Return to Sender (17 page)

She dialed the number from the prescription bottle. “I need to speak with Dr. Reeves. Yes? Well, no, I’m not a patient. My husband is. Nicholas Pemberton. Yes. Yes, I’ll hold.” Chelsea peered down the hall just to make sure there was no sign of Nick. With Nick, one could never be too sure, drugged or not. The man was like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character in
The Terminator.
With every attempt on his life, he came back better and stronger than ever.

“Dr. Reeves, hello. Yes, this is she. No, no, Nick is fine. I just had a few questions. You see Nick doesn’t tell me anything about his illness. I know he has leukemia, but that’s about it. I want to help him, but I can’t if I’m not armed with information. I guess what I really want to know is exactly how sick my husband is.” Chelsea crossed her fingers, praying the good doctor was about to offer her his sympathies.

“Actually, Nick is doing quite well. When we tested his blood and did another bone-marrow examination last week, his blood tests were fairly normal, so I gave him a four-week reprieve from the chemo. I think he needs to gain some weight, get his strength back. While he certainly isn’t out of the woods, he’s making remarkable progress.”

Chelsea felt like crying. That was not what she wanted to hear. “So, then, he’s not dying?” She faked a crying noise.

“I didn’t say that, Mrs. Pemberton. The chemotherapy is doing what it’s supposed to do. Nick’s body can stand the four-week break. In no way is he out of the woods. His type of leukemia moves quickly and can be deadly. Let’s just look at this as a respite for your husband. Chemo is very hard on the body.”

He could die? Chelsea wanted to jump up and down like a child, but refrained. “Are there symptoms I should look for? Something to indicate he’s getting sicker?” She knew she sounded like an idiot, but just then she didn’t care, as it was to her advantage to play stupid. She was sure she could get more information out of the good Dr. Reeves by acting naive. And Nick thought it took a college degree to make one smart.
If only.

“He’ll tire out easily. He might even be short of breath. Trust me, Mrs. Pemberton, your husband is very well informed about his illness. If he should take a turn for the worse, he’ll know.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reeves. I feel much,
much
better knowing Nick is aware of the seriousness of his disease. He sometimes makes light of things.” She paused. “Yes, I’ll call if I have any more questions. Thank you, Doctor.” She hung up the phone. Chelsea knew her smile was as wide as the moon. Good old Nick might not win this battle, after all. She couldn’t wait to see him fall from grace, couldn’t wait to get control of his fortune.

She was already visualizing his funeral. She’d wear Chanel, of course. And one of those black lace things to hide her face. If possible, she would have the services at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The irony, she loved it! Most likely it would be a full-court press. Foreign dignitaries had attended his father’s funeral; no doubt they would feel obligated to attend Nick’s as well. The vice president might even show up again. It could be the social event of the season. If she played her cards right, she just might attract a future husband, if she wanted one, while putting dear old Nick six feet under.

Chelsea had plans. She wasn’t about to let Nick ruin them by living.

Determined not to sit still and idly watch his life go by without a fight, Nick planned on staying one jump ahead of his disease. He’d spent plenty of time reading the books Dr. Reeves had suggested; he’d even joined an online support group. Chelsea would have a blast making fun of him if she found out. Nick didn’t plan on her doing so. The subject of bone-marrow transplants had been weighing heavily on his mind. What would he do if it came to that? Since he had no siblings or children, the likelihood of finding a suitable match in a short time didn’t look good. He’d read about the National Marrow Donor Program registry. After he read what the odds were of finding a suitable match, an idea planted itself in the back of his mind. If it came down to the point that he needed a transplant, he was going to do whatever he could to plan for such an event. He was about to put the Pemberton family’s money to good use.

