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Lanna sat hunched forward in the lumpy chair covered with plastic vinyl. Her hands were clasped around a Styrofoam cup of cold coffee—its contents remained untouched. Someone had brought it to her more than an hour ago. Straightening, she ran a hand over the silky thickness of her brown hair and sighed.

  Her gaze sought the nurse on duty at the window, silently questioning. The woman shook her head, indicating there was nothing to report yet. John’s condition was unchanged. John—who was J. B. Faulkner. The full impact of that still hadn’t sunk in yet. John or J. B. Faulkner, her only concern was for a friend she had brought here, regardless of his name.

  She clung to the fact that he was still alive. That, in itself, gave hope. There was no doubt that he was receiving the best of care. There was no lack of staff, equipment, or specialists to monitor his condition, an indication of the influence the name J. B. Faulkner wielded.

  The ring of the telephone drew Lanna’s attention again to the nurse on duty. She strained to hear the one-sided conversation, poised motionless in her chair.

  “Yes, Doctor. We were able to locate Mrs. Faulkner by telephone nearly two hours ago,” the nurse was saying. “She was at their ranch in northern Arizona. She’s flying in immediately by private plane.” There was a long pause. “His son? No. His housekeeper said he had gone out for the evening and she didn’t know where he could be reached. We have left a message for him to contact the hospital as soon as he returns.” Silence. “Yes, Doctor. I will.”

  When the nurse replaced the telephone receiver, Lanna set the cold cup of coffee on the table among the tattered magazines and rose quickly to cross the waiting room to the desk. Anxiety shimmered in her searching gaze.

  “That was the doctor, wasn’t it?” Lanna queried. “How is John? What did the doctor say?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Marshall. His condition is still listed as critical. I can’t give you any more information than that,” the nurse replied.

  “But surely you can be more specific,” Lanna insisted. “Is he conscious? Have they—”

  “You must understand, Miss Marshall,” the nurse interrupted firmly, “until Mr. Faulkner’s family is apprised of the situation, we cannot give out any details. Perhaps it would be best if you went home. There isn’t anything you can do here.”

  “No.” Lanna rejected the suggestion with a quick shake of her head. “I’ll wait.”

  Turning away, she retraced her path to the green plastic chair. Her head was pounding and her stomach felt quesy. Lanna didn’t know how much of the stress was due to her nerves and how much was caused by the alcohol in her system. She rubbed the spot between her forehead with the tips of her fingers, the pressure bringing little relief.

  “Please, God. Please,” she whispered a wordless prayer, her soft voice catching on a sob.

  Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, Lanna struggled to get a hold on her emotions. The waiting and feeling of uselessness were tearing at her poise, but nothing would be gained by allowing them to overwhelm her. She wished for someone to talk to, something to divert her mind from dwelling so exclusively on John’s condition. As a nurse, Lanna knew these next few hours were a crisis period. She lifted her gaze, trying to concentrate on something else.

  A couple entered her vision to claim her attention. She focused on the marked contrast between the man and the woman. It was more than just an age difference; it was much more subtle than their obvious difference in age.

  The years had treated the woman kindly. Her youthfully slim figure was still intact, fashionably clad in an apple-green skirt and matching bishop vest, complemented by a floral silk blouse. The outfit gave the impression of height to the woman’s petiteness, an effect aided by the slender heels of her shoes. They made an imperious click when she walked, demanding attention. Her light brown hair, coiffed in a sophisticatedly simple style, had been permitted to acquire an elegant frost. It was the regalness of the woman’s carriage, more than anything else, that insisted she be noticed first.

  By contrast, the man appeared almost unassuming. Noiseless like a shadow in the night, he walked abreast of the woman. His stride was smooth, each movement flowing naturally into the next. The way he seemed to glide alongside the woman led Lanna to expect his posture would be slouched. Yet his shoulders and back were straight, although there was nothing of the exaggerated military bearing about them, and his head was tipped at an angle that couldn’t be described as subservient. His air of pride was understated, attempting to impress his importance on no one, while being sure of it within himself.

