Double Jeopardy Read online

  Even a dedicated physician with a fondness for science wasn’t immune to the power of testosterone, he told himself with a grin just before he slipped into sleep.

  Gemma struggled with every ounce of her will to wake up, to make sense of the buzzing voices, the monotonous sounds, that penetrated the void.

  Wake up. She needed to wake up. It must be night because she couldn’t see. Where was she? Low-grade anxiety came and went again.

  “Can you hear me, Ms. Cardano? Gemma, can you hear me?”

  The female voice, repeating itself endlessly, nagging, irritated her. She could hear. Why couldn’t she see?

  Terrible headache. Her face hurt

  Scraps of memory floated back, nightmarish recollections, of being strapped to a stretcher, of not being able to scream even though the pain was unbearable.

  Panicked, she struggled harder to open her eyes.

  She couldn’t.

  Blind. She must be blind.

  God, oh please God, not blind.

  Gemma began to shudder, and whimpering sounds came from her throat. They surprised her, because they didn’t sound like noises she’d ever made before.

  Something was terribly wrong with her throat. Something was very wrong, as well, with her jaw. It hurt in a way it had never hurt before, a monumental ache that made it impossible to lie still. With a huge effort, she lifted a hand—and encountered a tube in her neck.

  “Ms. Cardano, don’t struggle, please. Your eyes are swollen shut. You’ll be able to see once the swelling is gone. Your jaw was fractured and it’s wired shut. You have a tube in your throat to make breathing easier. It’s three in the morning, the day after your accident Try to relax. Being relaxed is the fastest way to speed healing.”

  Eyes, jaw? God, what else?

  She tried to ask, but the horrible croaking was all she could manage.

  Thirsty, she was horribly thirsty, and her throat hurt like hell. She tried to raise her hand again, gesture at her neck, but her hand felt disconnected from the rest of her. It flopped back down on the sheet before she could make it do what she wanted.

  The nurse guessed. “I know you must be thirsty, and I’m sorry, but I can’t give you water just yet. We’ll have to wait until we’re sure you can swallow. You have a drip in your arm that’s putting fluid into your body. I’m going to give you a shot now in your thigh. It’ll help you rest. The more you rest the better. There’s a call button right here....”

  Cool fingers took her hand and positioned it.

  “Try to relax now, Ms. Cardano.”

  Rage flared. Who was this idiot telling her to relax? And she couldn’t even holler that she hated needles. She tensed, waiting for the sickening instant when the needle penetrated her skin, but she barely felt it because the pain in her head, in her neck, was red and hot. After an interminable time it ebbed slightly and Gemma tried to concentrate, to remember the details of what had happened to her, but there was only a blur of separate moments with no connection between them. She clearly remembered driving to work in the early morning, cursing the rain because it was supposed to be summer.

  Then there was a doctor, his deep voice soothing, telling her she was going to the operating room. And then the void came rushing up and swallowed her once more.

  Darkness, and again a voice, one she recognized this time.

  “Gemma? It’s Mama, carissima.”

  She had no memory of time passing, nothing to indicate where she’d been, only the darkness fading gradually as she became conscious again. She felt incredible relief, knowing her mama was beside her, holding her hand.

  “Papa’s here, too. It’s six in the morning. He’s just gone to talk to the nurse.”

  Gemma tensed, waiting for the sickening ache to start in her head, but it was duller. She felt nauseous, though, which was terrifying because she couldn’t open her mouth. What would she do if she had to throw up? Panic shot through her, and she clutched at her mother’s hand.

  “They told us you woke up earlier,” Mama was saying. “Cara mia, I should have stayed with you all night. I shouldn’t have listened when they said go home.”

  It sounded like Mama was trying not to cry. Mama cried easily, so Gemma couldn’t gauge the gravity of the situation from her. She’d know better when Papa came. She could always tell from the timbre of Papa’s voice exactly how serious a thing was.

  But it was Sera she really wanted. Sera could tell her the things Gemma needed answered, and she’d tell her the truth. One thing about Sera, she was big on truth.

