The heartrending look in her emerald-green eyes penetrated his defenses despite his strong resolve. It had been a long time since he’d seen that much poignancy and sorrow in a person’s gaze.
This shy, quiet woman had given his heart a twist without saying a word.
* * *
Daniella was in no hurry to return to the hospital’s common areas, where she could be spotted. Yes, her father’s promised vendetta might have vanished with the passage of years but she wasn’t willing to take that chance. As her US marshal handlers had warned, leaving the witness protection program was not optional. Once you were in, you stayed. Period.
“Which is the whole point,” she murmured. “Having a long and happy life.” It was only at times like tonight, when violence brought her past peril to mind, that she fretted so uncontrollably.
Hurrying through the halls, she had almost gained sanctuary when she was paged to go back and assist another doctor. The way she saw her predicament, all she had to do was reach that particular private exam room without passing any nosy reporters or photographers who might inadvertently broadcast her picture and cause untold damage by revealing her hidden identity. Under normal circumstances it would not have been difficult to dodge them. Given the presence of the congressman and his entourage, plus the press corps, moving around in the ER could prove tricky.
Daniella grabbed an extra clipboard, held it beside her cheek to mask her features and hurried toward her new assignment. She was looking ahead so intently she missed noticing a dark-haired figure to her blinded left. She and the muscular man came together with a thump and he grabbed her.
It was all she could do to keep from screaming.
“Hey, settle down,” he said. “It’s me, Isaac. Are you okay?”
His voice sent tingles racing from the arm he was holding all the way to her toes. Regaining her balance, she helped steady him in return.
“Sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you. I thought you’d already left,” Daniella said.
“I was trying to catch up to you and thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. Just doing my job.”
Before the K-9 cop could reply, she was blinded by an intense flash of light and someone shoved a microphone in her face. “Are you working on the congressman?” a reporter demanded. “Did he really have a heart attack? What’s his prognosis? How soon can we see him?”
Isaac’s immediate intervention—his arms outstretched and his badge in hand—sent the crowd back a few steps, providing an escape route for Daniella. She held the clipboard between herself and the others and ducked in the exam room door, slamming it behind her.
Her back pressed against the door. She fought to see through the orbs of color that danced in her vision after the camera flashes.
“Over here, Dunne,” the doctor said. “I want you to prepare Congressman Jeffries for an X-ray of his shoulder and an EKG, just in case his pain is the result of strain on his heart. I’ll send a tech down to take him to radiology. Stay with him until then.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“And pull yourself together,” he whispered behind his hand in passing. “The last thing our patients need is to hear you shrieking.”
“What? When?”
“Just before you opened the door.”
“I—I didn’t scream. Did I?”
“You made enough noise for me to hear you in here,” he said, shooting her a look of disdain. “See that it doesn’t happen again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tall, gray-haired Harland Jeffries was removing his dress shirt and carefully folding the sleeves together before laying the garment aside atop his expensively tailored suit jacket and silk tie.
“You’ll need to wear one of our gowns for your tests,” Daniella said. “Would you like me to assist you in removing your T-shirt?”
“Fine.”
Jeffries’s reply was gruff but she wasn’t offended. Illness or injury often brought out the worst in patients. Except for the K-9 cop, she added. It was really nice of Isaac to step up and physically defend her the way he had. Instead of him thanking her, she should be the one dishing out thanks. She owed him. Big-time.
Gently easing the stretchy, white cotton shirt over the congressman’s head, she glanced at his back. One side showed a nasty scar from the time he was shot several months ago, sadly at the same time his son, Michael, was murdered.
The opposite shoulder bore an interesting café au lait mark near the scapula. Judging by its odd shape, she guessed it to have been present from conception and birth rather than being another scar or a discoloration caused by trauma.
Daniella fitted the gown around her patient and stepped back. “All right, Congressman, you’re ready. I’ll wait here with you, as the doctor said, until they come to escort you to radiology.”
“Whatever.”
His off-putting attitude was nothing like his public persona. If he had behaved this way toward the press, he’d have killed his chances for reelection long ago.
Thoughts of people who were not trustworthy and genuine reminded her of her childhood. That was all it took to bring back images of the deadly explosion her father had orchestrated.
Yellow billowing fire had leaped and curled back on itself while black smoke roiled. Pieces of metal had rained down. She flinched, wanting to throw her arms over her head and duck just as she had that fateful day her mother had been brutally murdered.
Thankfully, the radiology tech appeared at the door with a wheelchair and distracted both Daniella and her patient.
“Ready, sir?” the tech asked.
“I suppose so.” Settling himself in the chair, the congressman pasted a resigned expression on his face, raised his chin and visibly prepared to meet his public. “All right. Let’s go.”
Daniella waited until the hall was empty before she slipped out. She didn’t have to be a licensed physician to suspect that Jeffries was either faking or at least making more of his condition than was warranted. There was no way that man was having heart trouble the way he’d indicated.
Then again, she was very good at spotting falsehoods. After all, she’d grown up in a household where her father’s lies were the norm. He was no businessman in the sense he’d implied. His business was crime and his methods for controlling his family were violent. She should know. When he’d tired of abusing her poor mother, he’d graduated to trying to keep Mama in line by hitting Daniella.
That was what had eventually caused her mother to call it quits and file for divorce. And that was also what had inevitably led to her murder.
To this day, Daniella wondered. If she had been courageous enough to run away when she was younger, would her mother still be alive? Was it all her fault?
Logic said no. Guilt had a different opinion.
* * *
Isaac was already beginning to feel the effects of his injury and the pain medication as Gavin drove him out of downtown DC, proving that the decision to let someone chauffeur him home was a wise one. Abby lay on the second seat, content to nap during the short trip.
“It’s a good thing your brother and sister live with you,” the captain said.
Isaac nodded and stifled a yawn. “Yeah, that’s us. The Three Musketeers, ‘One for all and all for one.’”
“Must be interesting deciding who’s in charge. Do you do it by age or former military rank?”
Chuckling,