by Christy Poff
"Mistress, I'm here at your service. I love you, Ainsley—now and forever.” He paused. “Don't leave me, Ainsley, I beg you."
He felt the helicopter touch down on the hospital's helipad. He remained with Ainsley for as long as he could before a nurse stopped him from entering the trauma room prepared for his wife's arrival.
"Doctor Longoria will be with you as soon as he can tell you anything."
"Please, take care of her. She's all I have."
"We will, Mister Quincannon."
Brett went to the same lounge Jim Pearson spent his time waiting for news on Brett's condition, resigning himself for a long wait. He had a pretty good idea what the trauma team would have to deal with, the actual realization overwhelming him.
Doing exactly as Pearson had, Brett pulled out his cell phone and called his good friend in New York.
"Jim, what the hell do I do?"
* * * *
Hours passed before Longoria finally joined Brett in the waiting area near the hospital's trauma center. His grim look did not help to ease Brett's mind. My God, it's worse than I thought.
"Brett, how are you doing?” Longoria asked, the two men shaking hands.
"Leg's letting me know it's not happy but it doesn't matter. How's Ainsley?"
"The bullet wound she took in her shoulder is healing well—considering. The same goes for the one that grazed her temple. She's extremely lucky on both. Her leg, though, isn't healing thanks to the early removal of the cast—if there ever was one—and her use of it without the proper treatment and support."
"Will she be able to walk again?"
"I don't know."
"Damn it!” Brett cursed. He knew why he would have trouble with his own considering how he'd pushed his rehab. Ainsley's, on the other hand, was the result of malpractice and mistreatment—out-and-out negligence.
"What about her emotional state?"
"I've consulted with Doctor Beverly Hunnicut from UCLA. She's given me several tests to perform before she sees Ainsley to give her opinion."
"Do what you have to and help her. I want the best for her."
"I will,” Longoria said. “I also expect you to take care of yourself at the same time if you expect to help her."
"I'm doing my best but right now, she's my priority."
"I understand,” the doctor said, “just take care of yourself. She'll be heavily sedated for a while because of the surgery on her leg. Go get something to eat, maybe some rest..."
"When can I see her?"
"In a little while,” Longoria told him. “I want to keep her under close observation because of her mental state."
"Go on,” Brett said, nausea taking over.
"Because she can't verbally tell me what she's feeling, I have to make educated assumptions, which I don't like to do. Under observation, I can follow her reactions a little closer. I'll keep you advised."
"Thanks."
* * * *
Eric Kane stopped by the hospital to check on Ainsley's condition and to update Brett on what happened at Pacifica after they flew the Quincannons into the city.
"We didn't find any contact information on Goodman or Guttshaw or any attending doctors with the same initials."
"He would definitely cover his tracks. When he called, he used no names, only I did."
"I see."
"Anything else?” Brett asked, hoping for a break. He needed to be able to honestly assure his mistress this ordeal would never touch her again.
"We tried the cell phone he used to call the hospital and we tied it to a phone number based in Los Angeles..."
"To..."
"No name—it came back to a disposable phone which our efforts to call have been fruitless."
"Knowing Guttshaw, he disposed of it right after I talked to him."
"Good point."
Brett sat forward, rubbing his temples. His headache pounding, he tried to ignore it but it didn't work.
"Are you all right?” Kane asked.
"I'm prone to severe headaches when stuff like this happens. The last time I had one this intense was when I did a special report from Iraq on a diplomat who played all sides against the middle. It's not a good thing to have when he's threatening to execute you."
"Shit."
"Tell me about it."
"How did you..."
"A bunch of guys from the Iraqi army and US Special Ops stormed the place he held me in and took him. They got there with a few seconds to spare."
"Damn,” Kane said. “What causes them?"
"Extreme stress. They happen after it all builds up and hits me like a fucking freight train."
"What do you do for them?"
"Wait it out."
"No meds?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Never been able to see a doctor during an occurrence."
"Do it now,” Kane said. He turned to find a nurse and met Longoria instead.
"Can you get him something for a severe migraine?” Kane asked.
"Brett?"
Brett explained what happened before, during and after the headaches occurred. Longoria led him into a trauma room, called for a neurologist and told Brett to relax.
"Ainsley's condition is stable and hasn't changed,” he assured Brett.
"But..."
"What have I told you about not taking care of yourself?"
Brett relaxed though uneasy about what Longoria planned to do.
"I want to get pictures of your spine, neck and skull. I think I know what your problem is."
"What?"
"I'll tell you once I confirm my findings."
Longoria put Brett through a battery of tests followed by several others once Hunnicut arrived. Several hours later, they came to him with the results.
"This is Doctor Beverly Hunnicut. She's on Ainsley's case and I've asked her to consult on yours while she's here."
"Nice to meet you,” Brett said, looking at a woman with extraordinary features and dark hair.
Kane joined them, listening to what they'd found.
"Well?” Brett asked.
"Were you ever in an accident where you hit your head, possibly losing consciousness for a period of time?"
"Several times."
"Tell me."