  Somehow Mama knew. “I called your sister. She should be here soon.”

  Staying awake was hard. The blackness ate her without warning, and again it seemed that no time elapsed before she heard a voice. Sera’s voice.

  “Em? Hi, Gemma. It’s me.”

  Gemma moved her hand, blindly searching for Sera’s, and there was incredible comfort in the strength of her sister’s cool, firm grasp.

  “They’re going to take your breathing tube out as soon as you’re fully awake. Then it’ll be easier for you.”

  Gemma tugged impatiently on Sera’s hand. She needed to find out...

  Sera understood. “I don’t know how much you remember, Em. You got hit in the face....” Sera gulped and when she went on Gemma knew that it was pretty radical.

  “You got hit in the face with a two-by-four. The bones in your face are smashed.”

  Her face was smashed? Gemma’s heartbeat accelerated, and icy fear sluiced through her veins, but she tugged again on Sera’s hand. She had to find out everything; had to.

  “You’ll be able to see as soon as the swelling goes down. Your eyes are fine. Your doctor’s Ben Halsey. He’s il primo as far as plastic surgeons go. He’s going to fix everything as soon as you get stabilized. He’s going to use me as a model, so you’ll look exactly like me all over again unless you tell him you want some changes.”

  Gemma understood that Sera was trying to diminish the impact of what had happened. But she could tell just by the way Sera sounded that it was major.

  "Personally, I’d hit him up for a shorter nose and smaller ears, Em.”

  They’d always joked about getting Papa’s nose and Nonna’s ears.

  “We all feel pretty helpless. There doesn’t seem a lot we can do to make this easier for you. Papa and Mama are staying here, but I have to go to work for a while, there’s a problem with the set. I’ll be back, probably by noon. It’s seven thirty now. I have to run. See you in a couple hours, Em.”

  Gemma felt Sera lift her hand, open the palm and press a kiss into it. “Bye, Gemma. Hang in there. I’ll be back soon.”

  Gemma wanted to scream at Sera, tell her that she had no right to leave. Didn’t she understand that Gemma needed her? But she couldn’t talk and her entire head was hurting again, sharp and terrifying. She scrabbled desperately at the sheet, and suddenly her father’s work hardened hand enfolded her fingers.

  “Be still, principessa. Papa’s right here. I’ll be right here beside you all day. You go to sleep now.” She felt incredible comfort and reassurance in her father’s presence, and with a sense of relief she allowed herself to slip back into oblivion and let time pass.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Four days had passed since the accident, and Sera sat for the first time in Ben Halsey’s office, in a high backed upholstered chair that looked beautiful but was decidedly uncomfortable. The seat was too shallow and the back didn’t adjust. The angle was exactly wrong for any human spine.

  She shifted from side to side, cursing whoever had designed such a monstrosity, wondering nervously just exactly what Halsey required of her. She’d changed her clothes twice this morning before deciding on the straight cut navy twill skirt and the short sleeved baby-blue vest over a white T- shirt. Why she’d fuss over her clothes just to come to see a doctor she couldn’t explain. Normally she threw on coveralls or jeans or walking shorts and a shirt without any fuss at all.

  “Ms. Cardano, good to see you.�
�� He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  “Hello, Dr. Halsey.”

  He took the chair opposite, a match to the torturous one she sat in. A small, scarred round table stood between the chairs, instead of a desk. If that was an attempt to make the office more like a living room, it failed miserably, Sera thought. The place could do with a coat of paint in a more cheerful color than this dull mushroom shade, and lordie, Halsey needed to spring for different chairs. He also could use a few big green plants to give the room more of a feeling of tranquility, she concluded. The art on the walls was excellent, however.

  She’d noted the unusual drawings immediately, charcoal sketches of almost grotesque faces that drew the eye and held it. Each stark drawing emphasized one feature, an unusual nose, or one ear larger than the other, or a dominant mouth. Only one sketch was more conventional, a free form drawing of a small boy with impossible hair, devilish eyes and a rogue’s grin.

  Probably Halsey’s son, Sera decided. Halsey wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but lots of people didn’t these days. Or maybe he lived with someone.