  The man wasn’t competing with the older woman to be the center of attention, which was why she commanded it, even though he was head-and-shoulders taller. His clothes, too, seemed chosen not to draw attention, but the plain brown slacks and pale tan shirt could not hide the superb fitness of his lean, male body. There was a vague, unrelenting quality to his hawklike profile, his features bluntly sculpted from darkly sunbronzed skin. His hair was jet-black and waved thickly across his forehead in a careless kind of order.

  Despite his seeming indolence, Lanna sensed that the man was aware of everything around him. His gaze sought out and noted every detail of his surroundings, instinctively absorbing every sight, sound, and smell. All of these impressions registered in Lanna’s conscious mind in an abstract way, but none of them touched her. As quickly as her interest in the couple had been aroused, it was satisfied. Once again a shudder of apprehension quivered through her body as she thought about John lying somewhere in the hospital, amidst an array of tubes and monitoring devices.

  Seeking another diversion, Lanna turned and picked up the cup on the table strewn with magazines. She lifted it to her mouth and tasted its bitter coldness. In the odd way the mind has of refocusing its concern on mundane items in the face of life-and-death struggles, she began worrying whether she had turned off the burner under the water she had been heating for coffee and if she had locked her apartment door. The answers to the two questions became of prime importance to her. She had to find a telephone to call Mrs. Morgan and have her neighbor check.

  The woman paused at the desk and identified herself. “I am Katheryn Faulkner. I want to see my husband.” By her attitude and tone of voice, she indicated that she asked permission for nothing and from no one.

  Standing to one side, Hawk remained in the background and watched the nurse’s reaction to the crisp authority of Katheryn Faulkner. Flustered for an instant, both by Katheryn’s order and her obvious importance, the nurse quickly recovered.

  “One moment, please?” the nurse requested, then picked up the telephone. In a low voice, she relayed the information of their arrival to the party on the other end of the line and murmured an affirmative response. As she hung up the phone, she smiled faintly at Katheryn. “Dr. Sanderson will be here directly, Mrs. Faulkner. If you would care to have a seat—”

  The nurse never had an opportunity to complete her sentence before Katheryn was turning away from the desk, freezing the nurse into silence with her abruptness. Outwardly there was no display of emotion as she took several steps into the waiting area. For all the concern apparent in her expression, the man she was here to see could have been a stranger instead of her husband.

  But Hawk had observed the way Katheryn had gnawed at her knuckles during the flight to Phoenix from the ranch. He marveled that she had any feeling left for the man she had married. There were times when he admired her steadfast devotion to his father, and others when he found her unrequited loyalty to a man who didn’t deserve it completely foolish.

  Over the years, he hadn’t outgrown his attraction to this woman. Long ago, Hawk had stopped actively seeking any praise or affection, which would never be forthcoming from Katheryn. Her hatred for him was too deeply rooted. He was blatant evidence of her husband’s infidelity, a constant reminder that she was married to a man who cared little about her. Because of his indifference toward her, J. B. couldn’t be touched by her jealous anger or pitiful desire for his affection.


  It was from this combination of circumstances that the strange relationship between Hawk and Katheryn evolved. She was aware of Hawk’s feelings for her. There was a certain irony to wanting the attention of her husband and receiving it from his bastard. So she used Hawk, extracting her own kind of vengeance on him because she couldn’t reach her husband—as in this instance, when she had enlisted Hawk to pilot the family owned twin-engine aircraft to fly her to J. B.’s

  The request wasn’t prompted by a sense of compassion; rather, his inclusion in this moment of family crisis was designed to coldly exclude him. She wanted Hawk to be at the hospital, near his father but unable to visit him, restricted by hospital rules that would permit only members of the immediate family to see him. J. B. had never publicly or privately acknowledged Hawk as his illegitimate offspring. There was no reason to believe he might do it on his deathbed.

