Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE WITH NO ADDRESS
“You think I can replace a trauma center in the back of a car?”
Clare’s question hung inside the SUV.
Tommy Romano made a weak sound from the rear seat.
Dominic’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But Clare had spent nine years watching people stand beside hospital beds while pretending they weren’t terrified. She knew the signs.
His shoulders were rigid.
His jaw was locked.
And his left hand kept opening and closing as though he needed to do something with it before fear found somewhere else to go.
“No,” Dominic said. “I think you can keep him alive until we reach someone who can.”
Clare looked at Tommy again.
His skin had gone gray beneath the interior lights.
That decided it.
“Get in.”
Dominic blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me. Unless one of your armed accountants knows how to assess blood loss, get in and hold him where I tell you.”
Nobody had spoken to Dominic Romano like that in years.
Clare learned this because every man standing in the rain suddenly looked fascinated by the pavement.
Dominic climbed inside.
The door slammed.
The convoy moved.
Clare immediately forgot who he was.
To her, Dominic became another pair of hands.
“Keep him awake.”
Dominic leaned toward his brother.
“Tommy.”
Tommy’s eyelids fluttered.
“Hey,” Dominic said.
There was no mafia boss in his voice now.
Only an older brother.
“Look at me.”
Tommy managed a crooked smile.
“Still ugly.”
Dominic let out something halfway between a laugh and a breath.
“Good. Insult me again.”
“Your suit…”
Tommy swallowed.
“…looks cheap.”
“It cost six thousand dollars.”
“Got robbed.”
Clare glanced at Dominic.
“Keep him talking.”
He nodded.
The SUV moved through Chicago with frightening speed.
Clare checked what she could without proper equipment.
The bleeding had slowed, but not enough to make her comfortable.
“Who put that belt on him?”
A man in the front passenger seat raised his hand reluctantly.
Clare stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations. You almost made the situation worse.”
The man looked offended.
Dominic said, “Nico.”
“What?”
“Don’t argue with the nurse.”
Clare almost corrected him.
Former nurse.
But Tommy groaned.
Everything else disappeared.
“Where are we going?”
Dominic answered, “A house.”
“I need a hospital.”
“We have a doctor.”
“You just told me you needed a nurse.”
“The doctor is waiting.”
“Then why did you hunt me down?”
Dominic looked at her.
“Because he asked for you.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
“The doctor.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Samuel Price.”
Clare knew the name.
Everybody at Lakeview did.
Samuel Price had been one of the best trauma surgeons in Chicago before disappearing from emergency medicine four years earlier.
Official explanation: retirement.
Unofficial explanation: nobody knew.
Clare stared at Dominic.
“How does Samuel Price know my name?”
“He said if Tommy couldn’t reach a hospital, find Clare Bennett.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No.”
“Are you planning to?”
“No.”
Clare glared at him.
Tommy whispered, “You two should definitely date.”
Clare stared down at him.
“Stay conscious and I’ll forgive you for that.”
The young man smiled weakly.
Dominic didn’t.
But Clare caught the smallest movement at the corner of his mouth.
Then Tommy’s eyes rolled shut.
“Tommy.”
Clare slapped his cheek lightly.
Nothing.
“Tommy!”
Dominic reached for him.
Clare blocked him.
“Give me space.”
The SUV accelerated.
For the next several minutes, Clare worked with almost nothing.
No monitor.
No IV access.
No proper trauma equipment.
Just instinct, training, and nine years of experience people at Lakeview had reduced to a paragraph about liability.
When Tommy finally opened his eyes again, Clare released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Dominic noticed.
He noticed everything.
They reached the house seventeen minutes later.
House was the wrong word.
The property stood behind iron gates on several acres near the North Shore, surrounded by old trees and security lights.
Clare expected marble.
Gold.
Armed statues.
Instead, the interior was surprisingly restrained.
Dark wood.
Cream walls.
Old photographs.
A fireplace burning in an enormous living room.
And enough armed men to invade a small country.
Dr. Samuel Price met them beside a wheeled stretcher.
He was in his sixties now, silver-haired and lean.
His eyes went straight to Clare.
“Thank God.”
Clare stared at him.
“You know me?”
“We can discuss that later.”
“You specifically sent armed men to find me.”
“And we can discuss that after Tommy is stable.”
That answer infuriated her.
It was also correct.
They moved.
For the next hour, Clare found herself inside a hidden medical suite beneath Dominic Romano’s mansion.
A fully equipped room.
Not a hospital.
But close enough that Clare immediately understood Dominic Romano lived in a world where people sometimes needed doctors without paperwork.
Price directed.
Clare assisted.
Tommy’s wound was serious, but the bullet had missed the major vessel everyone had feared was damaged.
He had lost blood.
A lot of it.
But he had a chance.
A real one.
When Price finally stepped back, Clare’s shirt was stained and her wet hair had nearly dried against her face.
“He’ll live,” Price said.
Dominic, standing behind the glass partition, closed his eyes.
Just once.
Then opened them again.
Nobody else seemed to notice.
Clare did.
Price removed his gloves.
“He owes his life to you.”
Clare shook her head.
“He owes it to luck.”
“And you.”
“I kept him alive for twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes was what he needed.”
Dominic entered.
His gaze went to his brother first.
Then Clare.
“What do you want?”
Clare frowned.
“For what?”
“Saving him.”
“Nothing.”
Dominic actually looked confused.
Clare sighed.
“I want dry socks.”
Nico coughed to hide a laugh.
Dominic looked at him.
The laugh died immediately.
“I’m serious,” Clare said. “My shoes have been soaked for two hours.”
Dominic studied her for several seconds.
“You could ask me for anything.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You know my name.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
Price stepped toward them.
“Dominic, she needs to hear this.”
Something in his tone changed the room.
Clare felt it.
Dominic did too.
“No,” he said.
Price ignored him.
“Clare, the man you saved at Lakeview three days ago—”
“Which one?”
“The cardiac arrest in Trauma Four.”
Clare remembered immediately.
A middle-aged man brought in under a false name.
No identification.
Two men waiting outside.
Dr. Weber had ordered Clare to stop intervention.
She hadn’t.
The patient survived.
That was the incident that had gotten her fired.
“What about him?”
Price’s expression became grim.
“His real name is Anthony Bell.”
Clare waited.
“And?”
Dominic answered.
“He was my accountant.”
The room went very still.
Clare looked between them.
“What does that have to do with Tommy?”
Dominic’s phone rang.
Nico checked his own at the same time.
Then every trace of humor vanished from his face.
“Boss.”
Dominic answered.
He listened for five seconds.
His gaze hardened.
“Say that again.”
Clare saw something cold return to his eyes.
The version of Dominic Romano Chicago whispered about.
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Price asked.
Dominic looked at Clare.
“Someone just broke into Lakeview Memorial.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“They weren't looking for drugs.”
He stepped closer.
“They broke into Human Resources.”
Clare suddenly thought of the termination packet.
Her personnel records.
Her address.
Everything.
“What did they take?”
Dominic’s answer was quiet.
May you like
“Your file.”
And upstairs, somewhere beyond the hidden medical room, an alarm began to scream.
