I had so much more to do, to see, to live, he thought. Too late.
What a fool he’d been.
Blackness began descending, tamping out the streaks of light that flashed through his head. The darkness was oddly gentle. The last of the light began to fade, so quickly. Seconds passing, milliseconds…
A lifetime. His lifetime.
Death was a certainty. He was a strong man; he thought he had been a kind man.
But he was afraid.
A strange sound roared through his ears, one that was oddly out of place in this watery realm. It was like the whip of the wind, and horses racing across wind and waves, horses as black as night, yet somehow silhouetted against an even greater darkness. There was something terrifying about it, and yet also beautiful…calming.
And then, through the darkness, a hand reached out….
1
Dublin, Ireland
“Clear!”
“What’s happening? Oh, my God, my husband! Let me get to my husband!”
Caer Cavannaugh was aware of the woman screaming beyond the emergency room curtains, just as she was aware of the triage nurse speaking to the woman in a calming way, trying to keep her from interfering with the doctors who were working desperately over the man.
He had come in with strange symptoms that had apparently appeared within twelve hours of his arrival in Dublin. According to his chart, he was in his seventies, was usually in good health, and he and his wife had checked into their hotel, shortly after which he’d become desperately ill. First he’d complained of terrible pain in his stomach, then of a weakness so overwhelming that it was close to paralysis sweeping over his limbs. And then he’d started having problems with his heart.
By the time he’d reached the emergency room, he’d collapsed. The doctors, not finding a pulse, had started treatment instantly.
“Charge!”
The man on the bed bucked, his back arching, and then a reassuringly regular beeping began. His heartbeat was back. Orders were shouted; Caer obeyed them. She’d been summoned to the emergency room just minutes before the man had arrived. In her work for the Agency, she never knew quite where she would be when, or what she would be expected to do, but she’d been well trained to deal with whatever she faced in any new situation.
This, however, was unusual, even for her.
The pulse on the screen jumped erratically for a few seconds, then steadied. The man blinked and looked at her, then smiled weakly. “Angel,” he said, and then his eyes closed again and he slept, attached to an IV, a heart monitor and a blood pressure gauge.
The team in the room congratulated one another. A moment later, Caer heard the man’s wife, sobbing and still upset, as a doctor explained to her what had just happened, even though they still didn’t know the cause of the problem. He told the wife that she needed to calm down and give them some answers. Caer, waiting as orderlies were summoned to take the patient up to intensive care, watched and listened, putting together the details.
The patient was Sean O’Riley; his wife was Amanda, and she was substantially younger than he was.
She was going on and on about their wonderful day and how happy Sean had been. He’d been born here in Dublin, but been living in the States forever. He was always strong and healthy; since he was a charter captain, he had to keep himself fit. When asked what he had eaten, she said they’d had breakfast on the plane, lunch at the hotel, and dinner at a place on Temple Bar. They’d eaten the same thing, and she felt perfectly fine, but it was soon after dinner that he’d taken ill.
“I have to see my husband!” she insisted then.
Soon, she was promised.
Caer studied the woman through the opening in the curtain. She was petite, with a nice figure and disproportionately large breasts. Caer couldn’t help but wonder if they were real. Blond hair, pretty hazel eyes, but a slightly sharp look to her. Gold digger? And if so, was she somehow responsible for her husband’s condition? But could anyone, even the best actress, fake such a look of tragic hysteria?
The doctor suggested sedation. Amanda nodded, and a nurse gave her a shot.
A police officer arrived. Interesting, Caer thought.
“Cavannaugh.”
Caer started and swung around to face the male charge nurse who’d called her name.
“You’re on. He’s assigned to ICU for the next few hours, and you’re with him.”
“Right. Thanks,” she murmured.
He looked at her curiously, as if he wasn’t sure he recognized her.
No surprise. It was a big hospital. Anyone could wind up working with anyone else on any given day.
He smiled, as if deciding he’d seen her before after all.
“I’m on it,” Caer said, greeting the two orderlies who showed up to move her patient, checking lines and his oxygen intake as they made their way down the hall from emergency to the elevators to intensive care.
He was to be kept alive. There seemed to be no reason for his life to be in danger, but it was, and he needed care and protection.