"Last tetanus shot?" the doctor asked.

"Two years ago. I'm current."

"Keep the wound dry for twenty-four hours. Clean it twice a day with peroxide. And call if it gets red or warm." He gave her the ER sheet to sign, then he headed for the door. "Come back any time," he said over his shoulder. "I can't wait for the next installment."

Back in the hospital lobby, M. J. waited for Adam to call his house. Collect, of course; the punks had done athorough job of emptying their pockets. It was a helpless feeling, being penniless. When M. J. had told the ER billing clerk she'd mail in her payment, the clerk had given her a yeah, sure look. No respect at all.

"Thomas is on his way," said Adam, hanging up. "We'll give you a ride home."

"Who's Thomas?"

"Sort of my man Friday." Adam glanced down at his soiled shirt. "And he's not going to be pleased when he sees what I've done to his ironing job."

M. J. looked down at her own wrinkled shirt. "Maybe I should borrow him sometime," she said. "Along with his iron."

They sat down in the waiting area. A nurse walked by, carrying a cup of coffee from the vending machine. M. J. would've loved a cup of coffee, but she didn't have a dime. Broke and in purgatory, she thought.

A half hour passed, forty-five minutes. It was almost midnight, and things were still hopping at Hancock General. The next shift of nurses dribbled in from the parking lot, lugging umbrellas and lunch sacks. At the front door, an armed guard eyed everyone who entered. This was frontline medicine, and Hancock General was the equivalent of trench warfare. Every stabbing, every shooting that took place within a three-mile radius, anything on South Lexington, would roll in these ER doors. So would the drug ODs. M. J. wondered if another Nicos Biagi or Jane Doe had been found.

"He's upstairs, you know," she said. "In the ICU."

"Who?"

"Nicos Biagi. I came by to see him, earlier today."

She shook her head. "He didn't look good. Whatever it was he shot up, it's fried his brains. And kidneys."

Adam was silent. Coldly so.

"The ER doc says it's something new. Something he's never seen before…" She paused, as a chilling thought suddenly came to mind. She looked at Adam and saw that he was avoiding her gaze. "You said you gave Maeve a job. Was it at Cygnus?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"Which department?"

"Really, this has nothing to do with Maeve-"

"Which department, Adam?"

He let out another breath, a sound of profound weariness. "Research and Development," he said. "She was doing cleanup in the lab. Running the autoclave. Nothing vital."

"What was the lab working on?"

"Various projects. Everything from antibiotics to hair restorers."

"Morphine analogues?"

"Look," he snapped. "We're a pharmaceutical company. And pain relief is a big market-"

"You're cooking up something new in that lab, aren't you? Something no one else has developed yet."

A pause. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. "It's… a breakthrough. Or it will be, if we can iron out the kinks. It's a close relative to natural endorphins. Latches onto the same enzyme receptors as morphine does, holds onto those receptors like Krazy Glue. So it's very long-lasting. Which makes it perfect for terminal cancer patients."

"Long-lasting? How long?"

"A dose will give pain relief for seventy two-hours, maybe longer. That's its advantage. And its disadvantage. If you overdose an animal, you'll put it in a long-term coma." He looked up at her; what she saw in his eyes was worry, maybe guilt. And absolute honesty.

She rose suddenly to her feet. "Come upstairs with me."

"The ICU?"

"Nicos Biagi's tox screen might be back. I want you to look at it, tell me if it matches your miracle drug."

"But I'm not a biochemist. I'd need confirmation from my staff-"

"Then take the report back to them. Have them confirm it."

He shook his head. "Hospital tox screens aren't specific enough."(

"Why are you so reluctant? Afraid to hear the truth? That it could be a Cygnus drug that's killing people?"

Slowly he rose to his feet. His height put her at a disadvantage. Now she was looking up at him, confronting the chilly silence of his eyes.

Up till now, she hadn't felt in the least bit intimidated by Adam Quantrell, not by his wealth or his power or his dashing good looks. But his anger-this was something else. This she couldn't brush off, couldn't turn her back on. Their gazes held and all at once something new flared inside her, so unexpected she was stunned by its intensity. Temptation. Desire. Suddenly she was unable, unwilling, to take note of anything else in the room.

This is crazy , she thought. I don't want to feel this. Irefuse to feel this. But she couldn't seem to break that gaze, to command her body to turn away.

It was a woman's voice, calling Adam's name, that finally broke the spell.

"Good heavens, Adam! What on earth did you do to yourself?"

M. J. turned and saw Isabel, still in full evening dress. She'd just come through the ER doors and now was staring at Adam in dismay.

"Look at your clothes! And your face! What happened?" Isabel reached up and touched the bruise on his cheek.

He winced. "We got into a little… trouble," he said. "What are you doing here, Isabel?"

"I heard Thomas say he was coming to fetch you. I told him I'd do it instead."

"I'll have to talk to him about this-"

"No, I insisted. I thought you'd be glad to have me rescue you." She flashed him a dazzling smile. "Aren't you glad?"

"You shouldn't be down here," he said. "Not at this time of night. It's not safe."

"Oh, well." Isabel glanced around in disbelief at the tired army of people waiting on the benches and she clutched her wrap more tightly around her shoulders. "God, this is like the third world. I can't imagine what you're doing in this part of town." She looked at M. J.'s equally bruised face. "It appears you both got into a little trouble."

"Dr. Novak needs a ride home, too," said Adam. "Her car got stolen. And at the moment, we're penniless."

There was a brief silence, then Isabel shrugged. "Why not? The more the merrier, I say." She turned toward the exit. "Come on. Let's get out of here before my car gets stolen."

"Wait." Adam looked at M. J. "There's something we need to do first."

"What's that?" asked Isabel.

"We have to go upstairs. There's a patient we have to see. In the ICU."

M. J. gave him a nod of approval. So he was finally ready to hear the truth.

"I'll just come along," said Isabel. "You wouldn't leave me down here all by myself, would you?"

With Adam and Isabel in tow, M. J. retraced the steps she'd taken earlier that day, down the hallway with the tired aqua walls. Up the elevator. Down another hall. Isabel's high heels made an annoying clack-clack across the floor.

The ICU was a hive of activity, nurses scurrying about, monitors beeping, ventilators whooshing. At the central nursing desk, two dozen heart tracings zigzagged across a bank of oscilloscopes.

The ward clerk glanced up in surprise at the trio of visitors. We must be a strange sight, thought M. J. Two bruised bums and one blond bombshell in evening dress.

"Are you visiting someone?" asked the clerk.

"I'm Dr. Novak, ME's office," said M. J. "I was here earlier with Dr. Dietz, looking over Nicos Biagi's chart. Would you know if his tox screen came back?"

"I just came on duty. Let me check the reports." The clerk turned to the in-box, rifled through the stack ofnewly delivered lab slips. "There's no tox screen here for a Biagi."

"How is he doing?"

"You'll have to talk to one of the nurses. Which bed is he in?"