  Born in a Navaho hogan with no birth certificate, Hawk could not prove his identity. No, for him it would always be the word of a half-breed and his Navaho relations against that of the whites. Those whites who knew the truth would deny it—Tom Rawlins and his wife, who continued to nurture their animosity toward him because of their daughter—and the few remaining cowhands who had been working at the ranch when J. B. had been carrying on his affair with Hawk’s mother, because they were afraid of losing their jobs and being unable to find anyone else to hire them due to their advanced years and the Faulkner influence.

  However, Hawk hadn’t accompanied Katheryn because of a desire to be near his father. Even though he was aware of her motive, he was there because of Katheryn. She might need him, and he had to be there if she did.

  The almost-silent swish of the elevator doors attracted Hawk’s attention. A tall, green-coated man with thinning gray hair walked briskly toward them, his gaze lighting instantly on Katheryn. About the doctor there was an air of professional competence. Yet, beneath it, Hawk sensed an undercurrent of a man who had pitted his skills and knowledge against a problem that was beyond his solution.

  As the man drew nearer, the keenness of Hawk’s gaze dissolved into blandness. By his manner, he faded into the background of importance, assuming the role of one who served the woman he stood beside.

  “Mrs. Faulkner?” The doctor’s voice was polite and respectful, shadowed with concern. “I’m Dr. Sanderson. I’m glad you have finally arrived.”

  “How is he?” Katheryn blinked away a brief gathering of tears and kept her head high.

  “We are doing everything we can, I assure you, Mrs. Faulkner.” The doctor smoothly evaded a direct answer. “Our Cardiac Unit is one of the best in the state.”

  “I want to see him,” she stated in a voice that would not be refused.

  The doctor sliced a glance at Hawk, as if expecting him to intervene, but Hawk remained silently aloof. “Mr. Faulkner is unconscious, but naturally you may see him for a few minutes. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to him.”

  As the doctor stepped to one side to permit Katheryn to precede him, she sent Hawk a speaking glance. “Wait for me here, Hawk.” The order effectively relegated him to the role of attendant, one which he had already accepted, but he inclined his head in mute agreement.

  In the next second, she was moving forward to allow the doctor to escort her to the elevator. Hawk became aware of movement in his side vision. It was the woman he had noticed in the waiting area when they had arrived. Seconds ago, she had been at the telephone booth. Now she was hurrying to intercept the departing pair. The strain of deep concern was etched tautly in her whitened face.

  “Doctor?” Her voice was low and firmly controlled.

  When the doctor hesitated uncertainly, Katheryn openly displayed her impatience and displeasure. It only seemed to increase the physician’s unease. His gaze made a questioning and searching sweep of Katheryn’s expression, as if seeking some other reaction. His action aroused Hawk’s curiosity.

  “Nurse?” The doctor motioned to an elderly, white-uniformed woman. “Take Mrs. Faulkner up to Intensive Care. I’ll be there directly.”

  While Katheryn didn’t look pleased by the change of escorts, the young woman slowed perceptibly at the doctor’s statement. She looked immediately at Katheryn, her lips parting as if there was something she wanted to say. But Katheryn swept past her to accompany the nurse, without giving the young woman a chance to speak. The snub was forgotten almost instantly as the brunette turned to the doctor.

  “How is he? Mr. Faulkner?” She added the name as clarification and Hawk’s gaze narrowed on her. What was her interest in J. B.?

  “We are doing everything we can,” the doctor patiently repeated his earlier phrase.

  Irritation flashed in hazel eyes. “I am a nurse. I want to know his condition,” she demanded.

  “His chances are slim, Miss Marshall,” was the clipped response. “We’ve already brought him through two arrests. If there’s a third, it would be a miracle for him to survive.”

  For all her implied assurance that she could take the truth, the brunette went completely white. The shock of disbelief widened her eyes. Her mouth was open but she couldn’t get any words to come out.

  Hawk stepped forward. “Who is this woman?” The question was directed at the doctor while his gaze studied the woman who exhibited such concern about J. B. Faulkner.

