He slams the door, starts the car, and screeches away from the curbside, his only thought to get away from the moment and place of his humiliation as quickly as possible.

No. Not him. And yet . . .

And yet who else? It must have been weeks before he saw her at the hospital and realized that his nemesis had found him. Was it by accident or design that they came to be in the same room? Did he see her first? Or did their eyes meet, did they both freeze in mutual fear, did he act on impulse and push her under, or did she . . . ?

“She threatened me, of course. She was trying to get out of the pool, and she slipped and hit her head. She went under so quickly. I was embarrassed. I rushed out of the place. I thought the hydrotherapist was in the adjoining room. She shouldn’t have been there alone. Unscheduled, unsupervised—it was an accident that could have happened even if I hadn’t been there.” Most regrettable, was the message in the heavy, sorrowful tone of his voice. Most regrettable, but surely not my fault.

Khabir sat, nodding and nodding, his face a mask. What does one say in such circumstances to a man who has the power to erase rosters, silence junior staff, and, most of all, who signs the pathologist’s report at the end of the day?

Miranda woke up with a jump, her mind still coated in the grimy scum of Dr. Boadu’s fear and shame. The car had stopped, the door beside her was open. Nurse Benet was leaning in, looking at her with an expression of concern. Miranda only shook her head tiredly and submitted to being helped out of the car, into the wheelchair, and taken inside.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“There has to be an end to this,” Miranda muttered to herself.

“Beg pardon?” Fae asked, looking attentive.

Fae had been unusually gentle and courteous toward her recently. Miranda realized that she must have scared the household with her bout of mute depression after the crisis at the hospital pool.

“Nothing.” She was silent for a while, then sighed. “Fae, I want you to start packing up my things at the town house. Everything.”

“What? Why?” Fae straightened with a nervous movement that was almost a jump.

“I’m never going back to live there!” Miranda cried. “I can’t. Not like this.”

“What will you do with the place?” Fae asked, her voice nearly monotone with shock.

“Sell it.” The words were dropped bluntly, no softening possible. “Give it away. I don’t care.”

Still staring, Fae sat back a little, bracing herself against the back of her chair. “You don’t have to decide that now. Perhaps—”

“If you want, you can have it,” Miranda interrupted.