Curing Doctor Vincent (The Good Doctor Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter
Three

Paris

The crowd outside my apartment parted
with reluctance. Microphones appeared in front of my mouth, but just like every
other year, silence was my only response to their constant inquiries. My father
played the media just like he played his family and his victims, dragging out
his death sentence for as long as possible with the promise of another victim’s
name on the anniversary of his yearly hunting trips. And to think, we assumed
he hunted deer. I refused to play his game. Dr. Vincent’s invitation couldn’t
have come at a better time.

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean,
anxiety hit. What did I forget to pack? Did I pack enough underwear? And what
was so important that I had to leave tonight? Sixteen hours later, after
security, customs, and a delayed flight, the plane touched down in Paris.

After traversing the airport for a solid
twenty minutes, I spotted a gentleman with salt and pepper hair
dressed
in a black uniform
holding up a
sign with ‘Elaine Watkins’ written in shaky script. I moved to stand in front
of him.

“Elaine?” The thick French accent blended
the two syllables of my name as though they were silk and satin. Such a
beautiful language.

I nodded and he grabbed my bags.

His
long
legs
made
his stride swift, and I struggled to keep up. We stepped
outside of baggage claim in front of a black stretch limo. He opened the door
for me.

As my bottom slid across the smooth
leather seat, I looked up into the older man’s hazel eyes. “Where are we going?”

“
Pardon,
mademoiselle. Je ne parle pas anglais
,” he said with a shake of his head,
shrug of his shoulders and his hands spread.

I smiled. “Wonderful.”

I prayed the ride would be short, but no
such luck. As the scenery passed by and we navigated the narrow streets,
the dancing lights of the city were a great distraction.
Soon the city gave way to scenic French countryside; small farms with stone
barns dotted the hills.

After more than an hour of driving, the
sun had set, and in a faint glow of moonlight, we arrived at a large security
gate. The driver pushed a button, muttered something in French and the gate
opened. Another half-mile down a winding narrow road, a large structure emerged
from the darkness.

The driver parked the car
in
front
of
a large, gothic, stone mansion. Beautiful
gray stonework formed an elegant archway leading to iron and stained glass
doors. Light from inside the building made the cut roses and ivy shimmer. The
breathtaking architecture emanated history and wealth.

After opening my door, he waved me toward
the stoop. I took his cue. He placed my bags on the walk beside me and returned
to the car.
I raised my fist
to knock, but the door opened before I could. Dr. Vincent welcomed me
instead of a butler. I
never expected to see him outside of a work event. His casual, yet
expensive-looking, shirt and jeans made him look so approachable. Why was he
here? A better question…why was I?

“Good evening, Elaine.” He reached down,
took my hand and kissed the back of it.

“Ah… Good evening…Dr. Vincent.” I managed
to smile through the nerves. This was very different than seeing him in his
professional environment.

His furrowed brow drove away his
welcoming expression. “Something wrong?”

I glanced around, taking in the hand cut
stones that framed the threshold. The place must have cost a fortune. Pushing
away my disconcertion, I replied, “No, nothing is wrong, Doctor.”

He reached for my bags, but my hands beat
him to the handles. This was the great Dr. Vincent. There was no way he was
taking my bags.

He paused. “Elaine, may I take your
baggage?”

“I’m OK. I’ll just keep them with me
until I leave for the hotel.”

“Did you honestly think I would have you
come all this way to sleep in a hotel?
You
are my guest and will stay here.
Unless of course
it’s not to your—”

“No. No. It’s perfect.” But certainly
unexpected.

He reached for my bags again and this
time I released my grip and allowed him to take them. He smiled and nodded his
approval. “I will only be a moment.” He led us into the foyer.

As he walked away, I wound my arms around
my chest and gazed up to see the massive cathedral ceiling decorated with
shadows cast by the crystal chandelier. I took a deep breath, clenched and
unclenched my hands. Not only was I standing in pure opulence,
I
was
the guest of the gorgeous man who’d saved my sister’s life.
Much
more than a celebrit
y,
he was a saint.

It didn’t take long before he appeared in
the archway to the foyer.

He walked behind me, grabbed the shoulders
of my coat and coaxed it down my arms. He spoke in soft
tones, so close to my ear I felt his breath.

“Thank you for traveling all this way.”
The scent of spicy cologne soothed
me
—utter masculinity. Too wrapped up in my work and
my father’s nonsense, it had been years since I had been this close to a man. I
couldn’t afford to feel such things for the good doctor. Not only were there
professional boundaries, but he was married.

“If I hadn’t made the trip, I would have
never had the chance to see your magnificent home.”

He smoothed my sleeves, his hands pausing
for a moment on my biceps. He then stepped in front of me, draped my coat over
his arm and motioned me forward. We made our way into the mahogany paneled great
room.

“Well, thank you, but this is all my wife’s
doing. I have much simpler tastes.”

The large room, with a roaring fire in
the oversized stone hearth, was accented by a burgundy and cream color palette
reminiscent of royalty. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a large velvet
brocade chair.
He waited as
I scooted back in the chair and straightened my skirt. “Do you prefer red or
white?”

“Excuse me?” I was such a bundle of
nerves. What the hell was I doing here? The situation was surreal.

“Wine, my dear. Do you prefer red or
white? Or maybe I’ve read you wrong and you’d like something a little stronger.”
He smiled.

This was going to be the longest week of
my life. I wasn’t the nervous type, but the doctor evoked strange responses
from me. “Red, please.”