  “Gemma’s coming along really well. I’ve scheduled her surgery for the twenty-third,” he remarked.

  Sera glanced over at the calendar on his wall. Today was the seventeenth.

  “It can’t be too soon. She’s almost out of her mind about the way she looks.” Even that was an understatement; Gemma had been so hysterical when she first saw her ravaged face she’d had to be sedated all over again, and since then, she’d alternated between bitter rage and depression.

  “That’s quite usual. She’ll feel much more optimistic when the reconstruction is done and the swelling subsides enough for her to see that she looks normal again.”

  “She will, won’t she?” Sera gave him an anxious glance. “Look normal again?” He’d assured them all that the chances were good that Gemma would look the same as she always had, but as each day passed, it became harder to believe. Her sister’s face was shockingly disfigured, to the point where it made Sera nauseous to see her. Sera needed reassurance almost as desperately as her sister.

  “Absolutely.” He didn’t even make his usual careful qualifications. Instead, he smiled, and she noticed how kind his smile was, and how it extended to his eyes. Behind his round, wire rimmed glasses, those clear green eyes crinkled at the corners, filled with warmth.

  She’d seen him numerous times in the past few days, coming or going from her sister’s room. He’d always stopped and taken the time to fill Sera in on any changes in her sister’s condition, even though she knew he’d already gone over every detail with her mother and father, and probably, as well, with the hordes of Cardano relatives who flowed in and out of the Intensive Care unit.

  She’d seen him talking to Jack Kilgallin once or twice, too. Jack was a constant visitor now that others were allowed in Gemma’s room. He brought small bouquets of flowers, and tapes for the player Sera had transported in.

  Her sister seemed barely to notice his presence, but Sera had concluded that Jack was a kind and considerate man.

  Ben Halsey was also kind. The difference was, Sera found Halsey sexy, as well. She couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was; no woman with breath in her body could miss it. He was deeply tanned, with an athlete’s body, broad shouldered, not extraordinarily tall. Not an extra ounce of fat was visible beneath the checked short-sleeved shirt and tan slacks he was wearing today.

  His dark brown hair was beginning to turn prematurely gray at the temples, and although it was thick, he wore it cropped close to his well-shaped head. He had a strong, straight nose, and the round glasses emphasized beautiful green eyes and long dark lashes. His mouth was just full enough to be sensuous; his chin and jaw were strong and cleanly delineated; his teeth, white and even.

  That he had wrinkles made his face interesting instead of just handsome. There were deep laugh lines at the comers of his eyes and mouth, horizontal creases on his forehead; it was obvious that in spite of his profession he hadn’t had any nips or tucks himself. His face looked lived in.

  “I like your drawings. Who did them?” Sera turned to inspect them again, using the movement to try to get comfortable. Didn’t he realize these chairs were back breakers?

  “I did, and thank you. Dana, my office nurse, was scandalized when I hung them. She thought patients would be put off by them, maybe conclude I was making light of their problems. Funnily enough, most patients don’t seem to even notice.”

  “They’re probably too busy thinking about what they want you to fix for them, and wondering how much it’s going to cost and whether it will hurt” And trying to get out of here fast to escape these damnable chairs.

  He laughed. “You’re perceptive. Those are the exact issues that are raised in the first ten minutes of the first visit.”

  “Do you ever get tired of saying the same things all the time?” He made it easy to ask questions, even personal ones. In spite of his chairs, he made her feel comfortable, she supposed because he was so relaxed and easygoing himself.

  “Nope, never. I love my work. It sounds sappy, but I consider it a great privilege to be able to help people feel better about themselves.”

  “I don’t think that’s sappy at all.” She considered it noble, but she was too shy to tell him that. “Voluntarily having bits of me changed is not something I’d ever do. I guess that perfect or not, I like myself fine the way I am.”

  Plastic surgery wasn’t something she’d given a lot of thought to before Gemma’s accident, but she’d seen enough actresses in L.A. change their appearance to know that plastic surgery was the norm these days.

