Aftershocks

by Catherine Coulter

  Elliot didn't want to believe it,

  but he seemed to have no choice. "Your job seems to call you at odd hours. I don't suppose I could... hire you myself."

  "I don't think you could afford me," George said, unaware that her teasing was not being returned in kind.

  Elliot stopped dead in his tracks, grasped her arms and pulled her around to face him. "Just how much do you charge?"

  She finally understood. Oddly, his suspicions didn't make her angry, they made her want to laugh. "Well," she said softly, "I used to charge by the hour. But now, since my... reputation has spread, I can get more money under contract."

  Elliot dropped his hands to his sides, more disgusted with himself than with her. How else could George own a Porsche, a house and God knew what else? George herself was now furious. He really thought she was a hooker!

  Aftershocks

  Catherine

  Coulter

  Chapter 1

  "It's a base hit, George! Run!"

  George threw down her bat and dashed toward first base. She kicked it with her sneakered toe and rounded toward second. She saw the center fielder scoop up the softball and sling it clumsily toward the second baseman. Doctors, she thought, panting slightly as she headed for third, do not even make for decent competition. She held up on third, and waved the victory sign toward her teammates on the sidelines.

  "I've never seen a girl hit a softball like that," Dr. Elliot Mallory observed lazily to Dr. David Thornton.

  "Is she one of the new residents?" David asked, gulping down another swallow of his cold beer.

  "Not that I know of," Elliot said. He stretched his long legs and leaned back against a tree trunk. "Lord, it's hot today."

  "It is July, you know, Elliot, and we are in the East Bay. Your blood's thinned out from living in San Francisco."

  Elliot looked up at the crack of a bat against the ball and watched the girl run gracefully from third to home. He heard moans from the opposition. "I'd like to have seen her slide," he remarked.

  David cocked an amused eyebrow at him. "She does have very long, very bare legs," he said, shading his eyes with his hand to get a better look at the girl, who was now laughing and joking with her teammates on the sideline. "You want to dab iodine on any scratches she'd get?"

  Elliot laughed. "I can't see her well enough from here. She's probably someone's teenage daughter." He looked up as a shadow fell over his shoulder.

  "What a couple of lazy slugs," Dr. Margaret Smith said, grinning down at the two men.

  "Whoever heard of mixing gynecology residents with radiology residents at the annual picnic?" Elliot said. "I don't see you out there competing, Maggie. You or your chairman here."

  "I haven't forgotten the sprained ankle I got from one of you macho men in our football game last year. Friendly touch game, ha!"

  David shaded his eyes. "Looks like our star soft-ball player with the long legs is beaded for the volleyball court."

  "She is very athletic," Margaret said, watching the girl stride gracefully alongside Dr. Randy Hansen, a new fort-year radiology resident.

  "Hi, guys," Doris Thornton said gaily. She kicked her husband lightly in the ribs. "Come on, jock, it's time to show your stuff. They're choosing sides for volleyball and I want the chance to cream both of you.

  "Go get 'em, Doris," Maggie laughed. "I'll be your cheering section."

  Elliot fished his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and slid them on. "I don't suppose you'll take maybe for an answer, Doris?" he asked, grinning up into her pixie face.

  "No chance, you bum! Come on, both of you, or I'll burn your hamburgers!"

  "Just so long as you don't burn our buns," David said, only to receive another toe on his ribs. He groaned, but struggled to his feet. "I'm too old for this."

  Elliot joined him, and together they headed toward the court. Obligingly, Elliot and David took the opposite side of the court. Elliot, his six-foot-three-inch height a definite asset, started at the net, David, five-foot-eight in his shoes, beside him.

  Elliot looked over the opposition, including Doris, who was making a face at them through the net, and said aloud to David, "No humiliation for us today, my man. Just a bunch of women."

  "Don't let Doris hear you say that. She might be small, but she's mean." David laughed and practiced setting the volleyball to Elliot.

  George's eyes narrowed. She was pulling the net taut and heard the comment. Conceited jerk! "Hey, Randy," she said to the slender young man who was standing at the net. "Let me trade places with you, all right?"

