The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel (4 page)

Her snifter came to her lips, hiding a smirk.

“In that case,” Morgan replied, “we’re both going to have to do research frequently.” His snifter tapped hers. “To outhouses…Hope we study them often.”

She unmasked the grin. “I’m onboard with everything but the last part.” She sipped from her glass. “Please…Try the Macallan.”

He tasted it twice. “That’s delicious.” He looked at the glass through the candle flame. “Doesn’t one usually add water?”

“You can,” she said, “but I prefer…undiluted pleasure.”

She sipped again, moistening her lips with the liquid.

Morgan’s tongue reflexively pinched between his molars before reminding himself he had to breathe.

Caroline raised the plate. “Here…try it with one of these. You’ll see what I mean.”

The bittersweet chocolate blended with the aftertaste of the rich whiskey.

“Until
now
…I was never a Scotch drinker,” he said.

Retrieving the bottle, Caroline refilled his glass. “My daddy gave me the taste for it. The first time, I thought he poisoned me. But it didn’t take me long to love it!” She took another sip and smiled. “Problem is, he drinks
really
old Scotch…and that makes it expensive. Unfortunately, that stuck too.”

“I’m getting addicted quickly,” Morgan grinned.

“Owning the habit won’t take long,” Caroline replied.

“That’s your father in the picture,” he said, pointing. “The eyes tell all.”

“Amazing, I guess…” She laughed.

“Is that your horse?”

“Yes…Goethe,” she said with affection. “A palomino gelding. He was a graduation present after college…just a fantastic animal. The best gaits imaginable! I taught him dressage.”

“Where do you board him?” he asked. Every hair was tingling now.

“In central Virginia. My parents have a farm there. I went to college in Charlottesville, so…” The Scotch in her glass was almost gone. “Daddy and I would ride together whenever I came home, even during grad school. After I moved to New York, I couldn’t get there much. Mother rides him, usually when she’s bored from gardening, and daddy’s done tending to his orchids.”

“You miss him.” Morgan already knew the answer from the tone in her voice.

“You mean Goethe? He’s part of the family. The animal goes nuts when I come home!” She laughed. “Once, he came racing in from the pasture snorting and whinnying. Goodness! Then…he jumped over the fence and galloped to the car door! When I opened the window, he nestled his muzzle in my face! I had to give him a peppermint treat to persuade him to move enough so I could get out!”

Morgan poured another splash of Macallan into their glasses and asked, “When can you get home again?”

Caroline grew quieter, spinning the liquid in her glass. “Tuesday,” she said. “I’ve got a few days off for Thanksgiving,” adding quickly, “Planned it months ago.”

“Goethe
and
your parents will be glad to see you…”

Morgan tried not to let the disappointment in his voice escape. He wasn’t on call for the holiday—a rarity. As the only single surgeon in the department, he usually requested call for every holiday so his married colleagues could have time with their families. Ross had invited him over for their traditional barbecue, but Morgan had intruded too many times on Shandra’s kindness. He declined, planning to do nothing except take a morning run along the lake and share another dinner she wouldn’t remember with his mother in her memory care center. His brief thought of Thanksgiving dinner with Caroline was a fantasy too good to be true.

He didn’t want the conversation to stumble, so he said, “I also noticed”—he cleared his throat with intent—“the picture of you mountain climbing. I could never do that. What’s it like?”

“The first time…you’re scared to death…but then for a while…it’s exhilarating.” Her amused expression left. “I don’t need that excitement anymore. But I keep the rope under my bed so I can rappel down if there’s a fire…or if I need to escape from a bad date.”

His eyebrows rose. “Three hundred feet?”

“I’m teasing,” she giggled, studying her finger while it encircled the snifter rim. “It’s a keepsake. Some girls hang on to their teddy bears. For me it’s my rope.”

She looked away, out the windows.

“Wes…” She paused. “I really enjoyed tonight. You were wonderful company…the best.”

