The Last Surgeon

what I do. Lot of times I find evidence of arson that town or state investigators miss.”

Jillian could see the man’s eyes beginning to mist.

“That’s good for you, Paul. And I’m sure what you do makes every day that much easier.”

“It does.”

“Somebody murdered my sister too. Forced her to write a note and then take an overdose of sleeping pills. And I’m not going to rest until I catch whoever did it. I don’t want Belle’s death to be in vain either.”

“I’ll pray that you succeed.”

“Thank you.”

Impulsively, Jillian turned and gave Regis a grateful hug. He returned the embrace, but broke it off when she did. His shoulders felt tight and powerful, and in spite of all she was going through, or possibly because of it, Jillian felt a slight spark.

“Well,” he said, “I’m actually all done with my walk-through.”

His voice rose as if he were about to say something further.

Jillian did not want him to leave and barely kept herself from saying so.

“I appreciate you taking the time to explain things to me,” she said instead.

“You know, I’m really glad to have been here when you came.”

Their eyes met, and for several moments, Jillian held his gaze.

“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve made me feel much better.”

“Look, it’s getting dark out. I wouldn’t hang around here much longer if I were you.”

“Okay. I’ll come back tomorrow and check the upstairs.”

“Just be careful. The floor looks okay, but there may be weak spots. I’d help you, but I actually have to drive up to Philadelphia for an inspection.”

“I… I’m really pleased to have met you,” Jillian said. “You are very empathetic.”

“I left my cards at home per usual, Jillian, but I’d be happy to give you my number if you’d like.”

His eyes really are quite remarkable.

“I would like that,” she said, writing her cell phone number on the bottom of the notepaper he had handed her and passing that half back to him. “Expect to hear from me.” She gave fleeting thought to kissing him then and there, but finally managed to pull her gaze away. “Thank you, Paul. Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said with an understanding smile.

TEN BLOCKS away, after pulling his unmarked rented van to the curb, the man who called himself Paul Regis reached into the pocket of his coveralls to caress the smooth steel of the two small gas canisters he had extracted from their hiding place in the closet of Jillian Coates’s upstairs bedroom. Beside them in his pocket were the top- of-the-line surveillance cameras and microphones he had also removed from the condo.

Jericho, the code name used by the organization who had hired him, had violated the most basic tenet of their agreement: no intervention.

What a stupid thing for them to do.

Rule number one-rule number everything: Franz Koller works alone.

Good thing the second floor hadn’t collapsed onto the first. The canisters and spyware would be in an evidence bag, and someone would have connected the Coates sisters. Good thing he had been his usual professional self in concealing the V-gas and the surveillance cameras and microphones.

Koller pulled off the Hollywood-quality silver wig and removed his contacts.

“Jealous boyfriend,” he said, laughing out loud.

The canisters of nerve gas and the surveillance equipment had been in a safe spot above the inside of the closet door frame and in the curtains. It would have taken an almost inconceivable piece of bad luck for Jillian Coates or anyone else to have discovered them before he had the chance to get back and remove them. Then whoever made decisions for Jericho had to go and nearly burn the place down. They would have hell to pay for doing something that stupid. Everything could have been ruined. If he had not been so busy, and had even remotely suspected Jericho might panic and break their agreement, he would have gotten out to Jillian Coates’s condo right after Belle’s death to remove the stuff he had placed there.

Good thing Paul Regis, insurance company fire investigator, had gotten mobilized to act and act quickly. Now, it was time to deal with the idiots who had nearly blown everything. From the beginning Koller suspected Jericho was connected in some way with the CIA, but in truth he didn’t care so long as the payments made it into his accounts. Now, he cared. And Jericho, whether it was Agency or someone else, was going to pay.

Koller skipped to “Sympathy for the Devil” on the Stones CD he had been listening to, and breathed in a few more minutes of his success. Who knew, perhaps a roll in the hay with Jillian Coates was in his future. She was certainly good-looking enough-more than good-looking enough. Of course, thanks to Jericho’s poor judgment, if she persisted in disbelieving the non-kill of her sister, she might earn a non-kill of her own somewhere down the line.

Reflexively, he stroked the canisters again.

“Nicely done,” he said.

CHAPTER 12

“I understand that you fell down.”

The sloe-eyed ER doctor, whom Nick suspected was just a few years removed from her spring break party days, peered at the gash on his chin through thick magnifying glasses. After studying the wound from every conceivable angle, she still did not seem ready to make a stitch. It was as though his flesh were a block of uncut marble and one false tap would render it pebbles.

“Go ahead and sew, Dr. Baker,” Nick said finally. “There’s nothing to worry about. Besides, this is going to leave a character scar that will only enhance my reputation as a man of mystery.”

The woman laughed uncomfortably.

“Whoever put those Steri-Strips on did a masterful job,” she said.

“It was our nurse. She has that woeful condition where she’s very good at everything.”

“I thought about just leaving them on.”

“I know, but she insisted, and she’s very good at that, too.”

The woman looked bewildered.

“Seeing as we’re fellow doctors,” she said, “you can just call me Amanda. And I’m sorry for seeming a bit nervous here. I’m rotating through the ER on my way to a residency next year in psychiatry. I don’t understand why they insist we do a primary care internship except so they can fill in the coverage and on-call schedules and charge for what we do. Suturing up a trauma surgeon has never been a career ambition of mine. Feels a bit like baking a pie for Martha Stewart.”

“Excuse me for saying this, Dr. Amanda, but you’re not exactly bubbling with confidence here. How long have you been doing ER?”

“Two weeks.”

“Then you’re ready, Doc. Just think of me as a pillow and sew away.”

Banter… lighthearted humor… Who is this man and what have you done with Nick Garrity?

Nick knew the answer. After four years a crack had appeared in the wall of frustration and uncertainty surrounding Umberto’s disappearance. A GI with a story similar to Umberto’s had disappeared and subsequently surfaced again. He had almost nothing by way of clues as to where Marine Corporal Manny Ferris might be, but whatever it took, if the man was alive, he would find him.

I’ve been called back by the Marines for a top-secret covert mission.

The statement resonated in his mind as Amanda Baker painlessly numbed Nick’s chin. Four years. Four years without a word. Now, suddenly, there was hope.

By the time the second stitch was in, the future psychiatrist was utterly focused on the job and humming softly. Her hands, trembling slightly as she put in the local anesthesia, were bedrock solid now. The youthful