Heather Graham Read Online Free

encourage talking to our patients.”
    Ann nodded, managing a smile for the nurse. “Jon—”
    To her amazement, his eyes opened. They were hazy; then they seemed to focus on her.
    His lips moved. Breath came from them. Breath, and some kind of a whisper.
    Ann leaned closer to him. “Jon, it’s all right. Jon, you’re in the hospital. Wonderful people are looking after you. Wonderful doctors and nurses.”
    He moved his lips again. He seemed so anxious! No matter what she tried to say, no matter how she tried to reassure him, he seemed desperate to speak.
    “Jon, you mustn’t try so hard to speak. You need rest, you need to heal—”
    “Ann—”
    He was saying her name.
    “I’m here, Jon.”
    He moved his head. No .
    “Jon, please...
    The hand she held tightened. Just barely. She leaned closer to him.
    “Annabella’s...
    His eyes fell shut.
    The tension left his hand.
    Ann inhaled again, dizzy. He’d died on her, oh, God, he’d died...
    “He, he...,” she gasped out.
    “It’s all right, Mrs. Marcel.”
    “But—”
    “Honey, he’s unconscious,” the nurse said gently, taking her shoulders. “See all those monitors. That’s his heartbeat right there, on that screen to the left of the bed by his head. His vital signs seem to be sound and stable. That’s very good.”
    Ann nodded blindly.
    “I know that you being there just now was a big help to him,” the nurse continued. “What was he trying to do? Whisper your name?”
    Ann turned and looked at the nurse in surprise.
    “He...,” she began, then cut off.
    No. That would have been nice, of course. Jon seeing her, recognizing her. Saying her name.
    Except that he hadn’t been saying her name.
    Annabella’s.
    He had whispered the name of the club—the strip joint—where he had gone to watch his Red Light Ladies .
    He was savagely hurt. Possibly still dying. He had come to her, fallen into her arms.
    And through it all, he had said just two things.
    I didn’t do it. Oh, God, I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it!
    And now...
    Annabella’s.
    She turned back to look at him, biting into her lower lip. She prayed for him.
    She damned him.
    Didn’t do what, Jon? Look at what’s happened to you, and look what you’ve given me to go on. What the hell didn’t you do, Jon? And why the hell would you look at me and whisper, Annabella’s?

three
    J ACQUES MORET SAT AT a select table at Divinity’s, a man impeccably dressed in a lightweight charcoal gray suit, silk shirt, crimson vest and designer tie. He had a long, slim, aristocrat’s face, bright hazel eyes, sleek dark hair, and very full, sensual lips. His smile gave away dimples in his cheeks. He was handsome and charming; his elocution was excellent, with the slightest touch of a drawl that added to his completely masculine charm. When he walked through a crowd, feminine eyes followed wherever he went. He always smelled subtly and pleasantly of expensive aftershave. He cultivated his natural ability to seduce, and had, since he first discovered the power of his charm at age twelve, wielded that power with dispassionate pleasure and amusement. Tonight, he dined with the usually level-headed CEO of a tour company, a smartly dressed and chic woman in her mid-thirties. She was the type, he had decided, who usually spat out her orders with the precision of a drill sergeant. Her perfectly tinted hair was curled fashionably at her nape; she might well have worn her custom red suit down a runway in Paris. Her makeup was perfect; her nails were perfect. She was a regal no-nonsense beauty of the contemporary business world, the type taking over the business world and sending good men out pounding the streets for a job—while crying out for the ERA—he thought a little resentfully.
    But not tonight.
    Tonight she was falling for him. Ms. Exec was beginning to giggle into her wine—a select chablis from a very special year and very special winery. Select not just because of its quality and age, but