She glanced around again. What if she was wrong? What if whoever had done this was still here? But there was no other movement in the alley and the only sound was the man's ragged breathing and the pounding of her own heart.

She looked a little closer to see if she could find the source of the blood on his face. In the dim light, she couldn't make out any cut or abrasion. She brushed his hair back from his forehead as much to comfort him as to look for his injury.

But then, suddenly, Michelle felt it. An icy cold hand on her wrist. A strong grip. Too strong.

He was squeezing her. Hurting her.

Sitting up. Smiling.

Her mind raced, trying to make it all make sense. Had he not actually been hurt? Had he been faking it?

He pulled out a knife.

NO! she cried out, trying to wrench her hand away from him. But she couldn't. His grasp was too strong. She started to panic.

I wanted you to see me, he said. I wanted you to know who I am.

She gasped and pulled harder at her hand.

You should've kept walking, he said.

He started to pull Michelle towards him by the arm, deeper into the shadows. She was fighting, but it was no use.

Please, she pleaded. Just leave me alone. Take my purse. Whatever.

He laughed. I don't want your money.

Who was this man? Why would he want her to know who he was? It made no sense. None of it made sense.

She tried to yell out. To scream. To warn someone. Anyone.

But he was on top of her. He was too strong.

She felt something hard, cold, and metallic against her throat.

She closed her eyes.

And then all was darkness.

CHAPTER ONE

Morgan Stark, MD, strode down the corridor toward the Neurology ward at Georgetown Hospital, white coat flapping behind him. Hed called the nurses desk twice and gotten no reply.

Heads would roll about that. Later.

Right now, he needed to make sure no one took Vincenzo Rohr into surgery and apparently the only way to do that was to do it himself. Typical. What do you know about fibromuscular dysplasia, Dr. Windham?

Fibro what? Lexa Windham, his resident, had broken into a trot to keep up with him.

Fibromuscular dysplasia, he repeated. It wasnt a fair question and he knew it. The disorder was rare, not something a resident would have seen this early in her rotation.

Most people didnt know about it even if they had it.

Vincenzo certainly didnt know. Nor had any of his other doctors figured it out, but it was almost certainly the cause of the aneurysm in his brain that was threatening to burst and of the two previous aneurysms hed survived.