been removed before surgery and very little of her body had been visible on the operating table.
Eckert nodded slowly. “She was wearing a dress. A short black one. Like she might have been headed to a party or dinner out or something. Not the kind of outfit you’d wear to work unless you’re a hostess in an upscale restaurant or something like that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Eckert.” Devon stood. “I appreciate your time.”
“Do you know her?”
The rumor had already made the rounds. “No. I’m afraid I don’t.”
When the paramedic had exited the office, Devon pulled up the record on this Cara Pierce...this woman who could not be his wife.
Preliminary tox screen showed no drugs. And yet if there was no intracranial hemorrhaging, why had she still been unconscious when she arrived at the ER? Remaining unconscious for an extended period generally indicated a serious injury, illness or drug use.
Devon picked up his cell phone and made the call he should have made weeks ago. When she answered, he dived straight into what needed to be said without preamble. “Victoria, I was mistaken. I will require your services after all.”
His old friend Victoria Colby-Camp agreed to have her investigator meet him at his residence at eight tonight.
Devon ended the call and tossed his phone onto his desk. Last month, someone had left him an ominous message right here in his office. At first, he’d been determined to have the Colby Agency look into the issue. It wasn’t every day that someone who knew how to best his security system dropped by his office and left such a bold message.
I know what you did.
But then he’d decided to drop it. Why stir up his painful past? He knew what he had done. Why allow anyone else to delve into that unpleasant territory?
If
