Under The Knife

“I don’t need a textbook. I know what’s normal!” She scarcely recognized her own voice, echoing shrilly through the vast room.

He looked unimpressed. Bored, even. “Really—” he sighed “—wouldn’t it be easier just to admit you made a mistake?”

“Easier for whom?”

“For everyone involved. Consider an out-of-court settlement. It’d be fast, easy and relatively painless.”

“A settlement? But that’s admitting a mistake I never made!”

What little patience he had left finally snapped. “You want to go to trial?” he shot back. “Fine. But let me tell you something about the way I work. When I try a case, I don’t do it halfway. If I have to tear you apart in court, I’ll do it. And when I’m finished, you’ll wish you’d never turned this into some ridiculous fight for your honor. Because let’s face it, Doctor. You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.”

She wanted to grab him by those pinstriped lapels. She wanted to scream out that in all this talk about settlements and courtrooms, her own anguish over Ellen O’Brien’s death had been ignored. But suddenly all her rage, all her strength, seemed to drain away, leaving her exhausted. Wearily she slumped back in her chair. “I wish I could admit I made a mistake,” she said quietly. “I wish I could just say, ‘I know I’m guilty and I’ll pay for it.’ I wish to God I could say that. I’ve spent the last week wondering about my memory. Wondering how this could have happened. Ellen trusted me and I let her die. It makes me wish I’d never become a doctor, that I’d been a clerk or a waitress—anything else. I love my work. You have no idea how hard it’s been—how much I’ve given up—just to get to where I am. And now it looks as if I’ll lose my job….” She swallowed and her head drooped in defeat. “And I wonder if I’ll ever be able to work again….”

David regarded her bowed head in silence and fought to ignore the emotions stirring inside him. He’d always considered himself a good judge of character. He could usually look a man in the eyes and tell if he was lying. All during Kate Chesne’s little speech, he’d been watching her eyes, searching for some inconsistent blip, some betraying flicker that would tell him she was lying through her teeth.

But her eyes had been absolutely steady and forthright and as beautiful as a pair of emeralds.

The last thought startled him, popping out as it did, almost against his will. As much as he might try to suppress it, he was all at once aware that she was a beautiful woman. She was wearing a simple green dress, gathered loosely at the waist, and it took just one glance to see that there were feminine curves beneath that silky fabric. The face that went along with those very nice curves had its flaws. She had a prizefighter’s square jaw. Her shoulder-length mahogany hair was a riot of waves, obviously untamable. The curly bangs softened a forehead that was far too prominent. No, it wasn’t a classically beautiful face. But then he’d never been attracted to classically beautiful women.

Suddenly he was annoyed not only at himself but at her, at her effect on him. He wasn’t a dumb kid fresh out of law school. He was too old and too smart to be entertaining the peculiarly male thoughts now dancing in his head.

In a deliberately rude gesture, he looked down at his watch. Then, snapping his briefcase shut, he stood up. “I have a deposition to take and I’m already late. So if you’ll excuse me…”

He was halfway across the room when her voice called out to him softly: “Mr. Ransom?”

He glanced back at her in irritation. “What?”

“I know my story sounds crazy. And I guess there’s no reason on earth you should believe me. But I swear to you: it’s the truth.”

He sensed her desperate need for validation. She was searching for a sign that she’d gotten through to him; that she’d penetrated his hard shell of skepticism. The fact was, he didn’t know if he believed her, and it bothered the hell out of him that his usual instinct for the truth had gone haywire, and all because of a pair of emerald-green eyes.

“Whether I believe you or not is irrelevant,” he said. “So don’t waste your time on me, Doctor. Save it for the jury.” The words came out colder than he’d intended and he saw, from the quick flinch of her head, that she’d been stung.

“Then there’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say—”

“Not a thing.”

“I thought you’d listen. I thought somehow I could change your mind—”

“Then you’ve got a lot to learn about lawyers. Good-day, Dr. Chesne.” Turning, he headed briskly for the door. “I’ll see you in court.”

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_28616a13-4dcd-5033-b275-ef7a2fdfb917)

YOU DON’T HAVE a snowball’s chance in hell.

That was the phrase Kate kept hearing over and over as she sat alone at a table in the hospital cafeteria. And just how long did it take for a snowball to melt, anyway? Or would it simply disintegrate in the heat of the flames?

How much heat could she take before she fell apart on the witness stand?

She’d always been so adept at dealing with matters of life and death. When a medical crisis arose, she didn’t wring her hands over what needed to be done; she just did it, automatically. Inside the safe and sterile walls of the operating room, she was in control.

But a courtroom was a different world entirely. That was David Ransom’s territory. He’d be the one in control; she’d be as vulnerable as a patient on the operating table. How could she possibly fend off an attack by the very man who’d built his reputation on the scorched careers of doctors?

She’d never felt threatened by men before. After all, she’d trained with them, worked with them. David Ransom was the first man who’d ever intimidated her, and he’d done it effortlessly. If only he was short or fat or bald. If only she could think of him as human and therefore vulnerable. But just the thought of facing those cold blue eyes in court made her stomach do a panicky flip-flop.

“Looks like you could use some company,” said a familiar voice.

Glancing up, she saw Guy Santini, rumpled as always, peering down at her through those ridiculously thick glasses.

She gave him a listless nod. “Hi.”

Clucking, he pulled up a chair and sat down. “How’re you doing, Kate?”

“You mean except for being unemployed?” She managed a sour laugh. “Just terrific.”

“I heard the old man pulled you out of the O.R. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t really blame it on old Avery. He was just following orders.”

“Bettencourt’s?”

“Who else? He’s labeled me a financial liability.”

Guy snorted. “That’s what happens when the damned M.B.A.’s take over. All they can talk about is profits and losses! I swear, if George Bettencourt could make a buck selling the gold out of patients’ teeth, he’d be roaming the wards with pliers.”

“And then he’d send them a bill for oral surgery,” Kate added morosely.

Neither of them laughed. The joke was too close to the truth to be funny.

“If it makes you feel any better, Kate, you’ll have some company in the courtroom. I’ve been named, too.”

She looked up sharply. “Oh, Guy! I’m sorry….”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I’ve been sued before. Believe me, it’s that first time that really hurts.”

“What happened?”

“Trauma case. Man came in with a ruptured spleen and I couldn’t save him.” He shook his head. “When I saw that letter from the attorney, I was so depressed I wanted to leap out the nearest window. Susan was ready to drag me off to the psych ward. But you know what? I survived. So will you, as long as you remember they’re not attacking you. They’re attacking the job you did.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“And that’s your problem, Kate. You haven’t learned to separate yourself from the job. We both know the hours you put in. Hell, sometimes I think you practically live here. I’m not saying dedication’s a character flaw. But you can overdo it.”

What really hurt was that she knew it was true. She did work long hours. Maybe she needed to; it kept her mind off the wasteland of her personal life.

“I’m not completely buried in my job,” she said. “I’ve started dating again.”

“It’s about time. Who’s the man?”