Françoise sashayed closer, leaned down to
give Derian a very impressive view down her shirt, and kissed her, her tongue
dancing over Derian’s for an instant. “I hope I will see you again before the
race moves on.”
“Yes,” Derian said, committing to nothing.
Once was usually all she wanted with a woman. So much safer that way. Her cell
rang again and she sighed. Audrey wasn’t usually so insistent and just left a
message. “I’m sorry, I should take this.”
Françoise tapped her index finger against
Derian’s mouth. “And I should go. Thank you again, Derian, my darling.”
Derian took the call, watching Françoise
disappear. “Bad timing as usual, Aud.”
“Dere, you need to come home.”
“It’s three days before the race.” Derian sat
on the side of the bed and slipped into her shoes. “You’ve already got my proxy
vote, just send it in as usual—”
“Derian, it’s Henrietta.”
A fist slammed into Derian’s midsection and
the room wavered before her eyes. “I’ll be on the next plane.”
Chapter Three
Emily jerked awake to the swooshing sound of the
ICU doors opening. She blinked the mist of sleep from her eyes and jumped to
her feet. Her vision swam. She’d lost track of how long she’d been sitting in
the too-bright alcove just up the hall from the intensive care unit, waiting
for word of Henrietta’s condition. Too many cups of coffee, too many packets of
crackers from the vending machine. Her stomach roiled, her throat ached from
the tears she’d swallowed back, and her head pounded. Vonnie had kept vigil
with her the first few frantic hours, sharing the burden of leaving discreet
notifications regarding Henrietta’s sudden illness and organizing the staff
who’d been left in the lurch when the EMTs had stormed in, rapidly assessed
Henrietta’s terrifyingly motionless form, and bundled her up and out of the
building in what felt like seconds. Odd, now that Emily thought back to those
first hours, that Vonnie had no phone number for Henrietta’s family. Emily had
only spoken to the Winfield attorney when she’d called the emergency contact
number listed among the agency’s files. And then no one else had reached out to
her for information, or even to Vonnie, Henrietta’s personal secretary. Perhaps
the close family were out of town and had called the ICU directly to speak with
Henrietta’s caregivers. Of course, that must be it.
Vonnie had finally gone home hours before to
take care of her family. For a time, Emily had shared the stark waiting area,
made no more welcoming by the presence of a coffeemaker in one corner and a
television on the wall, with an elderly man whose dazed expression tore at her
heart and a weeping husband and wife who had stumbled out into the hallway to
talk to an exhausted-looking resident in wrinkled green scrubs before disappearing.
Then she’d been alone, waiting for she knew not what because she could not bear
to leave, clinging to the hope that soon someone would come who could tell her
of Henrietta’s fate.