by Julia Harlow
But he had other plans. When he carried her into the living room of his suite, her anticipation spiked, causing her heart to race so fast she was sure Grant could feel it against his own. Two lamps lit the room but had been dimmed, giving the room in a warm glow. A champagne bottle chilled in an ice bucket on the mahogany coffee table with two crystal flutes beside it. The heady fragrance from vases overflowing with pink and white roses filled her nostrils.
Just when she thought her senses couldn’t be more heightened, she heard soft music playing: Tony Bennett singing “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” The first song they’d ever danced to on that fateful night in London.
Grant lowered her to the damask-covered sofa and sank to one knee. Dorrie began to feel light-headed, almost dizzy, and prayed she wasn’t going to faint. Not now. Please not now. I want to be fully awake for this.
“Dorrie Applegate,” Grant began, gazing into her eyes, his voice hoarse. “Nothing in my world is right when you’re not with me. My days are colorless and drab without you. You are the love of my life, my best friend, my soul mate. You are my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. I’ve never stopped loving you since our first night together. I was just too dense to realize it. And I don’t want another second to go by without knowing we’ll be together forever. Marry me. Please.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it, his blazing blue gaze never leaving hers, and slid a tiny box out of his pocket with his free hand. He flicked the lid open, revealing the most exquisite diamond ring Dorrie had ever seen. The brilliant round diamond had to be at least three carats or more with two pear-shaped diamond shoulders mounted in a platinum band.
A little sob escaped her lips. She took in this dark-haired man—humble, modest, smart, kind, and the most gorgeous creature ever created—and couldn’t believe she wasn’t dreaming. Then he raised his brows, and she realized he was waiting for her answer.
“Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.” With tears spilling down her rosy cheeks, she watched as Grant slid the ring on her finger. Such a large diamond would have overwhelmed a smaller hand, but it was perfect on hers.
“How do you feel about lots of babies?”
Tears still filling her eyes, Dorrie hiccupped and then giggled. “Yes. Lots.”
~~~
While Grant showered early the next morning, Dorrie called Blanche to relay the news. They both were crying so hard they barely understood what the other was saying. But they didn’t need words. Blanche said it was the happiest moment of her life, except when Harry proposed to her, and when their daughter Deanie was born, and when Dorrie was born. But other than those moments, this was the happiest.
For Dorrie, there was no other moment. This was it. Her feet barely touched the carpet when she walked. A rosy hue splashed over everything. She and Grant had whispered together through the night, planning their future, laughing when Grant declared he wanted eight children. They both decided to wrap up current projects and take a long break from work just to be together. They’d make London their home and have a special suite for Blanche to come and stay however long she wanted. Dorrie didn’t want to sleep and end this bliss, but her eyelids finally got too heavy, and she drifted to sleep on a long sigh, wrapped in Grant’s strong arms, spooning his front against her back.
~~~
Cody Carlton, Jr. sat across from Dorrie in her Manhattan office, tossing a wad of paper up in the air and catching it. Late afternoon sun streamed in the twelfth-story windows, dancing dust motes broken up only by the paper wad’s rhythmic trajectory.
“Cody? Do you mind?” Other than his restless energy, the afternoon session had gone well. Checking her watch, she expected Grant any minute now, and the thrill that coursed through her at the prospect of seeing him made her shiver.
“Okay over there, Dorrie?” Cody’s grin was as bone-melting as ever, but she was immune, now thinking of him as the brother she’d never had. But she still appreciated it and was about to answer him when they both turned their heads to see what the commotion was out in the hallway.
Rosa, Dorrie’s newly hired assistant, could be heard calling out, “You cannot go in there, Miss. Wait! Wait!” Rosa and Carly Thomas appeared in the doorway at the same moment. Rosa spoke first. “Sorry, Miss Applegate, I couldn’t stop her.”
“It’s okay, Rosa. I’ll take care of it.” Rosa turned to go but not before giving Carly a death glare.
“What do you want, Carly?”