  Randy Hansen shrugged. "Sure, George." His gray eyes narrowed against the bright sun. "I don't like it, though. You won't come up to serve until almost last."

  There were nine players on each team, and seven of the players on George's team were women.

  "Let the weaker sex begin!" David called out. "With my wife serving it will be a piece of cake."

  Doris stuck out her tongue at her husband and caught the volleyball from George. "Lay it on 'em, Doris," George said.

  Doris served the ball high and soft, right to her husband. He set it smoothly, and in the next instant, George saw the man with the big mouth leap up gracefully and slam the ball down behind her. There were boos and shouts from both teams, and Maggie shouted encouragement from the sideline.

  George cocked her head to one side and examined the man anew. She liked what she saw. He was exceptionally tall and well built, with wide shoulders, a lean waist and firm, thick thighs. His thick black hair curled loosely about his head. He moved with the natural grace of an athlete. But he had to be a doctor, she supposed, frowning slightly. She and Randy had arrived late, and she hadn't met him. She wished she could see his eyes, but his sunglasses were darkly tinted.

  The other team served, and a woman in the middle row struck at the ball wildly, sending it flying out of bounds. The next serve was short, barely clearing the net. George, a smile on her lips, timed her jump well and smashed the ball right into the man's face.

  The sunglasses cracked and slid from his nose, and she stared into beautiful leaf-green eyes, staring back at her in mute surprise. He was undoubtedly a splendid male specimen. George, who knew little enough about flirting, reacted in the only way she knew.

  She challenged him.

  "It might help if you keep awake!" she shouted, laughing.

  To her delight, the man grinned widely, showing even white teeth.

  "George," Randy wailed from behind her, "don't insult my boss!"

  "Well," George said, "I hope he's a better doctor than a volleyball player." She sent Randy's boss a dazzling smile.

  Elliot wasn't insulted, he was amused and intrigued. He studied the girl across the net as the game continued haphazardly around him. She wasn't a teenager, but she was young, early twenties, he guessed, and incredibly lovely. She was tall, with slim, straight tanned legs that seemed to go on forever. Her hair, a deep honey color, was pulled back from her flawless face into a bedraggled ponytail. She wore no makeup and looked as clean and fresh as sunshine. He wondered, cynically, if her hair was dyed.

  As both teams rotated to change servers, he glanced over her body. She wore a T-shirt with Beau Jangles across the chest and cutoff jeans. He watched her set the bail smoothly and easily, and watched her breasts rise as she jumped. He wanted to meet her.

  "Hey, Elliot," David called to him. "Wake up! The game's nearly over."

  Elliot waved his hand toward David, then turned to watch her move to the service line. His team was leading by an easy thirteen to five score. She handled the ball easily, and that should have warned him. In the next moment, the ball whizzed straight at him, low and hard. A man's serve. She caught him unawares, and the ball bounced off his belly onto the ground. He heard
her laugh and her teammates cheer wildly.

  "Bet you can't do that again!" David shouted out. Her next serve nearly flattened him with its speed and force.

  Elliot was so busy laughing that he again missed the ball that was served straight at him. He settled down and managed her next serve, but Hoover, a third-year resident, bobbled it.

  He heard her shout, "Practice makes perfect!" and took the serve again. When his team finally managed to return the ball, Doris, in a stroke of blind luck, struck it with the palm of her hand and got it back over.

  George sent every couple of serves to him, until finally he didn't set the ball but sent it over himself, straight at her. She gave a shout of laughter and set it clean and high. His team lost another point. When the score stood at 13-13, Elliot's competitive spirit could stand no more. He took the serve again and set it over the net into Randy's chest. He saw the girl leap forward for a save, but she missed it. She's good, he thought with satisfaction, very good.

  He took the volleyball from David and strolled to the serving line, smiling at the shouts of "Kill, kill" from his teammates.

  He grinned wickedly, knowing she was ready for him. Usually when playing with women, he underhanded his serve. Now, he tossed it in the air, and smashed it hard and low, right at her. She set it easily, but her team lost the point.

