He sat at the bar sipping his second glass of Johnny Walker Blue, searching for the courage he needed to do the unthinkable. Unthinkable? Wasn’t there a word in the English language that would more accurately describe what he was about to do? He let the smooth Scotch reward his taste buds before taking a long, silky swallow. At two hundred dollars a bottle, it was worth every penny. Thinking about the events over the last several weeks, the life-changing letter he’d received from GAFF, the Global A-Fib Foundation, he couldn’t believe what he was about to do. But what choice did he have? They had driven him to this crossroad. Here he sat, sipping Scotch at Tony’s Bar & Grill as if it were happy hour on a Friday afternoon, when in reality, his intentions were far from lighthearted banter with his colleagues. Although he had worked with hundreds of volunteers, Julian’s research findings were still limited. He had explored every possible solution, but no other option could solve his problem. His only hope to complete the research was to work on live subjects with no limitations. The decision had not come easily. After all, he was a healer, an esteemed cardiologist, not a murderer. But drastic situations often call for drastic remedies.
When he received the certified letter, at first he thought that the board of directors at GAFF were satisfied with the data from his research and had approved the ten-million-dollar grant. The first two paragraphs brought him to his knees.
“Our committee painstakingly reviewed your research data and the statistics associated with the controlled study to develop new surgical treatments for atrial fibrillation. Although groundbreaking in some respects, we found the data insufficient to approve your grant. To be specific, the test results you submitted that support modifications to the current catheter ablation and Maze III procedures are incomplete, and we do not agree with your findings that the use of amiodarone in doses less than 200 milligrams can be effective. In light of your impressive efforts, however, we are pleased to offer you a six-month extension to complete and resubmit additional findings, at which time we will reevaluate.
“Enclosed please find a comprehensive summary of the data we require to reconsider your application.”
Two years of long workdays, sleepless nights, neglecting his family, and setback after setback, and all he had to show for his efforts was a two-page letter that undermined his hard work.
After carefully reading the comments detailing the additional data they required, Julian concluded that he would need eight subjects to fulfill the GAFF request. At first, he had thought about using his own patients. After all, he archived every detail of their medical histories and could hand-select each of them based on specific parameters. But what would happen if his patients went missing, and the police investigated and connected the dots? He would be the common denominator. No, he did not have the luxury to select perfect specimens. Having no other choice, he had to rely on instincts and random selection in his search for ideal subjects. However, through the strategic use of medication and careful surgical procedures, he could produce just about any symptom or condition he needed to compile the data he sought.
Julian didn’t feel comfortable sitting in this bar. He was out of his element. But he thought of it as a means to an end. The popular hot spot in the Gaslamp District of downtown San Diego pulsed with a rowdy crowd and made it easier for him to remain inconspicuous—just a face in the crowd.
He remembered when the Gaslamp District was little more than vacant, boarded-up buildings and a collection of drunks littering the streets. Now completely revitalized with renovated hotels, jazz clubs, trendy boutiques, and sidewalk cafes—not to mention PETCO Park, the new ballpark for the San Diego Padres—the area buzzed with activity.
Just forty-two years old, Julian hoped he hadn’t lost his charm. In years past, women gravitated to him like steel to a magnet. Back in college, his smile and vivid blue eyes never failed to yield an eager companion. But that was twenty years ago, and no man can preserve his youthful appearance forever. Besides, he no longer had the physique of an athlete.
He made eye contact with a blonde woman sitting a few barstools away and presented his best smile, hoping that she’d respond. Married for over a decade, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to meet women in a bar. Seemingly shy, the blonde looked away, took a long sip of a martini, and continued talking to another woman. When their eyes met again, he held up his glass and gestured toward her, offering a cordial salute. Then for the next few minutes, he glanced at her every few seconds and caught her looking his way, presumably wanting to continue with their innocent flirting.
He waited patiently, hoping she would approach him. Lost in his thoughts, he felt someone gently clutch his shoulder, and when he turned to look, he was happy to see the blonde standing next to him, noticeably nervous.
