Starting my car, I thought about its GPS. The privacy firm offered to disable it, and I’d considered it for a while. Then I decided that I liked the false sense of empowerment it gave to both Travis and Stewart. While leaving my car and taking taxis wasn’t my favorite activity, thus far it had worked well.
I glanced at the text message I refused to allow myself to read earlier in my suite. It was from Brody, received at 6:54 AM. I grimaced. Like I’d ever be awake that early?
“DID EVERYTHING GO ALL RIGHT?”
There was a second one, sent later.
“I’M WORRIED YOU HAVEN’T RESPONDED. BTW – I THINK I FOUND SOMETHING THAT IS IMPORTANT. LET ME DO SOME MORE RESEARCH AND I’LL GET BACK TO YOU.”
The third was from Val. I’d already accessed it and replied.
“SORRY ABOUT THE EMERGENCY? HOPE YOU MADE IT HOME ALL RIGHT. WE NEED TO CATCH UP.”
My response:
“I’LL BE OVER THIS AFTERNOON. TEXT ME IF YOU’RE BUSY.”
Since I hadn’t heard from her, she was my first stop.
MY KNUCKLES RAPPED on the door of the small apartment not far from Memorial’s medical center. Within mere seconds, the door opened and I was greeted by the same gray eyes I saw every day in the mirror.
“Hi, sis, come on in,” Val said with a welcoming grin.
Our gray eyes were our familiar personal trait. Other than that, we looked much different than one another. Many people didn’t realize we were sisters. Val’s light brown, short, spiky hair was about as different from my long, dark hair as possible. Hers was thick and took on a life of its own: the absolutely perfect style for the busy life of a doctor, while mine was sleek and shiny. I often wore mine pulled back, but if I left it down, it easily reached the middle of my back. We also varied in size. Val was shorter and more petite than I. Her body shape was more like our mother’s. Though we were both fit, my five-feet-six-inches held more curves than her five-foot-two. When I wore my usual three- to four-inch heels, I towered above her.
“Hi,” I greeted, eying her suspiciously. “Have you even slept? What time did you get home from the hospital?”
“Yeah,” she waved me off. “I’m fine. I didn’t want to pass up a chance to see you. Besides, I felt bad for turning you down yesterday, and I wanted to hear more about that cryptic text.” Her brows rose in question. “Umm, so, we hung out last night?”
“We did,” I confirmed. “Has anyone called to question it?”
“Like your husband, or that creep, Travis? No, but if they do, I’m good. I think I’ve got the story straight. We were talking about the U.S. cancer clinics and due to the pile-up on 95, which, by the way, really slammed us hard last night, I was called away.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “And I fell asleep in the doctor’s lounge waiting for you. You found me, woke me, and I finally left after midnight.”
Val’s head shook from side to side. “I know Stewart’s been an ass, but, damn, his days are limited. Keep your ducks in a row for a little while longer. You don’t want to screw everything up now.”
I fell into her overstuffed sofa. “It’s complicated. I didn’t mean to be out so late. I was mad, met up with a friend, and believe it or not, fell asleep.”
Her eyes widened. “Jeez, I know I’m exciting company, and falling asleep in the doctor’s lounge is totally feasible, but your friend must be a riot if you really did fall asleep. Unless…” Her eyes widened. “…it’s a friend who you happened to be seeing in a horizontal position. Which makes sleeping much easier,” she added with a grin.
I shrugged and reached for the tall glass of iced tea Val offered. “Thanks. When are you leaving for Uganda?”
“Two weeks. So, see, I would’ve been awake anyway. I have a ton to get done. Right now…” She pointed to the table near the side of the room covered in papers, folders, and her laptop. “…I’m getting all the forms completed. I’ll be meeting with the representative from Doctors Without Borders next week.”
“Why? Your project is fully funded through the Harrington Society. You don’t need to answer to anyone else.”
“I’m not answering to anyone. They’re helping me. Vik, you don’t get it. It’s not like I’m transporting antibiotics around the world. The drugs I’m transporting could start an epidemic or perhaps even a pandemic if they fell into the wrong hands.”
“I thought your clinics were all about treating cancer.”
She smiled. “They are, but the drugs used in chemotherapy and radiation therapy could conceivably be used in more devious ways. You know the Harrington Cancer Treatment Centers receive donations from all over the country. It isn’t all funded through you. If it were, I doubt Stewart would be as open and giving.” She put her hands in the air. “I don’t know for sure. Call it intuition, but these drugs are expensive. Anyway, hospitals, doctors’ offices, and clinics welcome a legitimate way to rid themselves of expired or nearly expired drugs as well as equipment and other resources. They want a way to write off the expense for tax purposes and not eat the loss. There’s an entire facility here in Miami devoted to nothing but receiving and cataloging those donations. I need to match those donations with the needs at our clinic in Uganda. Some items are easier to get. I mean, as a whole, medications such as Cytoxan, a common chemotherapy agent, are frequently donated. However, the cesium radioactive pellets, like what went missing a couple of years ago, were not. The facility that donated those pellets expected and deserved the tax break they should’ve received from their donation.”