CHAPTER ONE
PHILIPPE SETTLED INTO his seat and pulled his baseball cap over his eyes. It was a four-hour flight to Temur Sapora, the Malaysian island in the South China Sea, and he intended to sleep the whole way.
Two minutes later an ample gentleman tried to slide into the seat next to him. Philippe looked up briefly, shifting a little to allow the man more room to sit down. It was an instant mistake. The red-faced man instantly started talking. ‘Pardon me. I’m a little bigger than the standard-sized airline seat.’ He laughed, then stuck out his hand towards Philippe.
‘Harry Reacher, I’m from Minneapolis in the US. Are you going to Temur Sapora too?’
Philippe let his practised face slide into place. He didn’t say the word obviously that was floating around in his head. This aircraft had only one destination.
‘Philippe,’ he said simply, leaving the last name blank. It didn’t matter that this guy was American. His surname was pretty well known worldwide. The whole point of this trip was to remain anonymous—hence why he was heading to an island in the South China Sea that few people had heard of.
‘I’m a doctor,’ added Harry quickly, pulling a cotton handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘I’m going to work at one of the local medical centres for a couple of weeks. They’ve apparently made huge advances on wound healing.’
‘They have?’ Now Philippe’s curiosity was definitely piqued. He sat up a little in his chair. ‘What are they doing?’
There was a spark in Harry’s eyes. ‘You in the business?’
Philippe nodded. ‘I’m a doctor too.’
‘Ah-h-h.’ Harry gave him a careful stare, which Philippe hoped wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. ‘You here to work too?’
Philippe shook his head and smiled. ‘Absolutely not. This is a holiday. My first in five years. I’m going to lie low for two weeks, drink a few beers and sleep.’ He left out the part about needing a bit of time and head space to regroup after his last patient in the ER. That experience would never leave him.
‘If this is a holiday, where are all your friends?’ Harry looked around in surprise. ‘Don’t you young guys all go on holidays together?’
Philippe gave a shrug. He had years of experience at avoiding questions he really didn’t want to answer. ‘Thanks for the compliment but I’m not that young—thirty-one now. And I can guarantee if my friends were with me I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep and that’s what I need right now. Five years of fifty-hour weeks is enough for anyone. I’m starting another job in a few weeks and just wanted some downtime.’
Harry smiled again. ‘And you chose Temur Sapora? It’s a little off the beaten track.’
Philippe nodded. ‘Which means it’s perfect. Beautiful beaches, perfect ocean and an anonymous luxury resort.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I guess we all need some downtime.’
‘Except you. You’re here to work.’ He was still curious to hear about the advances in wound healing.
Harry smiled again. ‘But it’s for selfish reasons. I’m hoping to learn as much as I can and take it back with me. And for me, coming here, it’s the trip of a lifetime.’ His smile got wider. ‘I can’t wait.’
Philippe s
ettled back in his seat a little as the ‘fasten seat belt’ signs lit up. Harry struggled to fit his around his wide girth, eventually closing it with a bit of a squirm. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Where were we? Ah, yes, let me tell you about the effects of the ointment they’ve developed on necrotising fasciitis.’
Philippe kept a smile on his face as the plane taxied down the runway and the possibility of sleep slipped further and further from his grasp.
* * *
‘Harry, are you okay?’
Three hours later Harry was rubbing at his chest again. He’d hardly touched the food when it had come and had been drinking only water. Sweat was pouring off him and his face was getting redder by the second.
‘It’ll pass. Just a bit of indigestion,’ he said.
Philippe shook his head. ‘Let me take a proper look at you.’ He grabbed his backpack from under the seat in front and pulled out a tiny monitor and a stethoscope. Every doctor’s first-aid kit. Before Harry could say any more, Philippe slipped the tiny probe onto his finger.
‘Do you have any health conditions I should know about?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Just a bit of high blood pressure but it’s been under control for the last few years.’
Philippe reached over to touch him. The skin on his chest was cold and clammy. He positioned the stethoscope, knowing it was unlikely to help. Harry’s lungs were functioning—it was his heart that was having problems.
‘I have to be okay,’ murmured Harry. ‘I’m meeting Arissa Cotter at the medical centre. She’s expecting me. They’re down a doctor right now so the timing has worked out perfectly.’ He gasped as his hand went to his chest. ‘She needs me.’
For the first time Philippe could see real fear in Harry’s eyes. He signalled to one of the air stewards. ‘How soon until we land?’
The steward shot an anxious glance at Harry. ‘Another hour.’
‘Anywhere closer we can land?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Not for a plane this size. There’s only the South China Sea. Temur Sapora is the nearest airport from here.’
Philippe grimaced. For the first time he wished he’d taken the royal private jet. It was smaller and could probably have landed on a much shorter airstrip. But he’d wanted to be incognito—he’d wanted to have the chance of having a true holiday before he had to head back home to Corinez to take up his role in spearheading some changes in the healthcare system. The King had trained his children well. One trained in the armed forces to be the next King, one trained as a doctor to help facilitate changes in healthcare, and one trained as an accountant to join the advisory committee on finance.
But bringing the royal jet to Temur Sapora would just have alerted most of the news agencies around the world. Not the kind of holiday he wanted.
‘Give me a number for your chest pain, Harry, between one and ten.’ He couldn’t help it. Moving into complete doctor mode was so natural to him.
The redness started to fade from Harry’s face, replaced by a horrible paleness. Harry didn’t answer.
Philippe’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. As a doctor he’d dealt with many emergencies, but not at thirty thousand feet—and not without any real supplies. He had a horrible sinking feeling that what he needed right now was some kind of anticoagulant to stop the current damage to Harry’s heart. This guy was having a heart attack. And those kind of meds weren’t available at thirty thousand feet.
