With Every Breath (16 page)

Which required another visit to Trevor’s lawyer. This time, though, he brought Tick Norton to the meeting. Kate’s younger brother had keen insight, and Trevor wanted one of the marine guards brought into the loop about the details of the investigation.

Wearing his fatigues and an awestruck expression, Tick looked around the attorney’s ornate office in wonder. “Do lawyers really make this kind of money?” he whispered.

“
Other
people make this kind of money. Lawyers are just good at figuring out how to siphon a piece of it their way.”

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Tick was only eighteen and had never set foot outside of Washington. With his strong frame and quick mind, Tick seemed far more mature, but his look of wide-eyed innocence as he gaped at the office reminded Trevor of a scrawny lad from Scotland who’d once been equally dazzled a long time ago.

His lawyer, Edward Frontera, entered the office. With horn-rimmed glasses that matched his jet-black hair, Mr. Frontera plopped a file down on the conference table.

“Well?” Trevor demanded.

“The contract the hospital signed with the surgeon general is airtight. They can’t boot you out without the surgeon general’s consent.”

“And they won’t get that,” Trevor asserted.

“Unless your license to practice medicine is revoked. If you lose your license, the contract is rendered null and void.”

Trevor had already begun a battle plan to protect his medical
license. An attempt to revoke his license would take months and was not his immediate concern. The eviction could happen at the end of the month, less than three weeks away, and his research would be scuttled in midstream. While the lawyer outlined the various ways the hospital administration could attack him, Tick picked up a stack of the anonymous letters and flipped through them. All of the hostile letters had been turned over to his lawyer for safekeeping. Trevor clenched his fists. It was mortifying to have a young man he respected read such slander.

“I don’t think whoever sent these letters lives in Baltimore,” Tick said as he held a note aloft. “This paper was purchased at Steigler’s shop on Twenty-Third Street. You can see the watermark when you hold it to the light.”

Trevor rocked back in his chair, stunned by his own stupidity. He’d blindly assumed his tormentor hailed from Baltimore since it was apparent the mercury study had been the catalyst of this mess. Washington was such a quick trip from Baltimore by train, and he’d assumed that whoever was behind this was slipping into town to do his dirty work, then disappearing back home an hour later.

“If the culprit is someone who lives in Washington, your lab assistant is the most likely suspect,” his lawyer said. “Does Mr. Harris have any reason to hold a grudge against you?”

“Henry Harris gets steaming mad every time Harvard beats Princeton in football,” Trevor said. “Aside from that, he’s the most placid person I know.”

Tick shifted in his chair, looking a little seasick. “I think he’s jealous of you. There’s a girl who serves meals. Bridget Kelly, the Irish girl. He likes her, but he thinks she’s got her cap set on you.”

Trevor had to consider the possibility that this had nothing to do with the disastrous mercury study, and if anyone could manufacture a convincing false lead pointing to the Baltimore
study, it would be Henry Harris. Henry was beside him through every month of that ill-fated study.

“Men can do foolish things when a woman is in the equation,” Mr. Frontera said.

Trevor fiddled with a pencil, twirling it as he thought. “Keep an eye on him,” he said to Tick. “I don’t think Henry has anything to do with this, but I can’t afford to overlook him.”

Mr. Frontera made note of Henry’s name. “Is there anyone else who would like to see you driven out of business?”

If Trevor widened the circle of suspects to people outside of the Baltimore study, he needed to include his father. It was revolting to even consider the possibility, but this wouldn’t be the first time the almighty Neill McDonough played dirty to get what he wanted.

“My father would like me to quit medicine,” he said reluctantly.

If his lawyer was surprised, he carefully concealed it. “And does your father live in the area?”

“He lives in Scotland but travels to Washington often. I received a letter this week that indicates he’s been in America within the past few months.”

He felt guilty adding his father’s name to the list of possible suspects, but it had to be done. His father couldn’t have gleaned enough inside information about the mercury study to mastermind this campaign of vilification, but money could buy a lot. His father was determined to get Trevor back to Scotland, and Neill McDonough rarely failed at anything he put his hand to. A few thousand dollars placed in the right hands could buy all manner of bad publicity or the revelation of old secrets.

