She never found out his name and never saw him again. When she enrolled in her first surgery course, a few months later, he was gone.
But by the time he’d disappeared around a turn in the corridor, she’d decided then and there that she wanted to be a surgeon.
More than anything else she’d ever wanted.
Since then, she’d never looked back.
Never look weak.
With each passing year, for every tough situation Rita had found herself in, her appreciation for this essential truth grew. Never look weak meant maintaining your cool no matter what kind of crazy, dangerous stuff came through the door, since everyone—other doctors, nurses, patients—depended on you to stay calm.
Never look weak.
You couldn’t teach it. You either had it, or you didn’t.
And Rita definitely had it.
Which brought her back to her present predicament, the solution to which boiled down to those three words she’d learned in the middle of that night watching the surgery resident throw his guts up into a sink after trying to bring a patient back from the brink of death.
Never look weak.
Yes. It was that simple.
She was a surgeon.
She needed to get over whatever the hell was going on, to take command and seize the offensive. She hadn’t gotten this far, been this successful, by being weak, or, God forbid, showing weakness to those around her. Ever. Instinct dictated that vulnerability equated to failure.
Never look weak.
She needed to come up with an explanation for her predicament. Something reasonably credible.
Disoriented or not, sick or not, naked or not.
Now.
FINNEY
If Finney were a lesser man, he would have perhaps allowed himself the satisfaction of a smile.
Just a small one, to savor the moment, to anticipate the fulfillment of plans a year in the making, and the rewards promised by the accomplishment, finally, of his goal.
But he was not a lesser man.
Self-congratulatory gestures were beneath him. His thin lips retained the geometric purity of a straight line as he spoke into the small microphone affixed to the collar of his shirt.
“Sebastian.”
The response in his earpiece was immediate. “Here, boss.”
“I need to temporarily cut your feed.”
A beat. “Why?”
Finney liked Sebastian, insofar as he was capable of liking a man like him. Sebastian was good. Sebastian had come to him by way of the highest recommendations from discreet parties and had never failed to impress.
Truly, though, the man could be a royal pain in the ass sometimes. He had a tendency to ask the most exasperating questions and to forget his place. Like now. Why should it matter to Sebastian why Finney wanted to cut the feed?
“Because I want to, Sebastian.”
I want to be alone with her.
“Are you sure, boss?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Not long. Just until she’s primed for embedding.”
A pause. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Finney. We really shouldn’t deviate from the plan.”
“We agreed that I’d be the one to prepare her for embedding. We don’t both need to be involved.”
“Technically, yes. But redundancy is always good, boss. What if something unexpected happens? I think we should stick to the original plan.”
“Duly noted, Sebastian.”
Finney was holding a tablet. He touched an icon on the screen.
I want some alone time with her, Sebastian.
For the time being, it was going to be just himself and the good Dr. Wu.
He was going to enjoy this.
But he still didn’t smile.
SEBASTIAN
“Boss? Boss?”
No answer.
Asshole.
Finney had cut his audio feed.
Asshole!
What was he playing at? Why didn’t Finney want him to know what he was saying to the surgeon chick?
He was already in position, so Sebastian waited where he was.
He had no choice.
RITA
Rita opened her eyes and let go of her father’s dog tags.
The throbbing in her head was still there, but her panic was gone.
She drew herself up straight and set her jaw in what she thought (hoped) was a commanding way, as if performing complex surgery rather than swaddling herself in blankets like a Red Cross disaster refugee.
“I’m fine. Just a little tired. I must have dozed off.”
“Dozed off?” Lisa asked, puzzled. “But … what were you doing here?”
A mental scene from last night, hazy at the edges, played out in Rita’s mind, a snippet of an event that she was reasonably certain had happened.
“I came in last night to prep for this morning’s surgery.”
Wendy spoke up excitedly. “You mean—you were here all night?”
“Yes. I must have fallen asleep.”
“You … fell asleep?” Lisa said. She was trying to stifle her incredulity. “Here? In the operating room?”
More of Rita’s memory was returning. Yes, she was pretty sure she’d walked, under her own power, into operating room number ten last night to check on the auto-surgeon system. She remembered turning the system on, testing its components, and running through the pre-op checklists as she’d done thousands of times before.
And then …
She hadn’t the faintest idea of what had happened next.