With blinding speed Al twisted around in the front seat and grabbed George’s pink Dior tie. George’s eyes bulged and his face turned red. “If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Understand?”
Al released the tie and shoved George back down in his seat. Jake hunkered down like a turtle into his sports jacket. He hazarded a glance in Al’s direction.
“And what are you gawking at?” demanded Al.
Jake didn’t say a word, and after what had just happened, he hoped George had learned the wisdom of silence.
They were almost at the bridge before anyone spoke.
“I think we should get another car,” Al said, his voice as calm as if the outburst had never happened. “Just in case we run into a problem and have to split up. Then we’ll go to San Francisco General. The sooner we spot Tieman the better.”
With plenty of time to spare and feeling confident that she’d have no problem recognizing Dr. Tieman now that she’d seen him, Marissa left the operating room as the assistant was closing. She changed back to her street clothes. She wanted to be able to leave right after she spoke to the man. Going into the surgical lounge, she found a seat by the window. A few people smiled at her but no one spoke.
A half hour went by before Dr. Tieman appeared, coming into the room with the same effortless grace that had characterized his surgical technique.
Marissa walked over to where he was pouring a cup of coffee. In his short-sleeved scrub top, Marissa could see his beautifully muscled arms. His color was a rich brown, like polished walnut.
“I’m Dr. Marissa Blumenthal,” she said, watching the man for a reaction.