Sam nodded. “Go ahead and get dressed. When you’ve finished, I’ll have my nurse draw some blood and escort you into my office. That’ll give me a few minutes to make the necessary arrangements. We’ll talk, and I’ll explain where we go from here.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounded scratchy and thin, like an ailing frog’s.

He eyed her again, his gaze tender and concerned. He regretted having hurt her. The look of suppressed pain in her eyes bothered him more than he’d expected, and he tried to lend her some of his own confidence. “Don’t look so worried—everything’s going to be fine.”

“Everything’s going to be fine?” Marjorie echoed, unable to disguise her sarcasm. “Sure it is.” The minute he left the room, she snapped her teeth over her bottom lip and bit down unmercifully. Her hand trembled as she brushed a thick strand of hair away from her face, and the room appeared to sway slightly. The last time she’d felt this shaky had been at her parents’ funeral.

As if on cue, the nurse reappeared the minute Marjorie had completed dressing, and led her into another room, where she drew blood from her arm.

—

While he waited for Marjorie, Sam contacted Cal Johnson, a surgeon and good friend. His instincts told him the sooner they had her in the hospital, the better. When he explained her symptoms to Cal, his friend concurred and agreed to take the case. His second telephone conversation was with a member of the staff at Tacoma General.

When Marjorie appeared in the doorway of his office, Sam saw her from the corner of his eye. She hesitated, and he motioned for her to come inside and take a seat.

“I don’t think we should wait any longer,” he said into the receiver. “Good. Good. Yes, I can have her over there in a half-hour. I’ll assist.”

In an effort to keep from looking as though she were listening in on his conversation, Marjorie scanned the walls. Certificates, diplomas, and service awards decorated every available spot. His desk was neat and orderly. The sure sign of a twisted mind, she mused darkly. She glanced his way again and sighed. Heavens, she hoped he wasn’t discussing her! He must have been. If he felt surgery was necessary, then she would at least like a couple days to mentally prepare herself. A week would be even better.

Marjorie’s soft, expressive eyes pleaded with him, but Sam’s gaze just missed meeting hers, and she realized that although he hadn’t mentioned her name, he wasn’t likely to be talking about another patient.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, when he’d hung up.

“No problem.” She smiled, and her fingers curved around her purse in her lap.

“I was just talking to Tacoma General.”