"On various assignments in Iraq, Bosnia..."
"War areas?"
"Yes."
"How about explosions?"
"In Bosnia."
"How close?"
"A bunch of us fled a café right about the time a bomb went off. I felt vibrations in the air but didn't think anything about it because I helped my cameraman..."
"That's it."
"What?"
"The reverberations from the blast chipped a tiny piece of your skull. The problem is in the ensuing fractures. Normally, you have no problems but when you get upset and everything heats up, you feel the pain."
"Pretty much."
"Microsurgery can repair the damage."
"What?"
Hunnicut explained the procedure telling Brett if he didn't have the procedure done, the next headache could possibly kill him.
"The pressure must be released."
"When?” Brett asked.
"I recommend right now."
Brett thought for a moment, considered his options and agreed. He closed his eyes, seeing Ainsley—the reason he would do it. If any chance existed for a life with her, he'd take it.
"Let's do it."
"You're sure?"
"Positive—I have to."
* * * *
When Brett woke in the recovery room, he looked around and saw a nurse at the foot of the bed. She replaced the sheet and blanket over his feet then made some notes on his chart. She looked at him and smiled.
"Ah, Mister Quincannon, I'm Lacey, your nurse. How do you feel?"
"I'm not sure."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm seeing two of you."
"That's normal,” she assured him. “Close your eyes—
now open them slowly."
Brett did, seeing one nurse instead of two and relaxing a little more. He watched her make note of this.
"How do you feel now?"
"Better. I feel pain but not like earlier."
"Doctor Hunnicut is quite pleased with the way your surgery went."
"Is there any news about my wife?"
"Not yet. Doctor Longoria says her condition physically is improving but slowly. Emotionally—no change."
"I need to see her."
"Not until the doctors allow it. You've had delicate surgery."
Brett groaned, his impatience evident though he understood.
Mistress...
* * * *
Ainsley recuperated physically from her ordeal. Longoria had treated her for several maladies and she responded well. What concerned him the most caused him to call in a specialist—Doctor Nidia Hahn. She examined Ainsley very carefully, talking to her the entire time. Unsure the extent the catatonia had progressed to, she explained everything she did to Ainsley in simple, basic terms.
Taking Ainsley's hand in hers, she went on.
"Ainsley, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."
No response.
"You are safe here,” she reassured her patient. “No one will hurt you here. Your husband is waiting to see you but you must come back to your life. Believe me—there is no longer any reason to hide. It's safe."
Without warning, she felt a slight pressure from Ainsley's hand. Startled, she spoke to Ainsley again.
"Ainsley, if you understand me, squeeze my hand as hard as you can.” She felt the light grip tighten then relax, almost as if this little effort exhausted Ainsley.
"You can do this, Ainsley. We're waiting for you when you are ready and we'll follow your schedule."
Doctor Hahn pressed the call button next to Ainsley's arm. When a nurse answered, the doctor instructed her to page Longoria and Hunnicut. After they joined her, the three doctors discussed Ainsley's case.
"I'd like to find out if there's any damage,” Hunnicut said. “She took one hell of a fall from the horse, had a graze wound at the same time and we have no idea what kind of hell they put her through at that place."
"I agree,” Hahn said.
"Then, ladies, I leave this part of her treatment to you."
"We'll keep you advised."
They talked more then scheduled several tests.
"Ainsley,” Doctor Hahn said, taking her hand again. “Doctor Hunnicut and I are going to do some tests to see if you may have suffered any injuries we're not aware of from a physical check. I promise you they will not harm you but we need to see..."
Ainsley's hand pressed hers. Does she really hear me and truly understand?
* * * *
Ainsley heard a strange but comforting voice talking to her but it came from a distance for some reason. Why?
"Squeeze my hand if you understand me."
Ainsley did but she felt weak from the effort.
"Your husband is waiting for you."
Husband—my husband ... My God, I am Ainsley Quincannon.
Joy flooded her mind. Someone had called her by her name and hadn't denied her marriage to Brett. Relief washed over her knowing this.
Ainsley tried squeezing the hand but it tired her more. The voice explained about some tests they wanted to do. I'm not going anywhere. Anything to get out of this prison I'm in.
In what remained of her sanity, Ainsley knew she wanted to reclaim her life with Brett. She felt her need for him intensify and a drive return to her.
She endured the tests which, as she'd been told, didn't hurt. They, in part, stood in her way. She couldn't do anything except remain still so the images would show what the doctors needed to see and not her impatience. Ainsley welcomed their efforts and vowed to help them however she could.
Once the testing had been completed, they took her back to her room, one she now saw as bright and cheerful. Her eyes refused to move to either side, worrying her. The word catatonic had been used several times earlier and it scared her. What if I remain like this forever? No, I can't—I refuse! Brett...
A nurse raised the head of her bed up so she could sit upright. She helped Ainsley eat, babying her since, in a way, Ainsley had regressed back to infancy. She could do nothing for herself, becoming dependent on everyone around her. Frustration set in along with anger.
A lone teardrop ran down her cheek.
