Deja Vu

DÉJÀ VU

FERN MICHAELS

ZEBRA BOOKS
are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2010 by MRK Productions
Fern Michaels is a Registered Trademark of First Draft, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Attn. Special Sales Department. Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40
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Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-2249-7
eISBN-10: 1-4201-2249-5

First Kensington Books Hardcover Printing: October 2010
First Zebra Books Mass-Market Paperback Printing: January 2011

10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Books by Fern Michaels

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Prologue

Chapter 1

Prologue

M
aggie Spritzer entered her office, turned on the lights, closed the door, kicked off her high heels, tossed her backpack in a chair, and sat down behind her desk. She wiggled her feet into a pair of scuffed sneakers without heels and settled down to do what she had done at 5:45 in the morning every day since becoming the EIC—read the current edition of the
Post
just as it hit the streets.

She could have read or skimmed through the online edition, but she was a newspaper person with every bone in her body. She was one of those people who needed to hold the paper in her hands and get black newsprint on her fingers. She was also the kind of person who would
never, ever
read a book on a Kindle or any of those other electronic devices. In her opinion, there was something bordering on the sacrilegious about doing that.

As she scanned the front page, her left hand was fumbling in the bag of sugary donuts she’d stopped to purchase on her way to the office. As her eyes followed the printed columns, her right hand was removing the lid of one of the two coffees she’d purchased at the donut shop.

Speed reader that she was, Maggie ripped through the paper, then went back and started over. The second time, she picked out a column, a tidbit, or a story that had caught her eye on the first go-round.

An hour from now, if given a quiz, Maggie would ace it, right down to the page and size of the article she was being quizzed on. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks,” she muttered to herself.

She frowned when she saw it on the Police Beat page. She read through the two-inch notice, then read it a second time. She saw notices like this every day. Why was this one bothering her? It was not until the third time she read it that she made the connection. Upscale medical building torched. Four offices burned beyond repair. Everything destroyed, including the medical files of the patients in each of the offices. Dermatology, OB-GYN, Plastic Surgery, Podiatry. Okayyy.

Building owned by the four doctors, who had been partners since 1983. Thriving practices. So what was it that was bothering her? She read the names of the doctors again and again, then one final time before it jumped out at her. Dr. Laura Valentine. “Yesssss!” Julia Webster, one of the original vigilantes, had worked with Dr. Valentine Julia had been a well-known plastic surgeon before her death.

The fire marshal was going to hold a press conference later that afternoon. Maggie made a mental note to tune in.

Maggie stared down at the address, her mind racing. She swept everything aside, turned on her computer, and hit the Google search button. She typed in Julia Webster’s name and waited. She read slowly, then clicked link after link until she had the full story on Julia Webster. Tears burned her eyes at what she remembered that had never been printed.

Scissors in hand, Maggie went back to the paper. She clipped the article on the fire, feeling sure that it meant something. What, she didn’t know. Yet. But the prestigious address in Georgetown was now engraved in her brain. Sooner or later, she’d figure it out. She always did.

Maggie peeled the skin off a banana and sat back in her swivel chair as she wondered how long it would take before she figured it out.

She bolted upright in the chair.
Backup!
Surely the doctors had a backup system in place in case something like this happened. Computers crashed. Viruses appeared out of nowhere. And then there was the patient confidentiality problem to deal with. About a year ago, Ted had done a lengthy article on how businesses used outside backup systems just in case something like the fire happened. But if memory served her right, it was mostly small businesses and not medical offices because of the patient-doctor confidentiality thing. In the unlikely event the doctors didn’t have outside backup, it might mean they had their own personal software in place if something just like this took place.

Julia Webster.

Chapter 1

H
e was a kind man with kind eyes and ever so professional in his sterile white coat, a stethoscope hanging out of his pocket. His battered medical bag spoke of years of use. His name was Alfred Montrose, and he was President Martine Connor’s personal physician.