Nick Pemberton was going to start a bone-marrow drive. And the winning match would be rewarded with a very large sum of money. A business venture, if you will. It would be the biggest recruiting drive in Manhattan. Hell, he’d get NYU involved. They owed him for that freshman banquet. It would be perfect. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. Knowing there would have to be an incentive for a bunch of healthy college students to offer to donate their marrow, Nick was going to lure donors in with the promise of the good old green stuff. Cold hard cash. He’d figure out the amount, maybe enough to cover the cost of an iPod or one of those new iPhones. That, of course, wouldn’t be the main attraction. If a match was found, Nick would offer the donor ten million dollars. Yes, that was a nice figure. Who wouldn’t give up a few blood cells and marrow for the chance at ten million bucks?

“When you’re good, you’re good.” Nick spoke out loud. He had almost four more weeks before his next treatment. Enough time to find some lucky bastard who might very well just save his life.

Feeling extremely tired, Nick remained in bed. He would start the recruiting process by phone. He dialed Trevor McDermott’s private number, one that was only to be used for emergencies. Nick figured saving his life certainly constituted an emergency.

“Yes.” Trevor picked up on the first ring.

“Trevor, it’s Nick.”

“Yes. What can I do for you this fine morning, Nick?”

“What I’m about to ask has to remain confidential.”

“I’m your attorney, Nicholas. Our conversations are always confidential.”

Nick lowered his voice. “Yes, of course. However, if the public were to get wind of this, Pemberton Transport could be in big trouble. My name has to be kept concealed at all costs.”

“What is it you want me to do?” Trevor asked.

For the next half hour Nick explained to his attorney what he wanted. Hell, no sense beating around the bush, what he
needed.
He had to tell him of his illness because Trevor knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the most charitable person in the world, excluding the orphanage. He contributed to them because it looked good, and it was a hell of a tax write-off. Other than that, his generosity was zip.

“All right. I’ve never attempted something of this nature, but as the saying goes, there is a first time for everything. Nicholas, you have to do exactly what your doctor says. I’m very familiar with your disease,” Trevor said.

“You are? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m saying it now. My daughter-in-law’s brother had the disease a few years ago.”

“And how is he doing now?” Nick asked.

Trevor hesitated a moment before speaking. “He died.”

Nick was shocked and, for a minute, was at a loss for words. “That’s terrible. How…Did he have proper medical care?”

“Yes, he had the best medical care. He did everything by the book, just like his doctor told him. This disease is treacherous, Nicholas. You feel fine one minute, and in the next you could…Well, I’m sure you’re quite aware of the severity of your illness.”

Nick took a deep breath. Suddenly his future didn’t look so damned bright. “I’m doing all that I can to fight it. That’s why I want to do the donor drive. If I need the stuff, I want to have it as soon as possible. I’m not screwing around with this, Trevor. You know me.”

“Good then. I’ll get started right away. I’ll e-mail you the details as soon as I have them.”

“Thanks, Trevor. This just might save my life.”

Nick hung the phone up. For the first time since he’d been diagnosed, he seriously considered that there was a chance that he could die. And to think his father thought money could buy anything and everything, as it had for most of his life. Was this the proverbial straw that would break the camel’s back? Was he being punished? No, he’d been decent, hardworking. Hell, he had married a scheming, social-climbing gold digger just because he had been fooled into thinking that Chelsea had been carrying his child. Deciding that thinking about his wife and what a fool he had been was getting him bent out of shape, Nick tossed the covers aside, got out of bed, and stepped into the shower.

He would conquer the goddamned disease, or he would damn well die trying. He wasn’t a quitter. Twenty minutes later he was dressed in his favorite Savile Row suit. Though it hung on his bony frame, he didn’t care. If he acted normal, as if nothing had changed, then it would take his mind off the nightmare disease he wanted no part of.

Nick called Herbert. “I’m going to the office. I’ll need you to meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.” It would take him that long to walk to the elevator in the kitchen.

“Yes, sir,” came Herbert’s usual reply.

An hour later Nick sat at his desk. Rosa was acting like he had the plague. Gerald filled him in on a few matters that only the CEO could handle. He signed several new contracts, read his private mail, and was pleasantly surprised when he saw there was a letter from…the woman he’d met in Chicago. Karen Hollister. Maybe when his life returned to normal, he’d arrange for another rendezvous. If he remembered correctly, she was one helluva piece of ass. He smiled. Already things were looking up. He’d never once thought about sex since getting sick. This had to be a good sign. He recalled their passionate day in bed and felt himself harden.

