"Positive."

Gillian echoed his sentiments, pointing toward the garbage, where he'd thrown the grounds. "All gone."

"We may as well head for the hospital, then. No reason to hang around here." Rebecca turned and left the kitchen.

Desmond picked up Gillian and carried her out, shielding his concerns from her while keeping a comforting mental touch.

"Don't pick me up, Daddy. I wanna walk."

"It's too far for you to walk, Gillian. I have to carry you."

"No. I wanna walk. I'm not a baby." She looked at Rebecca, and Gillian's face crumpled in the precursor to a fit of tears. She'd proved she wasn't a baby by kissing his hand and making it better.

He calmed her with a quick image of her marching self-importantly by his side. He'd let her walk, if it meant that much to her.

"All right." He set her down on the floor and took her hand. "You can walk. But as soon as you start getting tired, I'm carrying you."

"Okay." Her smile radiated pride.

He opened the front door and ushered the ladies through. Then they walked at a child's pace through the corridors of the Inst.i.tute toward the hospital wing. Midway through the second miniature park, Gillian admitted she needed help. He carried her the rest of the way.

When they arrived, they were greeted by Doctors Chen and Laurence. Dr. Chen nodded a welcome, while Dr. Laurence introduced himself to Rebecca.

"Hi, there. I'm Dr. Michael Laurence. You're going to be my patient today. How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected without my coffee." Desmond and Dr. Laurence laughed. Rebecca frowned, and muttered something under her breath about not being awake enough to laugh.

A nurse walked in with an armful of colorful child's toys, and set them on the carpeted floor of the waiting room. Gillian spied the distractions, and squirmed to be let down. When Desmond stood her on the floor, she hurried off to the pile of toys at the fast walk that was her top speed. He watched her go, making sure she got to her destination safely, before turning his attention back to Dr. Laurence.

"Before the nurse preps you, Ms. Morgan, I wanted to make sure you didn't have any last minute questions. As soon as you're ready, I'll give you your first anesthetic shot."

"Let's just get this over with."

Dr. Laurence motioned for the nurse to lead Rebecca away. She glanced over her shoulder at Desmond.

"I thought you were coming with me."

"You want me to?" He forced his face to remain impa.s.sive, even though he felt a grin struggling to break free.

"Of course I do," she snapped. "What's the point of being brave if there's no one there to see it?

You're my witness."

"I'd be honored." Despite her explanations and rationalizations, he was certain she felt the same connection between them as he did, and wanted his presence to comfort and strengthen her. But he wouldn't burden her with that particular truth just yet. After all, it was only his opinion.

The door burst open and Philippe rushed in, out of breath.

"Am I late?"

"No," Desmond told him. "In fact, you're just in time. I need you to watch Gillian while I go with Rebecca."

"Sure." He headed for where Gillian sat, surrounded by blocks. "How ya doing, squirt?"

Gillian laughed and waved her arms. "Unca Philippe!"

Desmond's chest tightened as Philippe leaned down to give her a hug and kiss. Seeing them together, Desmond didn't doubt Philippe's love for her. Perhaps much of his att.i.tude was fear that his curse had strengthened the effects of Desmond's, that he was somehow responsible for the speed and strength of her illness.

Desmond shook his head, forcibly dispelling the negative images. Rebecca's sacrifice would do what no medicines could. Not slow the disease, not even stop it, but for a while completely reverse its insidious effects. He pushed aside the irrational fear that the transplant wouldn't happen, that Rebecca would back out at the last minute, and walked over to his daughter for a hug and kiss of his own.

"See you in a little while, sweetheart." Desmond turned to Rebecca. "I'm all yours."

"That's a bit excessive. I don't think I'll need all of you." Her return smile shook a little, and she reached for his hand. "But I wouldn't mind something to hold on to."

His hand held tight in her grip, Desmond followed Rebecca to the prep room.

Chapter 8.

"OKAY," REBECCA called through the door. "You can come back in."

Desmond reentered the small examining room. She perched on the edge of the paper covered table, and tucked the blue cotton hospital gown more closely around her legs. Her fear swirled about her, a.s.saulting him with random visions of doctors, nurses, needles and late-night horror movies.

He strengthened his mental barriers automatically, shutting out her fears. But she still suffered from them. Her face paled as she clenched and unclenched her hands and fidgeted from side to side on the table, tearing the fragile paper. He couldn't help her if he didn't know what was bothering her, so he lowered his shields again until her fears just brushed the edges of his thoughts.