And Trevor had firsthand experience of how cold his father could be when on a mission.

11

I
n the coming weeks, Kate found a haven from the hostile forces weighing on Trevor by escaping with him up to the roof of the hospital.

Those stolen hours were always the best part of her day. They never spoke of the mercury or the ongoing harassment. The roof was a sanctuary, where they spent hours talking of nothing more important than novels or local gossip. She loved those halcyon hours basking in the sun, even if Trevor’s idea about sunlight as a medical cure was probably pure nonsense.

One early September afternoon she perched on a stool and challenged him about his theory.

“People have been living beneath the sun for thousands of years,” she said. “If the sun has therapeutic value, why are we still getting sick from a multitude of diseases?”

Trevor lay sprawled on the lounge, his shirt hanging open and his eyes closed as he listened. He gave a wry grin at her comment, then turned his head to lock gazes with her. His confident gleam gave warning that she was about to be eviscerated by a brilliant counterargument.

To her surprise, he said nothing as he propped himself on an
elbow. His dark eyes slid down her neck and then to her shoulder. She became mildly uncomfortable as his scrutiny tracked across the front of her snugly fitted bodice, slowly traveling all the way down to the neatly pleated cuff at her wrist. Then he took in the length of her skirt until his gaze reached the leather tips of her boots.

“Kate,” he said in a silky voice, “except for a few square inches on your face and hands, you’re completely blocked from the sun and have been from the time you were an infant in diapers. I rest my case.”

He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and tilted his face back toward the sun. He was right, blast it. Her clothing prevented the tiniest hint of sunlight from touching most of her body.

Quite the contrast to Trevor, who lounged with his shirt unbuttoned to expose his bronzed chest to the sun. She supposed it was scandalous to sit beside a man so scantily clothed, but for heaven’s sake she was no blushing maiden who would faint at the sight of a man’s chest.

Trevor seemed different up here. Relaxed. Normally he was so tightly stitched, but she was glad he felt open enough to allow her to see him this way. She glanced around the rooftop, a niggling suspicion creeping through her mind. Even Trevor would not be so audacious . . .

She cleared her throat. “Are you proposing our patients will be disrobed while they’re taking your sunlight cure?”

A wicked grin was his only response.

“Trevor McDonough!”

“Kendall.”

“Don’t quibble with me. You can’t permit men and women to mingle together while half naked up here. The hospital will shut you down. Mr. Lambrecht and the rest of the board will have a fit of apoplexy.”

Trevor was nonchalant as he explained his plan. He would construct a partition to divide the male and female areas. The women would wear shifts, leaving their shoulders, arms, and the lower portions of their legs exposed to the sun. The men could bathe in the sun without shirts on, and an attendant would be on duty at all times. The attendant would supposedly be there to provide services to the patients, but the real purpose would be to ensure against accusations of impropriety.

He rolled into an upright position, swinging his legs around so that he could sit facing her. His unbuttoned shirt dangled open and he looked flush with excitement. “I have to try, Kate. I won’t let the prudes of the city turn me away from this idea.”

She didn’t want to talk about tuberculosis anymore. The words of Charlie Davis came to mind.
“I always thought you and Trevor
McDonough were destined to be either
mortal enemies or the
very best of friends. You’re too alike to be
anything else.”

It seemed Charlie was right, but how was she to let Trevor know she was interested in him? He probably thought she was still mourning Nathan, but these days all Kate could think about was the subtle dry humor Trevor wielded. His passionate commitment to a noble cause. The ardor lurking just beneath the surface, which he kept so restrained.

“Have you ever fancied a girl?” The question popped out before she could call it back. She turned to face him, watching as he stared at the cracked asphalt between his feet, rubbing his jaw. He took so long to reply, she wondered if he’d heard the question.