He winked. “That’s what I thought.” With
my coat in hand, he headed back into the foyer.

The warmth of the fire felt wonderful,
almost too soothing, as jet lag and exhaustion overcame me. It wouldn’t look
good if I fell asleep. The wine was not a good idea, but how could I refuse?
The
last time I tried to refuse him, I failed.

Moments later he returned with two
glasses and handed one to me. “Here
,
my dear.” He made sure I had a firm grasp
before releasing the glass. “
Romanée
Conti
.”

“I’m sorry…?”

“
Romanée
Conti
is one of the finest
pinot
noirs
in all of France.”

“I don’t know my French wines, sorry.” I
took a sip and allowed the flavor to coat my lower lip and tongue. Delicious.

He watched me, eyes fixated on my mouth.

“It’s wonderful.” I licked my lip, not
allowing any to go un-savored.

“I’m glad you approve. My wife was the
connoisseur.” He fiddled with the ring on his left ring finger.

“Is she going to join us?”

He took a seat in the chair opposite me,
sighed and crossed his legs. He looked deep into his glass of wine, running his
finger around the rim. “No. I’m sorry. She passed away a few years ago.”

“I am so sorry.” Nice way to stick my
foot in my mouth.

“Everything you see here, including who I
am, is all her doing.”

Now he really had my attention. I sat
forward in the chair, dangling my wine over the arm.

“What happened?” Ever since I uncovered
my father’s treachery, my curiosity and suspicion often times compelled me to
ask more questions than were socially appropriate. A pained look crossed his
face. “If you don’t mind me asking
?
I don’t want to bring up old memories.”

He exhaled a long breath and leaned back
in his chair. “No, it’s OK.” He paused. “It was the cancer. I wasn’t able to
save her in time, but her death fueled my focus. I hunted the horrid disease
until it could no longer hide.”

“Again, I’m so sorry about…”

“Lydia.”

“Yes…Lydia
.
I can’t
thank you enough for what you did for my sister and my family. Her death was
not in vain.” Guilt hit. I’d benefited from her death.

“That’s what keeps me going.” His face
brightened for a moment. “I’m close to isolating another.”

“Fantastic news. Is that why I’m here?
Are you preparing to go to market?”

He looked down at his hands. “Not
exactly. You are not here on business. I probably should have explained sooner.”

Now that was news. I sat up straight. “I’m
afraid I don’t understand.”

“I suspect not. It’s not the kind of
thing one can place in a letter. But the moment I saw you in Kansas City…”

Kansas City? Oh no. I had almost forgotten
he’d said he had been there. That moment in time where everything I had worked
for left to join my childhood. “Doctor, my behavior in Kansas City was
inappropriate. My apologies, but I don’t think I understand.”

He smiled. “No need to apologize. After
your speech, I had to get to know you. I need you.”

I laughed and looked down, trying to hide
my schoolgirl blush. The great Dr. Vincent needed me? There were many ways I’d
love for him to need me. Surely, I wasn’t in Paris to walk his cat? I toyed
with a button on my suit jacket and cleared my throat. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you know what my wife did for a
living?”

“No. There isn’t much written about you,
or her from a personal perspective. I didn’t even know she had passed.”

He smiled. “Did your homework, did you,
Ms. Watkins?”

The playful tone in his voice was
welcome, given the heaviness of the conversation. “I tried, but you don’t give
up much.”

“You’re right. Before I started doing
cancer research, I was a successful, practicing neuropsychiatrist.
Understanding how behavior and brain function relate is the key to solving many
debilitating psychiatric illnesses. But when working so closely with patients,
keeping one’s private life concealed is essential. Some patients can make
unhealthy connections because, to understand why they do what they do, you must
know their secrets.”

“I can imagine. Was it a hard jump from
private practice to research?”

“Yes. I miss the patient interaction. The
way the human mind works fascinates me. Did you know people wear their ethics
on their sleeves? Most don’t look for it, but I can tell when someone is
trustworthy.”

If only I’d had that skill, lives might
have been saved.

He took a sip of wine and the slightest
bit dripped onto his chin. He lifted
it
with his finger, placed the droplet on his tongue
and sucked his finger into his mouth. “You are trustworthy.”

I pretended not to notice, but warmth
ignited between my legs. The man was sex in a suit—sensual without even
meaning to be. Knowing he wasn’t married somehow opened a world of
possibilities I’d never considered.

He leaned forward, directing his full
attention at my rosy cheeks.

His words finally pulled me from my
daydream. “Huh? Oh… Really?”

“Yes. Why do you think there is so little
written about me? It isn’t that people don’t know my secrets. It’s because I
only impart them to those who would never betray me.”

“You’ll have to teach me that trick. It
might have saved me a lot of heartache.”
I turned my focus to the
crackling fire in the hearth.

He laughed. “Ah… Matters of the heart are
tricky. I find it best to avoid them. But don’t be hard on yourself. The closer
you are to someone the less perceptive we become. Perhaps you’ll leave here knowing
a little more about yourself than you did when you got here.”

I met his gaze. “I’m learning already.”

“Good. Are you tired? It was a long
flight.” He reached down into the side of the chair and
pulled
out a folder previously
obscured
by the cushions and sat it on his lap.

“I am, but there’s no way I can sleep
until you tell me why I’m here?”

“Curious? Are you looking to open Pandora’s
box? You know, not every box is filled with disaster. Some contain the world’s
greatest treasures.” He smiled.