“Hell, yes!” he shouted into the empty room. At least that part of his anatomy hadn’t betrayed him.

A tap on the door brought him down to earth.

“Yes?” he snapped irritably. He’d told Rosa he was not to be interrupted.

“Andrew Miller is here to see you, Mr. Pemberton. Are you ready to see him, or would you like me to schedule another appointment?”

Damn! He’d almost forgotten about Andrew and his accounts. There had been more important issues to deal with of late. Like his possible impending death.

“Sure, send him in,” Nick said agreeably.

Andrew Miller was young, late thirties. It was hard to tell. Handsome in a clean-cut way. Boy-next-door type. Brown hair combed to the side. Not a blemish or mark on his face. He looked every bit the consummate professional, just the way his father did.

“Nick, good to see you’re back at the helm.” Andrew sat down without waiting for an invitation.

“Yes, and it’s good to be back. A lot to catch up on. That damned
E. coli
about wiped me out.” Nick dared a look at the man seated across from him. If Andrew suspected something other than
E. coli
, it didn’t show on his face. Nick suspected it wouldn’t have shown on his old man’s face, either.

“Makes you want to forgo red meat.”

“It does. So what brings you out among the working class?” Nick asked.

Andrew removed an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “Here. These are the new access codes for your accounts. While we’ve yet to find the culprit who did this, the fraud unit is still investigating. They released these codes just this morning. When I called your secretary, she said you were in the office. Thought I’d drop them off to you myself. Once you gain access, of course, you’re free to change the codes. I would if I were you. As a matter of fact, I’d change them every few days. It’s a pain in the ass, but technology is making it easier and easier for thieves these days.”

“I appreciate the personal attention.” Nick peered inside the envelope. “I’ll change these right away.” Nick stood up and held out his hand to Andrew. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Andrew shook his outstretched hand. “Anytime, Nick. I’ll see you around.”

Nick walked with him to the door. “Count on it.” One more affirmation of his life: positive thinking.

The minute the door closed behind Andrew, Nick booted up his computer, logged on to his accounts, and changed all the passwords. He was sure Chelsea had something to do with the temporary inconvenience, but he had no proof. He checked the balances and saw they were as they should be. Why would Chelsea do something like that? Wouldn’t she have taken a large chunk of money, or at least written a check? One never knew with his wife. Since nothing was lost, he wouldn’t mention it to her unless she brought it up. But from that moment on, he’d keep his eye on things.

Checking his e-mail, he saw that Trevor was on the ball already. He’d contacted an ad agency to advertise the upcoming donor recruiting. No mention of money. Nick thought he’d made it perfectly clear that there was a reward of sorts just for donating. If there was nothing to gain, he’d be lucky to assemble even a handful of donors.

He sent a reply to Trevor explaining that. Money was everything to most people. He knew that. Hell, Nick thought, laughing, he’d been raised on the principle that anything or anyone could be bought for a price as long as the price was right. He still believed it, so with his life on the line, he was going to find out if it was true or false.

With Gerald in control, albeit somewhat reluctantly, Nick made arrangements for Herbert to meet him downstairs in twenty minutes.

“I’m leaving for the day. Expect me in the morning unless I call you. Make sure you have tea. No more coffee. I can’t stand the stuff anymore.” It was his last order of the day to Rosa.

“Of course, sir. It will be good to have you back,” Rosa said.

Nick doubted she really meant it, but it was expected of her, and Rosa always did what was expected. There was something about her that was niggling at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was time for a raise. Yeah, yeah, that was probably it.

“Tomorrow.” Nick casually strolled to the bank of elevators in front of the reception area. Wiped out, he didn’t want anyone to observe his unusually slow gait. Just a slow stroll to the elevator, down twenty floors, and then he could relax in the car or pass out, whichever came first.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, he was more tired than he had expected. That was not a good sign. If he didn’t feel more energetic in a few days, he’d call Reeves.