“Thank you.” His gaze followed hers to the distant lights. “So were you.”

“I’ve been to more of those things than I care to admit,” Caroline replied. “I like getting dressed up, but after four hours in heels, let me just say…I’m glad they’re off.” Her toes wiggled inside her hosiery. “Actually…I prefer jeans.”

“I feel the same way about bow ties.”

He undid the black noose so the silk tails drooped freely. Caroline added to their glasses again. Morgan read the label.

“So you normally drink Scotch this old?” he asked, his head spinning slightly.

“I bought it today before I had my hair done. Usually I just buy the twelve…” With downcast eyes, Caroline looked at her snifter, but it was too late.

“I sense a conspiracy in play,” he chuckled. “Janie?”

“Yes,” Caroline admitted timidly. “I told her about your tour, how you tried to impress me.”

“And did I?”

“No…but it was cute when you wouldn’t get off the elevator. I’d never imagine a surgeon to be helpless.”

“I don’t like heights.” He squinted, contemplating what more there could be to the evening’s plot. “Was Ross in on this?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t lie as well as you think,” he grinned.

“But…here we are,” she replied.

As Caroline brought the final drops of Scotch to her lips, her eyelids closed. Morgan’s willpower failed and he studied her leg. The examination ended too soon. She placed her snifter on the table and stepped to the windows.

“Come here,” she said softly. He took several tentative steps until she cast a reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid, Dr. Morgan. I’ll protect you.”

The southern exposure presented a commanding view of downtown Chicago and Lake Michigan. The city lights simmered on the water’s blackness, exposing the white-capped waves. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Spectacular,” was all he could say. “The buildings just seem to…stick silently up in the air.”

“Frozen music,” she said.

The little hairs on Morgan’s arms tickled. “I don’t understand,” he whispered.

“They embrace the wind,” she whispered back. “Each…one is a note of a melody.”

With an outstretched hand, Caroline traced the staves of the skyline. “Hear it?” she said, her voice barely audible. “Up here it’s so calm…yet so alive…”

The heart of her perfume deepened, synthesizing with her words as her voice trailed off. “I hoped you’d come back here tonight.”

His lips touched her neck and she became still. She turned to face him and they kissed, his fingers caressing the skin of her back. Their bodies drew tight, not wanting to release. Her breathing became faster.

“Caroline,” he said. “I’d better go.”

Reluctantly they retrieved his coat. She tugged at his collar and patted his lapels.

“Keep warm.” She wrapped her fingers in his. “I’m flying to New York Monday. Work,” she added. “Then Virginia…the following afternoon.” Her eyes grew moist. “Please…call me.”

Morgan kissed her again and went out the door.

M
organ’s phone rang.

Damn it was early!

“Morning!” said the animated voice.

“Ugh. Hi, Janie…What the hell time is it?”

He looked at the clock. She could’ve waited a couple more hours. But there was no chance of that—not after last night.

“Ooo! Did I wake you? I thought nine a.m. was late for surgeons! Sorry! Not really! Did you drink that much?”

“No,” he replied.

“Did you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Oh, never!” she exclaimed.

A headache began boring through his skull. It didn’t take a medical degree to remind him that champagne followed by wine and ending with Scotch was a bad thing. Janie’s chipper shrill made matters worse.

“So did you have fun last night?” Janie asked, already answering for him. “I
know
you did! Isn’t Cay beautiful?”

“Gorgeous.”

Her perfume was still on his face.

“You know, even at rush hour she gets a taxi.”

“No doubt.”

He was definitely very hungover and needed to go back to sleep.

“Dearie…You went to her apartment! I saw you guys leave! Your hands probably wandered everywhere!”

“Janie, please!” Squeezing his eyelids, he then forced them to open.

“You’d be further along if you’d have let me set you two up earlier. But you told me no more blind dates.”

“Caroline’s not your typical—” was all he could say before she interrupted again.

