Joe nodded. “It acts as one, if the addict is influential or rich enough to be admitted. But this is, at its heart, a small hospital with cutting-edge technology and hugely experienced and very smart doctors. Harrison needs to be here—it’s the best place to be.”
“I’m not disputing that, I just have a problem with the fact that the decision to move him here was not mine, that I was not consulted,” Mariella told him.
“What happened?”
Mariella shrugged. “After the press conference, I went to see Harrison and ran into Dr. Grant before I could reach his room. He told me that he completely supported my decision to airlift Harrison to this clinic, that he’d receive excellent treatment here. He assumed that I knew what he was talking about, and I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t and that I wasn’t told about his transfer out of St. Aloysius.” Mariella shuddered. “Imagine if that titillating titbit hit the press.”
Joe’s hand tightened on hers.
“Someone used my name to move him. Who could’ve done that? How did they manage it so quickly?”
The car pulled to a stop outside the portico leading to the hospital entrance, and it didn’t escape Mariella’s attention that Joe used their arrival as an excuse to avoid her question.
The driver exited the vehicle and opened the door to Joe, who turned to help Mariella from the car. Pushing her sunglasses off her face, she noticed that there was a clear view through the front door to the Pacific Ocean on the other side of the house. A tiny sailboat was heading at a fast clip across the surface of the sea, and she desperately wished that she was on that boat, wind in her hair, sailing away.
Joe’s fingers rested on her lower back, and his voice was a slow drawl in her ear. “The children will be here in a few minutes.”
“If they weren’t followed by the vultures,” Mariella retorted. “Damned press. I’m still angry about that fight. I raised them better than that.”
They stepped into the cool air of the entrance hall and were immediately approached by a stern but handsome man. The stethoscope hanging around his neck was a good clue that he was Harrison’s doctor. Mariella idly noticed that the jacket draped over his forearm did not match his suit pants. Unable to pull her eyes from that jacket, Mariella felt icy fingers dance up her spine. Something was wrong, badly wrong. For some odd reason Mariella suddenly felt like she was standing in the headlights of an oncoming train. She wanted to jump off the rails, but she was attached to the track, bound and helpless. It would be up to the train conductor to stop the train—her fate was in someone else’s hands.
“Mom!”
Mariella turned and watched Elana fly into the hallway. She opened her arms, and Elana burrowed in close, her wild-child daughter suddenly a little girl again. Mariella kissed the top of her head, patted her back and whispered encouragement in her ear. Over Elana’s shoulder she watched Gabe, Luc and Rafe walk up the stairs and into the hallway, all three of them sporting hard expressions and cool eyes.
The doctor cleared his throat, and Mariella stepped away from Elana but kept her arm around her daughter’s slim waist. Holding her hand out to the doctor, she introduced herself and her family.
“I am Dr. Michael Malone, chief medical officer here at Whispering Oaks. I am treating your husband.”
“Has there been any improvement?” Mariella asked, dropping her arm from Elana’s waist.
“No, I’m afraid that hasn’t happened. His condition hasn’t changed,” Dr. Malone replied gravely.
“Can I see him?” Mariella demanded.
“The nurses are busy with him now. Perhaps in half an hour. Ten minutes at a time, and only two visitors every hour for the first day,” Dr. Malone said, his tone suggesting that they not argue. It wouldn’t help, Mariella thought. This man ruled this space.
She’d choose her battles wisely, and if she didn’t push him on visiting hours, he might give her something else. “Can you tell me who authorized Harrison’s transfer to your facility?”
Dr. Malone didn’t react at all. “I am afraid I cannot.”
Call her spoiled and indulged, call her whatever you like, but Mariella detested hearing the word no. “I insist you tell me. He is my husband and my responsibility.”
“That may be so, madam, but I cannot.”
Mariella lifted her chin, ignoring Joe’s hand on her arm. He was trying to get her to back down, walk away, but Mariella’s blood was up and she wanted answers. And she wanted them now. “You must!”
“I can’t, because I don’t know.”
Mariella blinked then frowned. He spoke the truth, she realized, his words sinking in. His eyes never dropped from hers, never wavered. He truly didn’t know. “How is that possible?”
“Many people with high profiles pass through here. Some we acknowledge by name, and some we do not. Confidentiality is paramount to us. I was contacted by an individual and told that an influential man with severe injuries needed our specialized care. I said that I had space, and a financial transaction secured his place with us.”
“No questions asked?” Luc moved across the room to stand by Mariella’s side.
“It’s not my job to question the source of the funding—my job is to provide the best medical care with complete anonymity.” Dr. Malone pasted a small smile on his face. “Now, through there is one of our reception rooms, which leads onto the balcony with grand views of the beach and ocean. I have arranged for refreshments—unfortunately, due to our dedication to privacy, we do not have serving staff. I will send a nurse to fetch you when the Captain can receive visitors.”
“The Captain?” Elana asked, her arched eyebrows pulling together in confusion.
“We find it easier to call our patients by aliases—it’s another privacy measure. Oh, I forgot.” Dr. Malone picked up the jacket from his arm and passed it to Mariella. “This followed your husband from St. Aloysius. I believe they found this jacket a little way from his body. It must’ve fallen out of the car when it rolled. His wallet is in the side pocket. It was, I understand, in the back pocket of his suit pants.”
Mariella took the jacket and buried her nose in the fabric. She could smell Harrison’s cologne, and it took all her willpower not to cry. Joe placed a hand on the center of her back, and she immediately felt comforted.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Joe said. “We’ll leave you to your duties.”
Dr. Malone sent Mariella a sympathetic smile before crossing the room to a locked door. Mariella watched as he punched in a code and placed his thumb on a fingerprint scanner. The door, eventually, opened. Whispering Oaks took privacy very seriously indeed.
Joe’s hand fell, and Mariella felt bereft. She watched as he walked over to the side table holding a pitcher of water flavored with mint and lime slices. Mariella nodded when Joe asked her if she’d like a glass. Mariella noticed Joe’s hand shaking as he poured the water from the pitcher into a crystal glass. Taking a moment to look at her old friend, she noticed that the grooves running past his mouth were deeper than normal, his lips thin and his normally merry eyes bleak. Joe looked like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Mariella gripped Harrison’s jacket tighter and felt the crunch of paper beneath her fingers. Curious, she opened the jacket and pushed her fingers into the inside pocket. She pulled an envelope from the pocket, saw the printed address on the back flap and frowned.
The letter was from the Cayman Islands. Mariella frowned and flipped the envelope over. A logo was printed in the top corner, and the tiny letters under the crest read “Finco International Bank.” Seeing that her children were walking toward the balcony, Mariella gave in to her curiosity and slid her finger under the flap and pulled the letter from the envelope. She flipped it open, saw that it was a statement from a bank