“I was hoping you’d come over,” he said, delighted that she was young, relatively slim, and appeared to be healthy. He wanted to say, “Do you mind if I listen to your heart with my stethoscope to be sure everything’s okay?”
“Oh, really?” the blonde said, with both hands parked on her hips.
“Didn’t you get my signal?” he said.
“Well, I’m standing here, so I guess I got something.”
He offered a handshake. “My name is Julian.”
She firmly grasped his hand and pumped his arm. “Genevieve.”
“Pretty name.” Acting totally poised while his gut churned uncontrollably, he motioned for the bartender. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m already past my limit.”
“And what happens when you exceed it?”
“I’ll never tell.”
He sipped his drink. “Should I feel guilty that you abandoned your friend to talk to me?”
“She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
“So, how often do you dump your girlfriends and pick up strange men?”
She set her small clutch purse on the bar and laughed. “Counting tonight?”
He nodded.
“This is my first.”
This, he doubted. “Why me?”
“You look…interesting.”
“And I should be flattered?”
“You damned well better be.” She pointed to the crowd. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are lots of possibilities here.”
“You’re feisty, Genevieve. I like that in a woman.”
“What else do you like in a woman?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question.” He ordered another Scotch and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. He could barely keep his hands from shaking. “Sure you wouldn’t like another?”
“No thanks.”
The bartender poured his drink and Julian took a sip. “So what’s your gig, Genevieve? Are you a fashion model or a promising actor?”
“First year of law school.”
“Impressive.” He smiled like a bashful schoolboy. “I don’t impress easily.”
“It’s not that big a deal. Attorneys are a dime a dozen these days.”
“Where are you headed with your legal career?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet. I’m kinda leaning toward corporate law.” She curled her long hair around her fingers. “I know. It’s boring.”
“Hey, if it moves you, go for it.” His confidence was building and he felt more relaxed.
“How about you, Julian? What’s your deal?”
He hadn’t prepared for such a question and had to think fast. “I dabble in real estate.”
“Dabble?”
“I buy. I sell. I make a bundle. I lose a bundle.”
“Sounds risky.”
“Only when you lose more than you win.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes, their eyes doing most of the talking.
He’d been told by many of the single doctors he worked with that younger women these days were easy. Time to find out. “Are you a betting woman, Genevieve?”
“If going to Barona Casino and playing the slots is betting, then I guess I am.”
“How would you like to make a small wager—just for kicks and giggles?”
“What kind of wager?” Her eyes were markedly suspicious.
“Twenty bucks says you’ll be sipping a glass of wine at my place by eleven thirty tonight.”
“You already lost, Julian. Where’s my twenty bucks?”
“I’m not following you.”
She grinned. “I don’t drink wine.”
“Okay, you’ve got me there. Let me rephrase. I’ll wager one portrait of Andrew Jackson that you’ll be sitting in my apartment by eleven thirty.”
“You’re pretty damned sure of yourself, Buster.”
Actually, he wasn’t, and regretted this approach. But he couldn’t back down now. “Sure enough to wager twenty dollars.”
“Are you trying to make me walk out that door?”
“We both know you’re not going to do that.”
“Oh, really? Why’s that?”
“Cause we’re having too much fun.”
“My God. You’re unbelievable.” She snatched her purse off the bar. “Maybe your cocky bullshit charms other women, but…” She shook her head and turned to walk away.
This was his last shot. “Look me in the eyes, Genevieve, and tell me you really want to leave.”
“Are you always this arrogant?”
“It’s not arrogance. It’s honesty. Why do we have to play some childish game of cat and mouse? If you weren’t attracted to me, you wouldn’t have approached me. And if I wasn’t interested, the conversation would have been over in a New York minute. You like me and I like you. So why don’t we take it to the next level?”
“Next level? I don’t even kiss on a first date and you want to make a wager about getting me in bed?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant. I’ve been around long enough to read between the lines. Do I look like some cheap tramp?”