* * * *
"Well?” Doctor Nidia Hahn asked.
"There's no skeletal injuries, even where the bullet brushed her forehead. She didn't fracture anything when she fell from the horse. What about the brain scans?"
"Nothing for the most part, aside from this blotch right here,” she said, pointing to a small spot on a colored image of Ainsley's brain. “It's not big but it is enough to possibly make a difference. I compared Ainsley's results to other tests on catatonic patients and it runs like they do."
"And a possible prognosis?"
"She will come out of this but only when she is ready to do so. The emotional injuries alone have got to be major to force her inside of herself."
"Any time frame?” Longoria asked after listening to Hahn and Hunnicut discuss Ainsley's case.
"More than likely, several weeks at the very least. In that time, I suggest you get rehab therapy started so she won't fall too much behind. Her leg needs work considering the abuse leveled at it and I do not want atrophy setting in."
"I'll get it scheduled,” Longoria said, making notes. “What do we tell her husband?"
"The truth."
Chapter 15
Several weeks passed.
Ainsley remained in the same condition emotionally as when Brett had found her at Pacifica. Physically, her body healed and accepted the rehab therapy.
Longoria allowed Brett to take her home because he felt the hospital could do no more to help her. He gave Brett instructions for her home care and recommended he hire a full-time nurse and a therapist to come in daily to continue her workouts.
"Find someone for me and send them over."
"I'll get you the best."
"Thanks."
Brett took her home to the vineyards, watching the nurse get Ainsley settled in their bed in the master suite of the huge mansion. He went to her bedside and took her hand, the first thing he did whenever he spent time with her.
"You're home here at the vineyards. You're in our bed, safe and—I hope—comfortable."
He went on to describe the day to her, doing his best to try to get into her mind to find her.
"Mister Quincannon, it's time for her..."
"Yes, thank you,” he said, “I'll be a few moments."
"Yes, sir."
"I have to go now, Mistress,” he told her when he was sure they'd been left alone. “I'll be elsewhere in the house whenever you need me."
He gazed into her eyes—always open unless he or the nurse gently closed them. He still couldn't see any signs of recognition and it worried him.
Day after day, Brett went on trying to break through to her but without luck. The vineyard operations helped him get his mind off things and to make it through, though it became harder each day. Fortunately, the vineyard operated on the profitable side. He spent one or two days a week working with the grapes in some capacity to not only learn more about the business but to distract him.
He'd look at the house and prayed he would see her standing on the terrace waiting for him and waving, but she didn't appear. His mind went crazy and he thanked Kane over and over for pushing him to seek treatment for the headaches—one less thing to be concerned with.
When not involved with the wine business, he spent what time he could with Ainsley. When he couldn't do either, he worked out in the huge workout room, usually at a blistering pace. Any free time drove him crazy.
Rage would boil within him. While Ainsley lived her life trapped in a world of her own, the man who did this to her enjoyed his life—free of any worries.
"I will get you, Guttshaw,” Brett swore.
When Brett allowed himself to think about what had occurred and why, he wracked his brain to figure out where the bastard had disappeared to. From what Kane told him, the Bureau couldn't locate the good doctor. Due to pressing cases in New York City, Eric Kane had returned to his home office virtually leaving Ainsley's case in the cold files.
The night before leaving the Bay Area, Kane stopped by to tell Brett face-to-face and apologize.
"I'm really sorry, Brett,” he said when they walked out to his car before he left.
"I knew it would happen sooner or later. I'd hoped it'd be later though."
"I don't like this at all. I feel like this case will never be closed."
"I know what you mean. He's alive and she's virtually a walking zombie."
"What do the doctors say?"
"Time."
"Say no more,” Kane said. “At least she's not in any pain."
"That we know of,” Brett said.
Kane fell quiet, both men looking out over the vineyards. After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Kane spoke up.
"Hey, look, man—I'll keep it open from the New York end and if I learn anything, I'll call you ASAP."
"I appreciate it. Somebody's got to stop him."
"Don't you be the one! Let the law take care of him."
"He'll never see a courtroom in the United States—not with all his mob friends."
Kane thought for a moment then nodded his agreement.
"I see what you mean."
"Have a good flight back."
"Let me know how you both make out. I blame myself for..."
"Eric, my friend, enough. I've come to realize the only ones to blame are those protecting his sorry ass right now."
"True,” Kane agreed. They shook hands before the inspector slid behind the wheel of his Bureau vehicle. He waved then drove down the long winding driveway to the road.
Brett waited a few moments before going inside.
"Sir, can I get you anything?"
"No thanks, Connery."
"Dinner?"
"Later."
"Yes, sir. I'll wait for you to decide."
"Thanks,” Brett said. He went upstairs to see Ainsley but she had fallen asleep, her nurse ever vigilant.
"I'm going for a ride. Call me..."
"Yes, sir,” the nurse said. “I hope you enjoy it."
Brett weakly smiled before he crossed the hall to the large guestroom he'd moved into the day he brought his wife home. Changing his clothes, his emotions overwhelmed him.