Finally he looked up. “There was a girl in Scotland. Deirdre Sinclair. She lived on the farm next to ours. We grew up together, and I always assumed we would get married someday. But things didn’t work out that way.”

“Has there been no one else?” These were terribly personal
questions, but Trevor never volunteered information about himself, and the only way she would learn the answers was to press him.

And she desperately needed to know.

He started buttoning his shirt again, and this time the flush on his face didn’t look like it came from the sun. “Not really. I’ve always been immersed in my work, and there hasn’t been time for . . . that sort of thing.”

Trevor looked so isolated as he sat there, his face pensive and somber. She knew what it felt like to be alone. Even though she was surrounded by family and people at the boardinghouse, there was a special sort of ache that came from being without a partner. She’d been living with that ache for the past four years, and now she was ready to move on. Nathan had been the love of her youth. He was funny and charming, and she adored him. Would he have grown into a man of gravity and stature? She would never know, and yet a fascinating, challenging, and impressive man was before her. When she was with Trevor, everything was more vibrant, as if the air carried an electrical charge.

“Nathan died four years ago,” she said quietly. Her knees were only inches from his, and she had to clench her hands to stop from reaching out to him. “At first I didn’t think I would ever be able to look at another man. I was wrong.”

She looked straight at Trevor. He looked like a starving man standing before a banquet. His eyes glittered. He leaned forward a few inches, and she held her breath. All he had to do was to reach out and bridge the few inches between them, and she would leap into his arms.

Please, Trevor.
We could be so good together. . . .

Trevor jerked away and snuffed out the hungry expression on his face. He stood, turning from her as he tucked the ends
of his shirt back into his trousers, then reached for his vest and coat. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat as he slung the rest of his clothes over his arm. “I’d best get back to work. Henry should have the report on the hemoglobin count by now.”

He brushed past her and walked to the doorway without a backward glance.

* * * *

In the following days, Trevor retreated behind his typically frosty demeanor. He made no mention of her mortifying advance on the rooftop, for which she was grateful. But did he have to act as if all trace of normal human warmth in his body had been surgically removed?

He was curt with Nurse Ackerman, he quit sharing meals with them at the lunch table, and he could barely look at her during their rounds. The last straw came late one afternoon when she was reading to the patients. There had been no response from their letter to Mark Twain, and with no sequel to
Tom
Sawyer
in sight, Kate began reading
Wuthering Heights
to the group. All the regulars attended the readings, although Margaret Longmire, or patient 18F in Trevor’s horrible code, was too frail to walk and had to be wheeled into the sitting area.

Kate was just about to start chapter three when Trevor strode into the clinic. “What is 18F doing out of the ward?” he demanded of Nurse Ackerman.

It was Kate’s idea to wheel Margaret out, and she was prepared to take the blame if it was a problem. She stood. “I’ve been reading
Wuthering Heights
to some of the patients. They all seem to enjoy it.”

He grabbed a file from the nurses’ station and scanned the chart. “What a stupid book. Cathy dies, and Heathcliff goes
crazy. A pointless waste of time.” He walked toward their office without even looking up from his chart.

Kate closed the book with a snap. “I’ll be back,” she muttered, and stormed after Trevor.

He seemed surprised when she burst into their office.

“Just when I think you might not be solid ice right down to your core, you always have to prove me wrong. Why did you just do that?”

“Do what?”

“Spoil the end of the book!”

“Because it’s a stupid novel. Melodramatic drivel.”

She slammed the office door, not caring about Trevor’s fussy rules for propriety. She was quite certain he wouldn’t want the royal scolding she was about to deliver overheard by all the patients.

“Let me be very clear,” she said in a firm voice. “Maybe you never learned decent manners in Scotland or India or wherever you supposedly grew up, but it isn’t too late to learn them now. The press, the hospital administration, and most of the elected officials in this city would like to see the last of you. It is time to work on becoming a warm-blooded human being. It will be a struggle, but you need to try. You are coming to dinner at my mother’s house tonight, and you will comport yourself with manners and respect.”