Normally, he'd try to calm her with mental suggestions. But the thought that she might change her mind and back out at the last second terrified him, and he didn't dare risk transmitting that suggestion to her along with the helpful thoughts he meant to send. So he relied on the old-fashioned method of distractingher.

"That's a new look for you," he joked, waving a hand at the gown. "I think you might be starting a new fashion."

She rewarded him with a nervous laugh. "The color's okay, but the fit leaves something to be desired."

"It's a standard size-one size doesn't fit anybody." He smiled, and admitted to himself that the fit left him desiring a lot of things. No matter how she hitched the gown, it either slid down, exposing the soft white skin of her shoulder, or slid forward, revealing the creamy fullness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s barely contained in her wisp of a bra.

"Why are they taking so long?" She kicked her legs, fluttering the hem of her gown.

Desmond forced himself to look away from the tantalizing glimpses of her thighs, staring instead at an inane photograph of daffodils on the far wall. Picking up on images of b.u.mbling doctors dropping instruments and nurses preparing the wrong equipment, he hurried to rea.s.sure her that everything was running according to schedule.

"It hasn't even been five minutes since you finished the questionnaire and the nurse took your blood pressure."

"Well, that's too d.a.m.n long! It's your hospital. Can't you demand better service?"

He spun around. How had she learned that he owned the Inst.i.tute? He scanned her face for a clue to her words, unable to pin down her chaotic thoughts. Rebecca looked impatient and cranky, not pleased as she should have been at having pried loose a secret. Perhaps she didn't realize the importance of what she'd said.

"My hospital? I may be the Inst.i.tute's Director-"

"So direct somebody!"

He grinned with relief. She'd been speaking figuratively, not literally.

"And here I always thought the story of monsters transformed into people by a morning cup of coffee was a myth," he teased her.

She glared back at him. "Missing my morning coffee isnot funny. When you were describing this procedure, you didn't mention that they'd be torturing me first. And wipe that stupid grin off your face!"

He made an effort to comply with her demands, but couldn't keep the grin from tugging at the corners of his mouth. She just looked so adorably indignant, like a kitten who'd been playing with a water balloon and couldn't understand why it had gotten soaked.

The door opened, admitting the nurse.

"If you'll follow me, please."

"It's about time," Rebecca grumbled, and hopped off the table. But she clasped Desmond's hand briefly as she pa.s.sed. He gave her hand a rea.s.suring squeeze and followed her to the larger examining room prepared for her procedure. As they entered the room, the sting of fresh antiseptic burned his throat. She turned aside, surrept.i.tiously rubbing at her eyes.

The nurse hovered by the padded operating table, while Dr. Laurence waited by a rolling tray full of needles in a range of sizes. Concerned about Rebecca's reaction to the sight of so many needles, considering her earlier fears, Desmond stepped between her and the tray, blocking her view.

Rebecca pushed aside the nurse's outstretched hand and climbed up onto the table without a.s.sistance, then positioned herself face down on the table exactly as she was told. Once in place, however, she refused to lie still. She kept twisting around to readjust the back of her gown. Dr. Laurence noticed the problem, and stepped forward to intervene.

"Ms. Morgan, you have to lie down or we can't do this."

"But the gown doesn't stay closed."

"I a.s.sure you, Nurse Peters and I have seen plenty of gaping gowns in our time. Don't let it bother you."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

Three pairs of eyes trained their gazes on Desmond.

"I can leave-"

"No!" Rebecca grabbed for his hand. "Don't leave. Just don't look." "All right. I won't." He stepped around to the front of the table, and looked at the nurse. "Can I sit over here?"

Nurse Peters traded glances with Dr. Laurence. At his nod, she fetched Desmond a molded plastic chair. He sat down, his face on a level with Rebecca's, and looked into her wide gray eyes. Normally the silver-gray of moonlight on white roses, panic had darkened them to the color of weathered driftwood.

Holding her hand, he focused on calm and soothing thoughts, hoping she would absorb his mood. Her eyes gentled, no longer wide with fear, and lightened to their normal color. He felt her thoughts begin to line up in an orderly progression, before they slipped behind her own mental wall.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

She nodded, and released the gown.

