If it had been Rita’s confidence that had first hooked him, it had been her toughness that later sunk the hook deep into him. Surgery was grueling. It could kick your ass. Some nights, Spencer was so exhausted he could barely drive himself home from the hospital before dropping into catatonia in front of the TV, nursing a warmed-over frozen pizza and a few beers.
But that schedule never seemed to get to Rita, who seemed to have a limitless reservoir of energy and was tougher and more tenacious than just about any surgeon he’d ever met—and over the years he’d run across some hard-core, hard-ass surgeons. She was absolutely devoted to her patients, practically sweated blood for them. It was obvious she loved to operate and reveled in the intellectual and physical challenges of taking people apart, then putting them back together again. But he learned that she loved the patients even more.
Devotion to their patients: They were much alike in this respect. It was one of the many reasons why he’d fallen so hard for her, the hardest by far of any woman he’d ever met in his life. And why he’d thought they’d made such a great couple.
“Doc?” Bogart said.
Until that horrible night a year ago, when Rita had told him they didn’t.
“Doc? You okay?”
Spencer opened his eyes and looked up. Bogart and Sheila were staring at him.
“Oh, sorry.” He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly. “Amen. I get … ah, carried away sometimes, Mr. Bogart.” He turned his smile toward Sheila. “Pastor.” It wasn’t an outright lie, but enough of one to make his conscience give him a sharp poke. His cheeks burned.
Lying about praying, Spencer Wallace? For shame. If you were a Catholic, that would cost you, like, twenty Hail Mary’s and ten Acts of Contrition.
Bogart smiled. “I understand, son. I’d much rather have you praying too hard for me if you know what I mean.”
After finishing with Bogart, Spencer lingered around pre-op, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rita. He counted it a good day when he was lucky enough to see her at work, and an even better day when they exchanged polite hellos in passing.
But she was nowhere to be found this morning in pre-op—which was strange since he knew she was operating today. He left disappointed but holding out hope that he might be able to sneak into her OR later during the auto-surgeon operation.
FINNEY
“No,” Dr. Wu said.
This was growing tedious. She dared to defy him. Again.
He would not be defied.
He tapped the tablet with his finger, increased the power settings—
(because he would not be defied)
—and said, “Dr. Wu, you have to talk him into letting you operate today.”
SEBASTIAN
“No,” Wu said in Sebastian’s headphone.
Wow.
Goddamn if she still wasn’t fighting it. She was one tough-ass lady.
Sebastian had caught up with her before she and Montgomery had entered the alcove and was keeping an eye on things from a discreet spot nearby. He watched as the graphic displays on his phone spiked. Finney had turned the signal strength even higher and was now flirting with the established upper limits of human tolerability.
She would not be able to take much more of this.
Careful, boss. You’re going to fry her brain.
Finney repeated the command: “Dr. Wu, you have to talk him into letting you operate today.”
RITA
Chase spun back toward her with a surprised look on his face, as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“What?” he said. “What did you say?”
Rita didn’t answer.
She couldn’t, because the buzzing was back—this time with teeth rattling, skull-crushing intensity, as if someone were smashing glass bottles inside her head with a hammer. It crowded out all thought. She winced and clenched her teeth.
“What?” Chase repeated, then saw the expression on her face. His eyebrows drew together. “Rita. Rita. Are you okay?”
And then the buzzing was gone …
(What was I saying?)
… and Rita felt as if a reset button somehow had been pressed in her brain.
What were Chase and I talking about?
“Rita?” Chase said.
“You have to talk him into letting you operate today,” Finney said.
Right. I have to talk Chase into letting me operate today.
It seemed the most natural thing.
Of course she had to talk Chase into it.
“Rita?” Chase repeated worriedly.
“You have to talk him into letting you operate today,” Finney repeated.
I have to talk him into letting me operate today.
“I’m … fine, Chase.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”
“What did you mean by ‘no’?”
“Oh. I meant that we don’t have to cancel the surgery this morning.”
“What?” he said, squinting. “And why the hell not?”
I have to talk him into it.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Rita now felt filled with an urgency to make the operation happen this morning. Consumed with it. The only obstacle in her way was Chase, and her mind raced with potential ways to win him over—
(But a second ago wasn’t I AGREEING with him?)