Chapter 8 No.8

They walked out into the cool air. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and black.

Gael gestured toward the street. "I'll get you a cab."

"You're not... driving?" Imogen asked, a flicker of that earlier suspicion returning.

"Car's in the shop," he lied smoothly. "It's an old Honda. More trouble than it's worth." He hailed a yellow taxi with an ease that felt practiced.

"Where are you staying?" he asked as the cab pulled up.

"I... I'm between places," Imogen evaded. "I have a shift at the hospital tonight. Private caretaking. I sleep there sometimes."

Gael frowned. "You're homeless."

"I'm resourceful."

"You're staying with me tonight," he said.

"We're not married yet."

"Imogen, look at you." He gestured to her shivering form. "You have no luggage. You have no coat. You're coming with me."

"I can't," she said. "I really do have a shift. It's a VIP patient at Lenox Hill. The pay is double because she's apparently a nightmare."

Gael stiffened. "Lenox Hill? Who's the patient?"

"Some rich old lady. Beatrice... something. Fuller, I think?"

Gael felt the blood drain from his face. Beatrice Fuller. His grandmother.

Of course. His grandmother went through nurses like Kleenex. She was currently recovering from eye surgery and was terrorizing the staff.

"You're taking care of Beatrice Fuller?"

"Yeah. Do you know her?"

"The name sounds familiar," Gael said, his voice tight. "Rich family. Big in... construction or something."

"Great," Imogen rolled her eyes. "Another entitled snob. Just what I need."

Gael suppressed a smile. "She's not that bad. Once you get past the yelling."

"How would you know?"

"I... read about her. In the paper."

"Well, I have to go. I can't be late." She turned to leave.

"Imogen," Gael called out.

She turned back.

"Tomorrow morning. 8 AM. City Hall. Bring whatever ID you have."

"I'll be there," she said. "And Gael?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For the job. For the arm-breaking."

"Don't mention it."