“No, Genevieve. You look like a woman who never lets her guard down.”
She couldn’t suppress her smile. “So, it’s that obvious, huh?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I see what I see.”
“It’s tough out here,” she motioned toward the crowd. “Lots of assholes.”
Right now, he felt like an asshole. “If I offended you, I’m sorry. Alcohol doesn’t bring out my charming side. How about giving me another chance?”
It appeared that she was considering his request. But then, she offered her hand. “It’s been…interesting, Julian. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again some time when alcohol hasn’t dampened your charm. And if there is a next time, you might want to consider toning it down a bit.”
“So you’re leaving?”
“You can bet your last pair of knickers on it.”
“Do I at least get an innocent kiss goodbye?”
“I don’t think there’s anything innocent about you. You really don’t let up, do you?”
“Not with a woman like you.”
“Okay, will you settle for a peck on the cheek?”
“Not what I was hoping for, but sure.”
She leaned toward him and pressed her lips against his cheek. She was just about to pull away when Julian grasped her shoulders. Their eyes met, faces only inches apart. He moved toward her and kissed her softly on the mouth. “My apartment is only a few blocks away.”
Unable to believe how effortless it had been to pick up Genevieve, or more accurately, how easily she had picked him up, Julian led her to his rental car. They got into a pearl-white Cadillac CTS and headed for the loft apartment he had rented only a few weeks ago. Four blocks away from Tony’s Bar & Grill, it took only minutes to arrive. Julian hadn’t kissed another woman in over ten years. As much as he wished the kiss hadn’t fazed him, he was terribly excited and hated himself for feeling this way.
Genevieve pawed through her oversized purse. “Mind if I text my friend, Katie? I feel a little guilty that I left her at the bar.”
“And what are you going to tell her?”
“Not to wait for me.”
Julian couldn’t be more pleased. He pushed the remote and the security gate lifted so he could park the Cadillac in the dimly lit underground garage. His was the only car.
“This is a little spooky, Julian,” Genevieve said, her fingers dancing on the cell phone keypad.
“Sorry. The garage does look like a dungeon. I’ve completely renovated the building. But I haven’t had time to deal with the garage yet. It seems less important than the rest of the place. My loft spans the entire second floor, and I don’t mind saying that it’s remarkable. The architects who rent the lower level are rarely here, so I pretty much have the place to myself. It’s hard to find that kind of privacy in downtown San Diego.”
They stepped into the elevator and the moment the door closed, Julian’s arms were around her and he kissed her long and hard. This had not been his intention, not part of the plan. His actions were purely of a primal nature. He almost forgot why he’d brought her to his loft.
It’s the alcohol, Julian. Stay on task.
She backed away slightly, nearly out of breath.
Julian recognized that he was heading down a dangerous path. What was he thinking? If he wasn’t careful, he could easily get distracted. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize his research in any way. But kissing this lovely, young woman so passionately brought back images of Rebecca and Marianne, visions of the dark shed behind their house, and of the game they had forced him to play so many years ago, a game that helped mold his sexuality.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“I’m a very impatient man.”
“Can we slow down just a bit?”
The reality of it all was unfolding in a way he hadn’t imagined. He never thought he’d get sidetracked. But images of sexual grandeur tugged at his conscience. He had to remain focused on his only goal: recognition for his breakthrough research. He could not afford to lose sight of his primary objective.
Her knees nearly buckled at a vision of Julian making love to her. She’d been with her share of men, some inhibited and insecure, others like charging bulls. But she felt certain Julian was a different breed, and guessed that soon she’d be in his bed. She felt inexplicably attracted to him. Out-of-control attracted to him. So much so, that she’d abandoned all reason. As much as she wanted to ravish him, that little voice in the back of her head waved a red flag.