“So when are you going to ask her out?”

“I don’t know!”

He really needed to brush his teeth.

“Ooo! You should call her—this morning! This is so exciting! She really wanted to meet you. Oh, it was perfect! Anne was right. You should marry her. I’ll plan the wedding! Do you want to use my country club in Glencoe? I’ll get you a great price—and a hot band that rocks!”

“Janie! Shut the hell up!” The hammer pounding in his head was boring through another gross of invisible nails. “I love you…but please…shut up!”

“Sorry…it’s just that…”

Oh shit…
He forgot last night, and now he’d have to ask her.
Damn it to hell…

“Janie…”

“What, dearie?”

“I need her number.”

“You didn’t get it? That’s not like you! Don’t you have a little book with—”

“I beg of you…please…just give it to me so I can go back to sleep.”

“If she says yes, will you let me know?”

His head throbbed.

“Do you want me to tell her what to wear? I’ll call her when we hang up!”

“Whatever! Please…have mercy and give it to me.” It was clear any relationship with Caroline would require both of them getting unlisted numbers.

Fumbling around in the drawer of his bedside stand, his fingers found a pad of paper and a pen.

“Are you writing? You’ll forget if you don’t.”

He scribbled the digits.

“Call her, Wes. I know she likes you!”

“Right now, however…bye,” he grunted. He took some aspirin and went back to sleep.

By noon he felt better and summoned the courage to call Caroline. When she didn’t answer, he left a message, trying not to sound disappointed. Reluctantly he went to shower, knowing her perfume would be washed away. While drying, his phone rang. He was sorry for only a moment it was Ross Merrimac.

“What’s up?” Morgan asked.

“You alone?” Ross knew him too well.

“Uh-huh….”

“Good. She’d have to get home by herself anyway.” Morgan heard the excitement grow in his voice. “Ready to go to work?”

“What we got?”

“Your transplant program’s about to launch.”

“Be there in a few.”

“Clock’s ticking, brother.” A donated heart would survive only a few hours unless placed in a patient. “Word is we may have another after that, so I figure we’re going to be at it for a while.”

Lights flashing and horn honking, Morgan’s black BMW sped south on Lake Shore Drive. He passed Lake Point Tower and started worrying. If Caroline happened to call while he was working he didn’t want to miss her, but there was nothing he could do about it.

God, that woman’s distracting me
.

It was a great feeling—just bad timing.

The surgeries and caring for the kids afterwards in the ICU would go on for many hours, consuming every second Morgan had—and for how long? He wouldn’t know until he got home. But he couldn’t wait. He knew he’d love every minute of it.

Please call me back, Caroline,
he prayed,
please…

Dr. Morgan parked his car in the physicians’ lot and ran.

Forty-eight hours passed, but Morgan paid no attention. He was focused. Year after year, through forgotten birthdays and foregone vacations, he had stood over an operating table, learning, thinking, and honing his skills waiting for these opportunities. He fed on the intensity, driven by the desire for the triumph—to return to the parents a child who was healthier than the one God had given them. (His final reward always came when he got home, threw on some running clothes and pounded his way up and down the trails of Lincoln Park.)

Today the discipline had paid off again. By Tuesday afternoon both of his tiny patients had new hearts that were beating without any problem.

Sitting on the bench beside his locker, Morgan checked his phone messages. Caroline had called three times. He touched the redial button.

“
Hi. This is Caroline Pruitt. I am unavailable. Please leave a message.
”

“Give me a little more time, Cay,” he almost pleaded into the mouthpiece, and then remembered she was on her way to Virginia. He’d have to try later.

Morgan looked up when he heard Merrimac shut his locker door. “That was great!” he said to his boss.

“Textbook,” Ross agreed. “You’ve done good, friend…as promised. The trustees will be pleased. Maybe I’ll renew your contract for another year.”

“Gee, thanks.” Morgan gave him the finger. “Does that include a paycheck?”