  "Game point for the bad guys!" Maggie called out from the sideline.

  Elliot gave the girl a little salute and sent her another ball harder than the last one. Like him, she took no chance, and returned the ball herself from the back row. His teammate hit it into the net.

  Groans issued from Elliot's team, and the women chortled gleefully, for George was back at the net. Doris served and Hoover, flustered, barely managed to return it, right into George's waiting hand. She smashed it to the ground. Her team made the last point on a fluke.

  There was crowing and good-natured grumbling. Elliot walked slowly to Randy, who had just whirled the girl around in his arms.

  "How 'bout an introduction to the jock, Dr. Hansen?" he drawled.

  George turned to face him and felt her cheeks grow warm. It was an odd feeling, one she had never experienced before, and she stared at him vaguely, wondering how anyone could make another feel so fluttery.

  "Georgina Hathaway," Randy said, clearing his throat, "this is Dr. Elliot Mallory, Chairman of Radiology, and my boss"

  "You're not bad, for a doctor," she said, and stretched out her hand for him to shake.

  "And you're not so bad yourself, for a girl," he said, and he clasped her slender hand firmly. There was no wedding band on his finger. She prayed he wasn't married.

  "A poor loser, doctor. I am disappointed."

  "And I am without my sunglasses. I trust you will buy me another pair?"

  "Of course she will, won't you, George?" Randy said, his eyes narrowing on her upturned face.

  George merely laughed and turned back to Dr. Mallory. "I'll do better than that, sir. I have two tickets to the A's baseball game next Tuesday. I'll take you."

  Elliot blinked. The girl had just asked him out! "What if I said I would prefer new sunglasses, Miss Hathaway?"

  Randy, who had never before seen George even interested in a man, stood helplessly by, gaping at her.

  "Well," George said thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving Elliot's face, "I suppose I would have to offer you the sunglasses as a bribe."

  Elliot couldn't help himself. He laughed, throwing his head back.

  "Of course," George added, enjoying the sound of his deep rumbling laughter, "if you hadn't been sleeping, you wouldn't have lost them in the first place."

  Elliot threw up his hands, his palms spread in defeat. "Next Tuesday, Miss Hathaway. Dr. Hansen, take care that no one strangles her until then." He smiled again, and took his parting shot before walking away. "If I hadn't lost my glasses, Miss Hathaway, you wouldn't have a bribe."

  He laughed when she blinked at him, finally at a loss for a comeback. He heard Randy Hansen say to her, "George, have you lost your mind? Jesus, I've never seen you act like that. He's a very important man, and here you are flirting with him!"

  There was a moment of silence, then an angry, "I don't flirt, Randy! Come on, let's eat. Then I've got to get home and see to my scraped knee. What Ben will say when he sees it, I can only imagine! If my lips get chapped, he curses in three languages!"

  Who the hell is Ben, Elliot Mallory wondered. Her boyfriend, her lover? Not her husband; she wore no wedding band either. To his disappointment, she kept her distance the rest of the afternoon.

  The following Tuesday morning, Elliot Mallory entered the ultrasound room where Randy Hansen was doing his first rotation. He waited silently until Randy finished reading out for Dr. Gordon.

  "Dr. Mallory!"

  "Good morning, Randy," Elliot said pleasantly. "I trust you're finding your residency less trying than your internship."

  "I'm enjoying it, sir. Especially the eight hours of sleep every night."

  Elliot questioned him politely for a while, then asked, as if as an afterthought, "The A's game is this evening, Dr. Hansen. I haven't heard from Miss Hathaway. Perhaps you can give me her phone number and I'll give her a call."

  Randy felt his face flush in embarrassment. "Her number is unlisted, sir. I don't have it. I'm sorry."

  "No matter," Elliot said easily. "She was likely serious that she would take me, and not the other way around. I shouldn't have worried about it. Good day, Dr. Hansen."

  Randy watched Dr. Mallory walk out of the reading room, and sank down in the nearest chair.