She had not been truthful with him. He wasn’t the first man she’d picked up in a bar. Far from it. But unlike with other men where she was merely looking for a wild evening with no strings attached, with Julian she wanted more. Genevieve could not fathom why—she hardly knew him—but of this fact she was sure. She imagined meeting him for coffee, sharing a romantic dinner, taking long walks on the beach—all the corny things she’d seen in a hundred chick-flicks. She could also see him clearing off the dining room table, tearing off her clothes, throwing her down, and taking her. But if she gave him what he wanted tonight, there might not be flowers, or candy, or courting. It puzzled her that at such an early juncture she fantasized about a storybook outcome. Something about Julian set her heart ablaze.
For a moment, she thought about coming up with a believable excuse of why she had to leave. When the elevator door opened, long before she had a chance to step out, Julian’s arms surrounded her again, but this time he kissed her gently. It wasn’t like his last kiss. It was more of a first-date kiss, with an all-consuming intensity.
“Welcome to my humble abode.”
The spacious loft was anything but humble. It looked like something you might see on the cover of House & Garden magazine. From the Brazilian cherry floors to the granite countertops and gourmet kitchen to the Ethan Allen furnishings, it looked like a hip loft you might find in SoHo, New York.
“Humble isn’t quite the adjective I would choose to describe this place,” Genevieve said.
“Charming, isn’t it? How about a little snifter of Bailey’s or Grand Marnier? Just to take the edge off.”
She certainly needed to take the edge off. She remembered what he’d admitted about alcohol and his behavior. “Are you having one?”
“I’m already past my limit.”
“In that case I’ll have just a whisper of Bailey’s, please. On ice.”
Julian pointed to the Victorian sofa. “Make yourself comfy while I get the drinks.”
He went into the kitchen to the wet bar where he kept a generous assortment of wines and liquor. Julian kept his back to her and spoke over his shoulder while doctoring her drink. “Would you like a snack—crackers and cheese, bruschetta with some crusty bread, Godiva chocolate?”
“Mmm. How could anyone turn down Godiva?”
He put a few ice cubes in her snifter, added some Bailey’s, and stirred her drink to be sure the potent drug dissolved. He sat next to her on the sofa, handed her the drink, and set the box of truffles on the cocktail table. He gestured toward her with a glass of sparkling water.
“To you, Genevieve. May all your dreams come true.”
Julian stood over Genevieve, alarmed that she was still sound asleep. She hadn’t so much as uttered a sound. Had he miscalculated the amount of sedative he’d given her when he had spiked her drink? As he was about to check her vital signs, she moaned, turned her head, and opened her eyes.
“Welcome back,” Julian said. He smiled warmly, then turned away from her and adjusted the flow on the IV bag. When finished, he sat on the edge of the bed. Genevieve turned her head away from Julian and he noticed her gaze at the video camera mounted on a tripod.
Her voice barely audible, she whispered, “Why are you doing…this?”
“I don’t have a choice, Genevieve.”
“You…do have a choice. You can cut these damned straps…give me my clothes…and let me go.”
“I’m afraid we’re beyond the point of no return.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“The wheels of fate are already in motion.”
This was now a game of riddles. “What did you do to me…while I was unconscious?”
“I undressed you and covered you with a sheet.”
“You raped me, didn’t you? Videotaped yourself…fucking me.”
“I’m not a rapist.”
“Then why am I naked?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re a fucking liar!”
“If I had raped you, you’d know it. Wouldn’t you sense that your body was violated?”
“I can’t even see straight. How would I know if you—?”
“Your anger is only going to make it more difficult.”
Genevieve began to sob. “Please…don’t hurt me. Please let me go.”
He stood up and walked to the corner of the room. Several minutes later, Julian returned to her bedside wheeling an LCD screen mounted on a steel pole with tripod legs and squeaky wheels.
“Is that a…heart monitor?” she asked.
He sat on the corner of the bed and gently stroked her arm. “Have you ever heard the quote, ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’?”
She shook her head.
“Spock said that in one of the Star Trek movies. But he plagiarized. Aristotle, in a much more complex and philosophical way, said basically the same thing thousands of years ago.”
“What does Spock’s quote have to do with anything?”
“Unfortunately, Genevieve, you represent the few.”