“Only if you do what I do and go home,” said Ross. “Don’t you even think about going out tonight.”

“Not a chance.”

“Smart man. You and I both need sleep, so let’s get this over with,” Merrimac said. “Costume up with your white coat. We need to go do our duty and kumbaya with the press, so smile and remember not to use words they can’t spell.”

Haggard and unshaven, the surgeons gathered their teams and went to report to the media waiting in the hospital lobby.

Squinting from the intense light, Morgan thought he probably looked only semiconscious—a condition that was more true than not.

“It’s been a long two days,” he said, vaguely hearing cameras clicking in front of him. “Dr. Merrimac and I have some comments, we’ll take a few questions, and…call it a day…or night, depending on one’s perspective.”

The reporters laughed.

“I think it’s important to remember,” Morgan began, “that our successes today and in the future come not just because of the dedicated teams of professionals standing behind me but also because of the broad financial support by many people in Chicago that made this program possible.”

Merrimac smiled, adding a vigorous nod for the cameras.

The thirty-five minutes of questions and answers was pure tedium. Finally, the two men shook hands in the privacy of the locker room, both looking noticeably tired. They started to remove their scrubs.

“Crud!” Ross’s stubbly black face grinned. “I forgot to ask…Did you have a nice evening with Caroline Pruitt?”

Morgan tossed his scrub pants into the dirty linen bag.

“You and Bonwitt arranged that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, guy. She called me. One of the perks of being in charge.” Morgan’s friend never stopped grinning. “Thinking up a reason to get you to that thing alone wasn’t easy, so I just pulled rank. Simple, and it worked.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Morgan’s scrub shirt missed the bag and landed on the floor. He stumbled to pick it up. “Whatever happened to the band of brothers?”

“Catching you unaware was more fun.” Merrimac exploded in laughter. “I didn’t actually meet Caroline until a few weeks before you did, and I was impressed with her smarts.”

“She’s intelligent, all right,” Morgan nodded.

Ross knew him better than that. “Good looking too.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Morgan lied.

“Bullshit, Morgan. You mentioned it once and a dozen times.”

Morgan donned his jeans and pulled down a sweatshirt, covering his well-toned abdomen. He was in such a hurry when he left home two days earlier that he forgot his call bag. Fresh underwear would have to wait.

“So Janie called you…” Morgan was certain Merrimac was tired enough that little provocation was necessary to elicit the information.

“Soon after that tour you took of the hospital,” Ross answered, “I guess Caroline said something
complimentary
about you to Bonwitt!” He made a skeptical face. “
That’s
amazing in itself! Man! So Bonwitt called me at home. What a trip!” His whole body shuddered. “In the same endless sentence, she also worked in the notion about me persuading Queen that we should let her redo our place.”

“That’s Janie,” said Morgan.

“Would never work.” Merrimac said. “The Queen would throw Bonwitt out the window in two minutes.” He finished buttoning his shirt. “Anyway that’s the story, Dr. Morgan. So do
me
a favor and try not screw this one up. My conscience still bothers me that I was part of this scheme. Caroline’s too good for you.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Ross shook Morgan’s hand again. “Heck of a job, Wes. Really. I can’t thank you enough. Oh, and one more time: want to come for Thanksgiving?”

“Going to see Mom, but thanks,” Morgan said, zipping his weathered bomber jacket part of the way up.

“Let’s get out of here, brother.”

“Yeah,” agreed Morgan, admiring the uncultivated stubble blooming even on his wide cheeks. “I hate beards. Need a shave.” He stuck his nose inside his jacket. “Mostly a shower.”

His BMW got him home. Red from the hot shower, he wrapped himself in his bathrobe and lay on the bed. In the final moments before the exhaustion won, he felt himself falling into a cloud with Caroline. Whenever he touched her, she touched back. Her auburn hair was everywhere. Her breasts pressed tightly against his chest. Her legs…