  "What was that all about, Randy?" his friend, Dr. Morgan, asked.

  "Nothing, Tom." Jesus, Randy thought, what the hell was George doing, anyway? He had raked her over the coals on their drive back to San Francisco after the picnic. "How could you come on like that to a man like Dr. Mallory!" he had railed at her, nearly sideswiping a Volkswagen in his righteous ire. "He's over thirty-five, for God's sake, and you can bet he isn't used to some snitty girl asking him out! He's my chief, George! He's probably wondering how the hell to get out of it."

  She had looked at him thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're right," she had said in a low voice, surprising him so much with her instant capitulation that he had left her alone.

  And now she hadn't called Dr. Mallory and likely the man would blame him for it!

  "Damn," he muttered, and flung an ultrasound film up on the alternator.

  Elliot returned to his office. His secretary, Lisa Dickerson, greeted him with her motherly smile.

  "You were only gone for fifteen minutes, and there are three messages." She handed them to him and watched him sort through them. He paused over one and raised his head.

  "When did Miss Hathaway call, Lisa?"

  "About ten minutes ago."

  "What exactly did she say?"

  Lisa frowned, shaking her head. "It was odd, really. She didn't ask for you, just asked if she could leave a message for you. All she said was that she was in New York and apologized for not letting you know sooner."

  "Nothing else?"

  "No. Is anything wrong, doctor?"

  Elliot looked at the crumpled message in his fist. "No, Lisa. Call back Dr. Bailey, will you? And get Dr. Dunsmuir down here. I want to talk to him about his paper on mitral valve prolapse. He's got to clean it up before he can submit it for publication."

  That afternoon, a small package was delivered to Elliot's office. Inside it was a very expensive pair of sun cloud sunglasses. What is she doing in New York, he wondered, as he tried the sunglasses on. They fit perfectly.

  For the rest of the week, Elliot found himself on the verge of asking Randy Hansen for Georgina Hathaway's address. But he didn't.

  Chapter 2

  George pulled on her dark green Speedo swimsuit and her white swim cap. Her hands were shaking a bit. She stuck out her tongue at herself in the mirror in the women's dressing room, turned and walked into the pool area.

  It was nearly one o
'clock and there were six swimmers in the heated pool, lane swimming. She adjusted her goggles and slipped into the water, taking the middle lane. She swam one lap, then paused to look around her. The doctors and staff who swam here were serious about it, grinding out their laps with fierce concentration. She looked toward the men's dressing room, then forced herself to swim another lap.

  "Hi, Dr. Mallory," she heard Tim say, the young giant who worked as lifeguard and pool cleaner.

  She was treading water in the deep end of the pool when she saw him. There could be no more beautiful man, she thought, her eyes sweeping over his body.

  She paused at his flat belly and swallowed, picturing the line of black hair that disappeared beneath his brief dark blue swim trunks. His legs were powerful, his thighs thick with muscle. He paused a moment at the edge of the pool and stretched. George swallowed a mouthful of water. He adjusted his goggles, dived cleanly into the water and set out on his laps.

  George kicked off the deep-end wall and swam toward him in the lane next to his. He passed her with powerful strokes and had almost caught up with her by the time she reached the shallow end of the pool. She watched him turn smoothly and kick off into another lap. Now that he was here, and she was here, she didn't know what to do. She had joined the Milton Union the month before under Randy's name and had managed to swim a couple of mornings a week. She knew Elliot came every day at one o'clock, swam for precisely thirty minutes, spent another fifteen in the sauna and went back to the hospital across the street.

  Well, she decided finally, surprise was her best approach. She set out on another lap, purposefully swimming in his lane. They collided in the middle of the pool in a thrash of arms and legs.

  George sputtered and yelled, "Lane hog!"

  Elliot blinked at the woman, saw that she was clearly in his lane and said acidly, "If you can't swim a straight line, perhaps you better move to the side lane."

  "Ha!" she said, eyeing him joyfully. "You shouldn't be swimming here at all. Perhaps you better wait until three o'clock and join the beginners!"