You've Been Warned

My hands trembling, I dial a number on my cell. I’ve got one bar of signal, and it’s flashing in and out. Through bursts of static, the line rings once, then twice.

On the third ring, I hear footsteps out in the hallway followed by a key sliding into the lock.

Pick up! Pick up! Pick up!

The door flies open, smacking against the wall. I don’t see Magnumsen. Dr. Curley immediately grabs for the phone, but I won’t let go. I’m clinging to my cell like a pit bull when I hear another pop of static and the voice I’ve been waiting for.

“Hello?”

I scream the name of the hospital as Curley and I fall to the ground in a tug-of-war. One by one, he begins prying my fingers loose. It hurts like hell.

“Help, Michael, you have to save me!”

Chapter 70

“ARE THE DOORS LOCKED?” I whisper. “You checked?”

“Yes.”

“Are you absolutely sure? I know I sound a little crazy right now.”

Michael reaches for a button on the ceiling of the limo and lowers the tinted-glass divider halfway. “Vin, the doors are locked, right?”

“Yes, sir,” grunts Vincent. But just to be nice, Vincent unlocks and locks them again.

Up goes the divider with a mechanical hum. Michael and I are in our own little world again. I’m lying across the backseat with my head in his lap as he gently caresses the nasty bump below my hairline. That bump is real. So is the rest of what happened. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he assures me.

What I wouldn’t give for him to be right. For the time being, though, I’ll take being out of that hospital.

“I didn’t think that awful jerk Curley would ever release me,” I say.

Michael nods. “He was pretty stubborn, wasn’t he?”

“What did you say to make him change his mind?”

“Oh, nothing, really. I simply suggested that since you came to the emergency room voluntarily, you should also leave that way.”

“That’s it? That’s all you said?”

Michael flashes his trademark smile. “Well, I did mention one other thing.”

I knew it.

“I told him that by the time I was done suing Our Lady of Hope Hospital for false imprisonment, it would be renamed Our Lady of Bankruptcy.”

That’s the man I love.

Michael doesn’t press me for details on what happened, and as much as I want to tell him, I’m torn. He just came to my rescue and vouched for my sanity. If I try explaining everything right now, what’s he supposed to think? I’m afraid he’ll tell Vincent to turn the limo around: “Quick, let’s get her back to the hospital!”

Besides, I don’t want to work myself into another frenzy quite yet. I’m finally feeling a little relaxed. Or maybe the word is safe. Either way, it occurs to me that the last time I felt this way was the last time I was in this limo with Michael. Does that mean something in this damn puzzle? What part does Michael play?

“I did it again, didn’t I?” I say. “I interrupted one of your business dinners.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Michael takes a peek at his platinum Rolex. “As long as I return in time to pick up the check, no one will care.”

“Do you really have to go back to the restaurant?” I ask as I take his hand.

“I’m afraid so. Besides, what you have to do is get some rest.”

He couldn’t be more right. My body’s officially running on fumes. Except I don’t want him to leave me. Couldn’t we just drive around in his limo for the rest of our lives?

“Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Will you make love to me?”

He answers with a soft kiss to my lips, barely touching them with his. Just what I need.

Slowly, he undresses me. For a moment my eyes drift from his, and I glance up through the sunroof into the night, the long steel cables of the Brooklyn Bridge hovering above. They’re lit with a dreamy yellow hue that reminds me of a vintage photograph, something beautiful and lasting.

Timeless.

Chapter 71

IT’S SO HARD saying good-bye to Michael as we pull up to my building, I almost break into tears. It’s even harder to be alone again in my apartment. It feels like forever since it’s been home sweet home for me.

The second I get inside my door and lock it, lock myself in, the phone starts to ring. I don’t want to answer, but maybe it’s Michael. He’s had second thoughts and he’s coming over. Please, let that be it.

I pick up on the fifth ring, and it’s an operator. “I have a collect call from Kristin Burns.” I want to throw down the receiver, but I think about it and I accept the call.

I hear my own voice. “Help me. Please help me. Somebody make it stop!”

Now I throw down the receiver. MAKE WHAT STOP? WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS HAPPENING? HOW CAN I GET A PHONE CALL FROM MYSELF?

The nasty bump on my forehead is definitely real and already ripening to a deep purplish bruise. It’s well beyond any cover-up stick, so I fiddle with a new hairstyle—bangs down.

Then I throw on a T-shirt and sweats and crawl into bed. I should be asleep before my head, bump and all, hits the pillow.

So why am I still awake?