Passion (In Wilde Country 2)

“Call them what you want, Doctor. You’re talking about places where people are put away. Locked away.” Locked away, just as Pastore had wanted.

“Commitment is rare. Patients often agree to the arrangements themselves. I take it Ms. Bennett has no one who would look after her at home.”

Matteo didn’t hesitate. He knew the answer to this question, morally if not legally.

“No. She doesn’t.”

“Then, we have a problem. I cannot justify keeping a patient with a broken wrist and some cuts and bruises in a hospital bed. Even if I could, these emotionally sterile surroundings are not the best for jogging a patient’s—”

“Matteo?”

Both men swung toward Ariel’s room. She stood framed within the open doorway, trembling. The line that had been in a vein on the back of her hand was gone.

Stafford rushed toward her, but Matteo got there first.

“Ariel! What the hell…?”

“I can’t stay in this place. I can’t!”

She swayed. He scooped her into his arms, carried her inside the room and carefully eased her onto the bed.

“Don’t let them keep me here!” She reached for his hand and clutched it like a lifeline. “Please.”

The expression on her face—desperation mixed with fear—sliced into him with the cold efficiency of knife.

“Are you remembering something?” he asked her in a low voice.

She shook her head. “I can’t explain it. All I know is that I have to get away. Someone wants to find me. And—and hurt me.”

It was the kind of statement people standing on the wrong side of sanity often made, and Pastore had said she was delusional. Important facts, but not the deciding one because he knew what Stafford didn’t.

Someone did want to find her.

Her husband.

Matteo sat down on the side of the bed and drew her into his arms. She collapsed against him. He held her close, rocked her gently until he felt her racing heartbeat start to slow.

“Please,” she whispered. “Help me.”

The doctor’s hand fell on his shoulder.

“Might we have a private word, Mr. Bellini?”

Matteo set Ariel back against the pillows.

“I’ll only be a minute,” he said. She looked at him through her poor, blackened eyes and he forced a smile he hoped was reassuring. “One minute, that’s all, and I’ll be back.”

The two men stepped into the quiet corridor. Stafford folded his arms over his chest.

“Mr. Bellini.” He hesitated. “I’m sure you found that…distressing.”

“Distressing?” Matteo barked a laugh. “Yes. You might call it distressing.”

“The CAT scans didn’t show any brain trauma beyond the concussion, but it might not have been conclusive.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Stafford said bluntly, “it’s possible Ms. Bennett is having hallucinations.”

“How can you tell if she is or she isn’t?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t.

“Then, it’s equally possible she’s telling the truth. Someone may actually be after her.”

“Is the patient on any medications?”

Pastore had said she was. He’d also said she took drugs. That was all he knew. Not names, not amounts, not with what frequency.

Again, he relied on his legal skills to answer the question without actually answering it.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, we ran the usual panoply of tests and Ms. Bennett tested positive for a variety of chemicals. Amphetamine. Benzodiazepine.” Stafford frowned at Matteo’s blank look. “Uppers. Downers. Is she ill?”

“She’s been a little depressed,” Matteo said carefully.

“Her blood levels suggest she hasn’t taken them recently. Still, I must be blunt, Mr. Bellini. Is she an addict?”

The honest answer was I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the lady. But that wasn’t true. He did know something about her. All of it involved Anthony Pastore, and none of it was good.

“I assure you, I’m not looking to make a police report, simply to know how best to treat her.”

“I don’t know anything about her use of drugs,” Matteo said. And he didn’t. He knew only what Tony had intimated, and things intimated were not facts.

Stafford tapped his index finger against his lips. “Her negative reaction to my suggestion that she take something for pain was interesting. Addicts would have leaped at the offer.”

Matteo nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“What it comes down to is that there are many unanswered questions in this case. My recommendation is that we place Ms. Bennett somewhere where she can stabilize.”

“You mean, we should institutionalize her.”

“If she’s delusional, she needs a different setting. And if she really is in danger…” Stafford took a notebook from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I’ve made a list of places.”

Frowning, Matteo tucked his hands into his pockets, looked down, and scuffed his shoe against the tile floor.

“And if she doesn’t want to enter an institution?”

“Well, she’d have to be signed in by someone with her power of attorney.”

“Committed, you mean.”

“No. Not exactly. Not by court order. By, as I said, someone with the legal power to act on her behalf.” Stafford paused. “Have you that power, Mr. Bellini?”

Cristo. This got worse and worse.

“Mr. Bellini? Exactly what is your relationship to Ariel Bennett?”

Matteo raised his head and stared at the doctor. The question was straightforward. So was the answer. He had no relationship to her, and he certainly had no legal authority in this situation.

Why didn’t he just tell that to Stafford?

He was a man of logic and reason, but what was logic in the face of evil?

The ancient voices of his ancestors were whispering to him, warning him that Ariel Pastore stood in the path of something infinitely dangerous.

She had needed his help before and he hadn’t given it. Now, she needed it again. Could he live with himself if he walked away from her a second time?

“Mr. Bellini!”

Matteo blinked. Stafford’s eyes were fixed on him.

“I need an answer, sir. What is your relationship to Ariel Bennett?”

Only one response came to mind because only one response might work.

“I’m her lawyer.”

“I see.”

“I hold her power of attorney.”

“I don’t supposed you have proof of that with you.”

“No,” Matteo said calmly, “unfortunately, I don’t. But I can fax it to you as soon as I return to my office tomorrow.”

“And for now…?”

“For now, I want her discharged to my care.”

He waited for Stafford to tell him that was impossible, but the man’s response surprised him.

“Tonight? That’s quite unusual.”

“Ariel and I have a trip of several hours ahead of us, Doctor, and the last weather report I saw said a storm was moving in. I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

That, at least, was not a lie. The snow seemed to be following him across the country.

“What if the police want to talk with her?”

What, indeed?

“You never told me anything about the accident. What kind was it?”

“There isn’t much to tell. It was snowing. And quite cold. The roads were slippery, the visibility poor. She was leaving the Greyhound terminal.”

“The bus terminal?”

Stafford nodded. “She’d just arrived. From New York City. There was a car parked at the curb. Evidently, the driver didn’t see her.”

Matteo’s eyes narrowed.

“Were there witnesses?”

“A couple. They said it looked as if Ms. Bennett saw the car at the last second and tri

ed to get out of its way. That’s probably the reason the car struck her a glancing blow. If it hadn’t…”

“The driver,” Matteo said sharply. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t. He just kept going.” The doctor shook his head. “This time of year, we get a lot of kids up here on winter break. They come to ski, to snowboard…” His mouth twisted. “To, what do they call it? To party.”

“Did anyone ID the driver?”

“Nobody could even give a description. Between snow coming down and the snow on the windshield…”

“What about the car?”

“Old. Dark. Plates covered with snow and ice.”

“In other words, the cops have nothing.”