  Her hair reminded him of rumpled brown velvet, attractive in its disarray. It framed a face with features that, taken individually, were not particularly striking, yet the combination of round hazel eyes, classic cheekbones, and wide mouth was definitely attractive. A simple dress of palest gold covered a figure that was slim but well rounded. Firm, thrusting breasts lifted the bodice of the dress with each breath she took. On another occasion, Hawk would have felt the stir of sexual desire upon looking at such a woman, but his present interest in her wasn’t physical.

  “Miss Marshall was with Mr. Faulkner when he had his heart attack,” Dr. Sanderson explained in a somewhat hesitant voice.

  Hawk’s jaw clenched and unclenched in a sudden surge of anger. It was an anger that was directed at his father for the obvious implication behind that explanation and the subsequent humiliation that would again be dealt to Katheryn.

  “Where was this?” His snapped question seemed to free the woman from her dazed state.

  “In my apartment,” she admitted.

  Hawk contained his violent urges and ripped his gaze from the woman to the doctor. “Have there been any inquiries from the media yet?” he demanded.

  “I know of only a couple,” the doctor replied, following his train of thought. “The hospital has only given out very sketchy reports on Mr. Faulkner’s condition. No details as yet.”

  “I will want the names of everyone who would know the circumstances. The hospital is not to give out any information concerning Mr. Faulkner. Any statement to the media will come from a member of the family. You understand, Doctor?” An iron thread of challenge ran through Hawk’s calm statement.

  “Perfectly.” There was a faint expression of relief in the doctor’s face, as if some unwanted burden had been lifted. “I will have Nurse Burroughs, at the desk, give you the names.”

  “Good. In the meantime, is there a less public place where … Miss Marshall can wait?” He paused to glance at the brunette before using her name. She appeared indifferent to the awkward situation or too numbed by the evening’s events to care about its effects on J. B.’s family.

  The physician considered Hawk’s request for an instant. “The staff lounge would afford Miss Marshall some privacy,” he suggested and gave Hawk directions to it. “There’s always a pot of coffee on. You can help yourself.”

  “Thank you.” His hand gripped her elbow. She offered no resistance when he steered her away from the doctor in the direction of the lounge.

  “If Mrs. Faulkner asks—” the doctor began.

  Releasing the Marshall woman’s arm, Hawk retraced the few steps to the doctor’s side. “Tell her I stepped out for a
moment. When the time is appropriate, Mrs. Faulkner will be informed about Miss Marshall.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave it in your hands,” the doctor agreed with a relieved smile.

  As Hawk guided the brunette past the nurse’s desk, the doctor stopped to instruct the nurse to provide Hawk with the names he required. Before he could speak, the nurse looked up.

  Her voice carried down the corridor to Hawk. “Mr. Faulkner’s son just called. He’ll be here right away.”

  Hawk registered the news with grim satisfaction. There was work to be done—and done swiftly. Chad’s imminent arrival meant there would be two to accomplish it. Certain aspects of it would require the power of the Faulkner name, which Hawk didn’t possess and couldn’t invoke. That would become Chad’s responsibility. A wry, humorless twist slanted his mouth at the thought of working hand in hand with his half-brother. It would be a first.

  Before anything could be started, Hawk needed answers to some questions so he would know exactly what they were up against. Disguising the sharpness of his gaze with the thick screen of his dark lashes, he ran a sideways glance over the woman walking with him. His fingers felt the faint tremors that continually quivered through her. The strain that whitened her face was fear. It was apparent, even to his stranger’s eye, that her fear was for the man lying somewhere in this hospital, possibly dying. It was a genuine emotion. That, Hawk didn’t doubt.

  He found the door to the staff lounge and reached in front of her to open it. The action brought him close for fleeting seconds, and Hawk caught an elusive scent of sandalwood and musk. Then he inhaled the unmistakable aroma of alcohol, identifying it a second later as champagne. Anger hardened him against the young, attractive woman who had so obviously been celebrating with his father.

  The lounge was deserted when they entered. With no care for her surroundings, the brunette wandered into the empty room. She seemed unaware that Hawk had released her arm to shut the door. His gaze made a sweeping inspection of the room, all the while keeping track of her. He spotted the coffee urn and the Styrofoam cups stacked beside it.