"All right, Ms. Morgan," the doctor said. "Time to get started. I'm going to give you the first shot of anesthesia now. You'll feel a little pin p.r.i.c.k, but that's all."

Rebecca twisted her head to see what was happening behind her, but the nurse stopped her with a light touch.

"It's better if you don't turn and look."

Rebecca nodded, and focused her gaze on Desmond. When the doctor jabbed her hip with the first needle, her breath hissed out and she closed her eyes. But she quickly opened them and smiled grimly.

"That wasn't so bad."

Desmond smiled back, encouraging her, even though he wanted to leap up and throttle the doctor for hurting her. And it wasn't only because the sharp pain had knifed through his shields before he could block it.

In the face of her stoicism, any words of encouragement he could offer would be trivial. But maybe that was what she needed, trivial conversation to distract her from what the doctor was doing.

"Have you been to see the Painted Desert yet? The scenery is really quite remarkable."

She frowned, her forehead furrowing in confusion. Then her expression cleared and a radiant smile broke through, like the full moon coming out from behind a cloud. "No, not yet. I was planning to drive through it on my way up to Flagstaff, after I left here. I heard there's some sort of cathedral cut into the stone that's supposed to be very impressive."

They discussed ba.n.a.lities of travel and tourism, and she told him about the article she was writing.

Through it all, he held her hand, giving her his physical support as he tried to keep his expression smiling and relaxed. He couldn't let her see any of his apprehension at the larger and larger needles being used by the doctor. Finally, Dr. Laurence picked up something that looked more like an awl than a needle, and interrupted their conversation.

"I'm about to go into the bone. You're going to feel a bit of pain, but it will be over quickly."

"How quick-Oh!" She clenched her hand, bruising Desmond's fingers, and the color drained from her face. She let out her breath in a sudden puff, her fingers tightening. Desmond's body would repair any damage she might inadvertently do, but in the meantime, it still hurt.

"Rebecca?" he whispered. He didn't want to disturb the doctor during the most delicate part of the operation. "Could you ease up a little on the grip?"

The color came back to her face, and she let go of his hand with a self-conscious laugh. "If that's a bit of pain, I don't want to know what you think a lot of pain is, doc."

"Well, it's all over now," Dr. Laurence rea.s.sured her, tying off the last of the bandage. "But I'd like to keep you here for observation. When the anesthetic wears off, we might need to give you something more for the pain."

"Keep me here? That's not part of the program. I'm supposed to be able to go home." She turned to Desmond, her expression just short of pouting. "You promised."

"It sounds like you'll just be here for a few more hours, until the anesthesia wears off. Right, Doctor?"

Desmond looked up at the doctor, certain his concern must show. She wasn't supposed to need observation. Not only that, but the Inst.i.tute stocked only two pain killers stronger than aspirin-codeine and morphine. If Dr. Laurence thought Rebecca might need some, he must expect her to be in considerable pain. What had gone wrong? The doctor frowned and shook his head, unwilling to discuss whatever it was in front of Rebecca.

Desmond barely controlled his impatience as they loaded a grumbling Rebecca into a wheelchair and rolled her down to the infrequently used rooms containing hospital beds. But he restrained himself, for her sake.

She settled into bed easily enough, and motioned Desmond to her side. "I didn't expect to be staying here for any length of time, or I'd have brought my work. Could you bring it back for me?"

And to think, people accused him of being a workaholic.

"Shouldn't you be resting, or recuperating?"

Rebecca dismissed those options with a snort. "I'd really rather not spend the next few hours staring at the ceiling, thank you. Although I would appreciate my morning coffee."

"I'll get your papers when I take Gillian home. In the meantime, Nurse Peters should be able to arrange for some coffee."

He flagged the nurse over. Leaving her to argue with Rebecca about the advisability of coffee so soon after her operation, he stepped outside to talk to Dr. Laurence.

"All right. What's the problem?" Desperate for answers, Desmond lowered his mental shields, hoping he could pick up some information that way.

"There's nothing to worry about, Mr. Lacroix," the doctor said, his arrogance lasting only until he saw Desmond's expression. Then he stepped back, sweat beading his forehead.It's not my fault. He's going to blame me. He's going to cut my funding. It's not my fault....

Slamming down his mental barriers, Desmond absorbed the moment of silence before he gave voice to the doctor's last thoughts. "I know something went wrong, but I won't blame you unless it was your fault.