Within a few seconds Harry slumped over.
The steward panicked and ran to get their emergency kit and defibrillator. Philippe slid Harry to the floor. The passengers close by were wide-eyed but moved swiftly aside to let Philippe work.
Ten minutes later Philippe ran his fingers through his dark hair and let out an angry sigh. It was impossible. The defibrillator wasn’t even picking up a shockable rhythm. CPR was having no effect and they were too far away from landing to continue indefinitely.
He stared down at Harry and withdrew his hands slowly, making a final check of the pulse before he glanced at his watch. ‘Time of death, two-fifty-six,’ he said as he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ he said quietly. ‘I guess you’re not getting the trip of a lifetime any more.’
CHAPTER TWO
ARISSA GLANCED AT her watch. It was odd. Harry Reacher’s plane had landed hours ago and he should have been here by now.
Her stomach squeezed. She hoped he hadn’t had a last-minute change of heart. Getting doctors here was difficult enough. As it was, she used all her own holidays to cover here five weeks a year.
She finished scrubbing her hands at the sink and moved over to the small trolley she had set up. ‘Okay, Adilah, let’s get a proper look at that finger.’
She pulled on some gloves and touched Adilah’s finger to ensure the local anaesthetic had taken effect. Her mother adjusted Adilah on her knee. ‘How many stitches do you think it will need?’
Arissa gave a smile. ‘I think about four will be enough. That’s a nasty cut you gave yourself, Adilah. But I’ll have it fixed in no time and it won’t hurt a bit.’
Arissa bent down and started making the tiny stitches as she sang a nursery rhyme that her mother had taught her as a child. Adilah smiled and joined in. Within a few minutes Arissa was done, giving the wound a final check and covering it with a small dressing. She pulled out her prescription pad. ‘I’m going to give you some antibiotics for Adilah, as the wound was pretty dirty when she got here. She’s more liable to infection than most, so hopefully this will keep things at bay.’
Adilah’s mother gave a grateful nod. Arissa noted the dark circles under her eyes. Having a five-year-old with leukaemia was taking its toll. ‘Bring her back if she shows sign of a temperature or any discharge from the wound. Otherwise try and keep the dressing dry for the next few days. It should heal without any problems.’
There was a movement at the door, and Arissa looked up. Darn it. Another tourist, doubtless looking for the luxury resort that had a similar name to their clinic.
‘Give me a minute.’ She waved her hand as she moved to dispose of the items on the trolley and wash her hands again.
Instead of waiting at the door the curious tourist stepped inside, nodding at Adilah and her mother as they left and then turning his head from side to side, scanning the clinic area.
Arissa felt her hackles rise. He was likely looking for luxury Egyptian cotton sheets, straw parasols, cocktails and personal waiters. This simple clinic would be something completely outwith his normal environment.
She sighed and turned around, trying her best to paste a smile on her face. ‘Are you lost?’ Her heart stopped somewhere in her chest. Wow. Okay, Mr Tourist was about to knock Hugh Jackman off her ‘if only’ list and steal his place.
Dark hair and dark eyes, combined with height and a muscular build. He was dragging some kind of backpack behind him. Not like the usual designer luggage she might have expected.
He was holding a baseball cap in his hand. He tilted his head to the side. ‘Arissa Cotter?’
She blinked. This couldn’t be her guy. Wasn’t Dr Reacher in his sixties? She held her breath for a second. ‘Who wants to know?’
Her heart started thudding against her chest as she tried to control her breathing. Was he a reporter? A private investigator? Had the secret she’d tried to hide for the last few years finally tracked her down?
The man crossed the room in three long strides, holding his hand out towards her. ‘Philippe...’ He paused, then gave the briefest shake of his head. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’
She didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all. She automatically stepped back and he looked a little surprised.
It didn’t matter that his eyes were the darkest brown she’d ever seen. Her breath was tangling somewhere inside her, as she wondered if things were about to come crashing down around her.
She didn’t answer him. Her words caught somewhere between her chest and throat.
He took a deep breath. ‘I’m really sorry to tell you that I was on the plane next to Dr Harry Reacher. He had a heart attack while we were in midair.’
It took a few seconds for the words to process. ‘Wh-what?’
Her brain jumped away from the fear. For a few moments she felt utterly selfish. She’d imagined this was all about her. ‘Is he in the hospital?’
Something flitted across the eyes of the man calling himself Philippe and she knew instantly what came next. A horrible prickling feeling spread over her skin.
‘Oh, no,’ were all the words she could form. She took a deep breath. She’d never had a chance to meet Harry Reacher but his emails over the last few months had brightened her days, his enthusiasm and passion for his work brimming over in every sentence.
The tall stranger was still standing there, watching her with those intense brown eyes. She gave herself a little shake then tried to give him a smile. ‘I’m really sorry to hear about Harry. I was looking forward to working with him.’ Her heart gave a little twist as she realised she’d need to carry the workload here herself for the next couple of weeks.
He nodded too and ran his hand through his thick dark hair. It was the first time she’d noticed the fatigue in his eyes. ‘I’m just sorry I couldn’t save him. But, up there...’ he let out a sigh ‘...I had nothing. No drugs, proper equipment. I don’t have a doubt what the autopsy will show, but I hate the fact that if we’d actually been on the ground and near a hospital, there might have been a chance to save him.’
It was the way he said the words. As if he had an edge of responsibility for what had happened.
‘You had a defib?’ She couldn’t help but ask, she was curious.
He nodded. ‘But no shockable rhythm.’
Arissa pressed her lips together. She knew exactly what that meant. The heart attack must have been catastrophic. Whether they’d been near a hospital or not, it was unlikely that Harry would have survived.