The flush of her cheeks and dark circles under puffy eyes told Dorrie all she needed to know about how Carly was dealing with the breakup.
“What do I want? What do I want? I want you to give Grant back to me!” Even while screeching, with her silky hair pulled into a messy ponytail and wearing wrinkled capris and a cropped top, Carly still looked lovely. From the angle of the open door, she hadn’t seen Cody, and Dorrie thought diversion was the best approach.
She motioned toward him with her hand. “Carly, this is Cody Carlton, Jr. You may have heard of him. He’s the quarterback of the Dallas Stallions. Cody, say hello to my cousin, Carly Thomas.”
Cody stood, all six feet five of lean muscle, and offered a big hand to Carly, along with his cardiac-arresting smile. “My pleasure.”
Carly sniffed and straightened her shoulders. “Oh, I didn’t see you there. It’s nice to meet you.” She held her out her perfect little hand, and Cody grasped it with both of his.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day, Miss Thomas. Lemme take you out for a drink.” She still hadn’t pulled her hand away. Dorrie smiled, appreciating the fact that all of Cody’s smoldering charm hadn’t gone to waste after all.
“Yes. That would be nice.” Carly’s eyes were glued to Cody’s.
“Great! I’ll walk out with you,” Dorrie said just as her cell buzzed and she was sure it was Grant. “Oh, I need to take this. You two go on. Have fun!” She caught Cody’s eye and mouthed thank you. He just grinned ear to ear.
But it was only Arianna, and Dorrie wondered where Grant was. She collected her tote, stuffing her phone and notebook in, and grabbed her sweater, deciding to meet Grant in the lobby.
~~~
The shrill wail of sirens that assaulted her ears as she stepped off the elevator into the lobby gave her pause. She always felt sad when she heard sirens; someone somewhere was hurt or in trouble.
Cold sweat broke out on her forehead when the sirens stopped just outside the Omni building. A sixth sense had Dorrie running to the entrance. A crowd had gathered around, and she had to push her way through to see what they were looking at. And that’s when she saw it.
Grant Maxwell lay unconscious in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.
Chapter 23
Dwayne Wright, Jr.’s feeling of victory dissipated immediately after he stuck the knife into Grant Maxwell. He’d been aiming for his chest, but the shithead had fought back, even though Dwayne had taken him by surprise, and when Grant turned to slug him, the knife went under his arm instead. Still, it must have gone into his lung because Dwayne heard an odd coughing sound, and the cocksucker collapsed in a heap.
But before Maxwell had approached the Omni Building, Dwayne spotted Carly Ann leaving on the arm of a tall stranger he didn’t recognize. Now he had to go after that son of a bitch. Why the fuck didn’t Carly Ann just realize she belonged with him?
~*~
Four paramedics worked on Grant on the sidewalk. Two policemen cordoned off the area, and two others questioned bystanders. A lone figure stood in shock nearby, a shaky hand to her mouth.
The paramedics had cut off his white dress shirt, examined the knife wound, started an IV, and placed an oxygen mask over Grant’s mouth. Dorrie fought her way to him, but an officer had held her back. She tried again, the primal urge to be at Grant’s side overwhelming.
She spoke to the officer in as calm a voice as she could muster. “I know who he is. I’m his fiancée.” Unfortunately, it didn’t get her nearer to Grant. The officer asked her to foll
ow him off to the side and began questioning her. She answered all of his questions before pleading, “Is he going to be all right? Please let me go to him.”
The burly officer with a buzz cut who appeared to be in his thirties must have sensed Dorrie’s despair, because he said, “You can ride in the ambulance with him.” She sagged beside him and he took her arm. “Come on. They’re taking him to New York Presbyterian.”
She watched as the stretcher bearing Grant was rolled into the ambulance, the navy and red horizontal striping on the side a blur. She sat at the rear as paramedics monitored his blood pressure and oxygen, thankful to be near him. His motionless body was now covered in blankets. When the sirens started wailing again through the congested Manhattan streets at rush hour, she wrapped her arms around her middle. Hurry, please hurry. Don’t let him die. Please. God. Don’t. Let. Him. Die.
