We have a yacht in the south of France. Would you two like to honeymoon on the French Riviera? You can fly over in our Gulfstream.
“I’ve already told Paige and Honey that we’re getting married. They’re going to be my bridesmaids. And I told them about the baby.”
Mallory felt a cold chill go through him. Things were getting out of hand. If the Harrisons got wind of this, he would be finished. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
Mallory forced a smile. “I want to keep our private lives private.” I’ll get you set up in your own practice…You should be able to make two or three hundred thousand dollars the first year or two. “Kat, I’m going to ask you this for the last time. Will you have an abortion?” He was willing her to say yes, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
“No.”
“Kat…”
“I can’t, Ken. I told you how I felt about the abortion I had as a girl. I swore I could never live through such a thing again. Don’t ask me again.”
And it was at that moment that Ken Mallory realized he could not take a chance. He had no choice. He was going to have to kill her.
Chapter Thirty-two
Honey looked forward every day to seeing the patient in Room 306. His name was Sean Reilly, and he was a good-looking Irishman, with black hair and black sparkling eyes. Honey guessed that he was in his early forties.
When Honey first met him on her rounds, she had looked at his chart and said, “I see you’re here for a cholecystectomy.”
“I thought they were going to remove my gallbladder.”
Honey smiled. “Same thing.”
Sean fixed his black eyes on her. “They can cut out anything they want except my heart. That belongs to you.”
Honey laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I hope so, darlin’.”
When Honey had a few minutes to spare, she would drop by and chat with Sean. He was charming and amusing.
“It’s worth bein’ operated on just to have you around, little darlin’.”
“You aren’t nervous about the operation, are you?” she asked.
“Not if you’re going to operate, love.”
“I’m not a surgeon. I’m an internist.”
“Are internists allowed to have dinner with their patients?”
“No. There’s a rule against it.”
“Do internists ever break rules?”
“Never.” Honey was smiling.
“I think you’re beautiful,” Sean said.
No one had ever told Honey that before. She found herself blushing. “Thank you.”
“You’re like the fresh mornin’ dew in the fields of Killarney.”
“Have you ever been to Ireland?” Honey asked.
He laughed. “No, but I promise you we’ll go there together one day. You’ll see.”
It was ridiculous Irish blarney, and yet…
That afternoon when Honey went in to see Sean, she said, “How are you feeling?”
“The better for seeing you. Have you thought about our dinner date?”
“No,” Honey said. She was lying.
“I was hoping after my operation, I could take you out. You’re not engaged, or married, or anything silly like that, are you?”
Honey smiled. “Nothing silly like that.”
“Good! Neither am I. Who would have me?”
A lot of women, Honey thought.
“If you like home cooking, I happen to be a great cook.”
“We’ll see.”
When Honey went to Sean’s room the following morning, he said, “I have a little present for you.” He handed her a sheet of drawing paper. On it was a softened, idealized sketch of Honey.
“I love it!” Honey said. “You’re a wonderful artist!” And she suddenly remembered the psychic’s words: You’re going to fall in love. He’s an artist. She was looking at Sean strangely.
“Is anything wrong?”
“No,” Honey said slowly. “No.”
Five minutes later, Honey walked into Frances Gordon’s room.
“Here comes the Virgo!”
Honey said, “Do you remember telling me that I was going to fall in love with someone—an artist?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I…I think I’ve met him.”
Frances Gordon smiled. “See? The stars never lie.”
“Could…could you tell me a little about him? About us?”
“There are some tarot cards in that drawer over there. Could you give them to me, please?”
As Honey handed her the cards, she thought, This is ridiculous! I don’t believe in this!