  “For people who aren’t satisfied with how they look, I think it’s great to have a choice,” she went on. “And for Gemma, of course it’s essential.” The idea of Gemma having to live with the face she had now didn’t bear even thinking about. Sera shuddered. She was afraid her sister would commit suicide if there was no hope of repair.

  “Thanks again.” That affable smile came and went. “And what about you? Do you enjoy your work, Ms. Cardano? What do you do?”

  “Sera, please. With an E, because it’s short for Seraphina.”

  “Seraphina,” he repeated slowly. “That’s unusual. I like it.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t It makes me feel as if I ought to be wearing a white robe and hauling a harp. Ms. Cardano, on the other hand, tells me I oughta be wearing a striped business suit and carrying a briefcase.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I’ll settle for Sera. My name’s Ben. So if you’re not an angel, I gather you’re not a lawyer, either. No striped suit or briefcase?” He waited as if he had all the time in the world for her to answer his question.

  “Nope, not a lawyer, although my dad would have been thrilled if I’d gone that route,” she said. “I’m a set designer, an assistant set designer at the moment, doing the set for a sitcom. And I’m the same as you, I absolutely love my work.”

  He was obviously interested. “Now, that’s a fascinating job. You must have a lot of artistic ability. You have to draw the set first, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Sera nodded. “Then we build a model to scale. The trick is to make sure the set doesn’t look like a set.”

  “And it would have to take on the personality of the lead character, I imagine. If they were showing where the character lived, for instance?”

  “That’s right. Wow, not many people understand that.” Sera was amazed and impressed by his immediate comprehension of some of the subtleties of her job.

  “Do you always work here in Vancouver?”

  “Nope, this is the first time I’ve been back to Vancouver on a job. I go wherever the work takes me. I worked in Chicago after graduation, doing stage sets, and then in Seattle for several years before I moved to L.A. I wanted to see if I could get into movies and television, which as you probably know do a lot of shooting in Vancouver. I was lucky to get this job, and it’s such a bonus to work in my hometown.”

  �
��Will you be here long?”

  “For the next few months. Unless they decide to move the production somewhere else, which isn’t unheard of.”

  “Well, your being here is a stroke of luck, for your sister and for me.”

  He stood up. “If you’ll come in here, we can begin.” He opened the door to an adjoining room and Sera leaped up, grateful to leave the crippling chair behind.

  She gestured at the drawing of the child as she passed it. “Is this cute guy your son?”

  “My godson. I’m not married, and have no kids of my own, for which I’m thankful each time I visit him. Stanley’s what my mother used to call a ‘holy terror.’ ” There were pride and affection in his tone. “How about you, Sera? You married? Kids?”

  “Nope, never been married. Gemma was for a short time, but I’m sort of married to my job, I guess.”

  “I know what you mean.” He gestured at a high stool. “If you could sit up there, it’ll make my life easier and your back sore, but I’ll try to be quick.” He turned on several lamps and aimed them at her face, doing his best not to shine them in her eyes.

  “It can’t be any worse than that chair in your outer office,” she said without thinking.

  What was she doing, making cracks like that? Gemma’s face was in this man’s hands, and here she was antagonizing him.

  But he laughed instead of getting annoyed. “Those were gifts from my mother when I first opened my office. I’ve been planning on getting new ones, but I keep putting it off. Mom goes for form instead of function.”

  With a professional looking camera, he snapped photos of her from every conceivable angle. As he did, he talked, a crazy stream of words that didn’t require any response and were obviously intended to help her relax and take her mind off the fact that the stool was uncomfortable.

  “I should have enrolled in a few classes in photography, but they never tell you that when you’re a med student.” He tilted her chin up with a gentle finger. “Perfect, that’s perfect. Actually, it’s amazing what they consider unimportant in a doctor’s training. I guess everybody’s heard by now about the two hours of nutritional instruction the average physician gets in training, but would you believe we never had even one hour’s instruction in what the well-dressed physician should wear once he can afford to buy clothes? You’d think somebody from GQ would catch on that there’s a lucrative potential market out there.”