The ambulance pulled up to the emergency entrance, and Dorrie was left to watch when they wheeled Grant into the emergency room and the doors automatically closed behind them. She quickly found the entrance at the front of the hospital, certain she had never felt so desperate and alone in her life. Was he going to be okay? Who the fuck did this to him? And why?
Her arms were almost numb, still clasped tightly around her middle, as she headed to the information desk. A tall, slim man in a gray suit with a badge on the jacket pocket approached her. Although his hairline was receding, his face was mostly unlined.
“Miss Applegate? I’m Detective Randy Wetzel from the NYPD. I have a few questions to ask you.” Dorrie glanced over at the desk and then down the hall in the direction of the emergency room. “Look. I know you’re anxious about Mr. Maxwell, but they’re going to be working on him for a while, so you can’t see him now anyway. How about some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I couldn’t swallow anything.”
“Let’s sit over here.” He gestured to dark green metal benches near the entrance. Turning away, she glanced down the hall again. What were they doing to him? Was he awake?
After a minute, she became aware that Detective Wetzel was talking to her. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“Mr. Maxwell’s next of kin. How do we get in touch with them?”
Whatever color was left drained from her face so it was sheet white. “Why do you need his next of kin?” She’d twisted the edge of her sweater tighter than a steel girder.
Detective Wetzel gently cupped her shoulder. “No. Not for that. We just need the information for our records. And someone needs to get in touch with them, don’t you think?”
Dorrie nodded. “Yes. I guess I could call them. They’re in England. But I need to get the contact information from Grant.” The irony of what she’d just said hit her, and her shoulders started shaking with the sobs.
“It’s okay, Miss Applegate. You can contact them later. Now, is there anyone you can think of who had a grudge against Mr. Maxwell or who would want to harm him?”
She tried to clear the gut-wrenching panic that overwhelmed her enough to form an answer. “No. But I can barely think now.”
He handed her his card. “Well, if you think of anyone, please call me. I think they need you at the admissions desk.”
The detective took her elbow, leading her to the desk. “Miss Applegate is here with a patient just brought in to the emergency room, Mr. Grant Maxwell.” The woman behind the desk didn’t look up at them as she shuffled papers and answered someone behind her.
“Please fill this out.” She slapped a clipboard with several forms on the desk along with a pen. “Oh, and I need to see his insurance card and driver’s license.” This time the woman’s gray gaze met hers with clear impatience.
Like dense fog on a drizzly night, numbness descended over Dorrie. “His wallet must be with him. I don’t have it.”
The detective interrupted, leaning an elbow on the counter. “As I said, Mr. Maxwell was brought in the emergency room. Obviously, Miss Applegate doesn’t have his personal identification.” He shook his head. “Just fill out what you can. I have to go. Good luck, Miss Applegate. Call me if you think of anything.”
Holding the clipboard, she watched him stride to the front doors and leave. Now she was alone. Scared to death for Grant. Bile burned her throat and she heaved, searching for a restroom. But she had to be strong for him and not give in to weakness.
Back on the bench, she tried to concentrate on the questions on the forms. Instead of feeling helpless that she didn’t know all of his personal information, she just filled out as much as she could then returned the clipboard to the desk.
Another person at the desk, a young man who looked amenable, caught her eye, and she approached him. “Can you help me, please? I’m with a patient brought into the emergency room a short while ago. How I can find out his condition? Or talk to one of the doctors?”
The young man must have taken pity on her because, after hesitating a few seconds, he asked, “What’s his name?”
Dorrie told him and waited while he turned away and made a phone call. Even though it had only been minutes, she felt as if it had been hours before he hung up. She’d forced herself not to tap her fingers on the counter to settle her nerves. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself again.
“A doctor will be out in a little while to speak with you. You should wait in the waiting area at the end of the hall.” His warm smile broke through some of the numbness.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
It was just past seven according to the clock on the wall over the door of the waiting room. What time was it when she’d come out of the Omni building? She couldn’t concentrate. With every movement at the door, she was sure it was the doctor coming to talk to her. Think positive thoughts. Okay. What was positive about this? Well, she remembered Blanche had once mentioned that New York Presbyterian was among the very top hospitals in the country, and she knew it was an academic hospital, so that was a big plus, right? Grant couldn’t be in a better place under the circumstances, really.
“Who is here with Grant Maxwell?” A soft female voice penetrated her litany of positive thoughts. She looked up to see a tiny Asian woman clad in blue scrubs from the cap on her head to the covers on her Dansko clogs.
“I am.” Dorrie stood and rushed toward her. “Is he all right?” Her voice broke in a sob.
The woman put a petite hand on Dorrie’s arm and directed her to a small conference room. “Let’s talk in here.”
Dorrie knew she needed to take a breath but couldn’t until the doctor answered her question. Sitting on the edge of the chair, she implored her to tell her everything.
“First of all, I am Dr. Lee. Let me assure you that Mr. Maxwell is in good hands. He’s had a chest X-ray, EKG, transthoracic ultrasound and CT scan to determine the extent of his injuries. His condition at this time is stable, but he remains in critical condition. A thoracic wound is a very serious injury. The knife penetrated the left side of the chest wall and left lung. But he is extremely fortunate that the knife did not reach any other organs. He is in surgery now for a thoracostomy, which is basically a term for constructing an artificial opening for fluid drainage and to release air.
“For the next twenty-four hours, we’ll need to closely observe his respiration and monitor him for any bleeding or air leaks. It would be helpful if I could get some information from you, such as a list of his current medications, when he ate and consumed alcohol last, and if he takes recreational drugs.”
Dorrie wished she had a tape recorder because Dr. Lee spoke so rapidly and had given her so much information it was difficult to digest it all. “Well, I had just arrived today from out of town and was going to meet Grant when this happened. So I don’t know when he ate last. Or had alcohol last. But he doesn’t usually drink during the day unless there’s a special occasion. He doesn’t take recreation drugs at all. He’s extremely healthy, and I don’t know of any medications he takes except for an occasional ibuprofen for headaches.”
“T
hat’s very helpful, Ms. Applegate. Do you have any questions for me?”
“When can I see him?”
“It’s going to be awhile. He’s in surgery now, as I said, then he’ll go to the recovery room. You should probably go home and get some rest then come back tomorrow morning.”
Dorrie shook her head. “No. I’m not leaving him. How will I know when I can see him?”
“Check with the information desk in a couple of hours.”
“Will I be able to see him while he’s in intensive care?”
“Only family.”
“I’m his fiancée. Aside from wife, how do you get any closer?”
“That should be fine. Good luck, Ms. Applegate.” And with a shake of her slight hand, Dr. Lee left the room.
~~~
Three hours later, Dorrie had approached the information desk so many times to ask about Grant that the staff behind the desk knew her well enough to answer without her asking. She’d called Blanche and relayed everything that had happened. It took a herculean effort to convince Blanche not to come to the city at night. She told her tomorrow would be soon enough and there would certainly be more information about Grant by then.
Sometime past midnight, as Dorrie twisted her fingers, a nurse approached her.
“Miss Applegate?”
Dorrie almost jumped out of her skin. “Yes?”
“You can see Mr. Maxwell now. If you come this way, I’ll direct you to him.”
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
Dorrie couldn’t hold back the gasp she emitted upon first seeing Grant. Medusa-like wires and tubes snaked over him. Clear plastic bags hung from the side of the bed, filling with dark blood and urine. Rhythmic whooshing sounds came from the circulation cuffs around his legs and from the blood pressure cuff at his right bicep. An IV bag hung from a pole, slow drips of the clear liquid coming from the attached tube. A monitor on the wall above the bed tracked his pulse, blood pressure, and heart rate, filling the eerie silence with its high-pitched beeping.
