Dear Reader,

This is my second involvement in an eight-book series, and while in some ways it’s much, much harder than writing solo in other ways it’s so much fun. Writing is normally such a solitary occupation—a bit like being an only child—whereas being part of a series is like being part of a large family. Not only do the other authors become my family, but our characters develop and grow together on the pages and form relationships that carry across all the stories.

I cannot wait to read the completed series and revisit my characters to see if they have managed to keep hold of their HEA :).

I really hope you enjoy a taste of LA glamour!

Happy reading,

Emily

EMILY FORBES is an award-winning author of Medical Romances for Mills & Boon. She has written over 25 books and has twice been a finalist in the Australian Romantic Book of the Year Award, which she won in 2013 for her novel Sydney Harbour Hospital: Bella’s Wishlist. You can get in touch with Emily at emilyforbes@internode.on.net or visit her website at emily-forbesauthor.com.

Falling for the Single Dad
(The Hollywood Hills Clinic, Book 2)
Emily Forbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Amanda, Ali and Sarah.

Thank you all for an amazing thirty-plus years of friendship. Together we somehow survived our teenage years, the fashions of the eighties, cross-country moves, marriages, babies and now our own teenagers! As we begin to celebrate another round of milestone birthdays I’ve been thinking about the incredible memories we’ve created along the way and how lucky I am to have such ‘old’ friends.

With love xx

Contents

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE HOLLYWOOD SIGN flashed intermittently into Abi’s peripheral vision as she wound her way up into the Hollywood Hills. Her heart rate accelerated as she drew closer to her destination and she felt her palms go clammy as her nervousness increased a notch or two. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, not wanting her hands to slip as she fought back the wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn’t expected to feel quite so terrified today. She’d rehearsed this, she’d prepared for this. She could do this.

She had debated about catching a cab for her first day but had decided that if she could drum up the courage to drive that would give her the freedom that waiting for a taxi wouldn’t, and in order to prepare she’d done a trial run yesterday with Jonty. She’d needed to know where she was going and she’d needed to make sure it was safe. Bringing Jonty yesterday had given her courage and confidence but today she was travelling solo.

One more corner to go and then she was able to turn off the steep, winding road into the staff parking area for The Hollywood Hills Clinic. The iconic Hollywood sign loomed large above her again, its fresh white paint stark against the dull green and brown of the hillside and the shrubby flora that sprouted there. She swiped her card at the gate and waited nervously for it to open. The staff car park was secure, fenced and gated, and she was relieved to see the addition of good lighting and CCTV cameras. She breathed a sigh of relief as she squeezed her second-hand, two-door, soft-top 4x4 between two immaculately shiny sports cars.

She took a moment to sit quietly in her car as she summoned up the nerve to get out of the vehicle. It had taken all her courage to get into her car this morning and now that she was here she needed to find some more. Starting a new job and meeting new colleagues was going to test her limits. She was in the rebuilding phase, trying to cope with the stress of life, and anything unexpected could, and often still did, unsettle her. She needed to find the strength to get out of her car. She closed her eyes and rehearsed the process her psychologist had taught her. She imagined herself walking—no, not walking, striding—confidently into the building and introducing herself to her new colleagues. It would be fine. She could do this. This was a safe environment. She had a plan and she had to believe things would go accordingly.

She gathered her bag, took a deep breath and opened her door very carefully, mindful of the pristine paintwork of the car beside her. She’d made it this far this morning, she’d found the strength to negotiate the LA traffic and now she was here. She held a conversation with herself in her head as she stepped out into the morning sun and followed the sign to the clinic. A short path took her to the front of the building and as she rounded the corner the vista took her breath away.

The view was incredible. The crisp, blue February sky was clear of smog, just one of the bonuses of winter, and she could see over Los Angeles out to the coast where the Pacific Ocean shimmered in the morning sun. She turned her attention to the building itself. It was long and low, sleek and white. A massive wall of windows, shiny and gleaming, faced west, taking in the stunning view, and a semicircular driveway swept around in front of the glass separated from the building by a wide plaza bordered by sculpted, orderly, perfectly manicured gardens and hedges.

There was a low, unobtrusive sign of silver lettering on a white background that read ‘The Hollywood Hills Clinic’ in front of the building. Despite its name, the overall impression that she got was that she was about to step into a five-star resort, not a medical clinic. The sign didn’t need to be large. Everyone who arrived here knew exactly where they were. No one’s arrival at the clinic would be unplanned or unscheduled.

Her job interview had been conducted by phone and although she’d been on the internet and done her homework on the clinic and its management, nothing had prepared her for the reality. The first impression, from the exterior of the building alone, was definitely one of privilege, wealth and exclusivity.

Abi could see her reflection in the glass facade as she approached the front entrance and she self-consciously straightened her navy jacket and made sure her shirt was tucked into her pencil skirt. Her civilian clothes felt unfamiliar. The fabric was slippery and light compared to the thicker, more robust fabric of her army uniform and tended not to stay in place quite so firmly. Her low heels clicked on the pavers as she crossed the plaza area and she wondered if she was underdressed. If the luxury cars parked in the staff car park were any indication, she suspected her colleagues were going to be a hell of a lot more sophisticated than her. She suddenly felt like a country bumpkin on her first day in the big city.

You grew up in LA, she reminded herself. You can do this. You are an excellent doctor, you will be a valuable member of staff.

She didn’t have to fit in; she just had to do a good job. She needed a job, this job, as her money wasn’t going to last for ever and her psychologist had suggested, rather strongly, that it was time for her to start testing her reserves and her limits.

As the glass doors slid open Abi noticed a helicopter landing pad positioned at the far end of the building. It wasn’t on the roof, neither was it tucked away discreetly out of sight, but instead it sat out the front, making a bold declaration that this was a place for the privileged and wealthy. Were people planning on making a statement as they arrived? That wouldn’t surprise her given the sensational appearance of the clinic itself. The building alone certainly looked as though it was out to make a statement. Time would tell her what that statement was.

An expansive, modern foyer greeted her. A reception desk stood at one end in front of a wide window that looked out to the city below and on the opposite side of the foyer was a large courtyard with a central water feature and several oversized sculptures. More sculptures were displayed in the foyer itself and artworks hung from the walls. The look was reminiscent of a contemporary art gallery that had been merged with a very expensive and exclusive hotel. The artworks were beautifully lit and the foyer was sleek and modern.

She approached the reception desk, which was a long slab of marble. An enormous flower arrangement was positioned at one end and two chandeliers hung above it. The more Abi saw, the more the clinic looked like a five-star hotel—six-star, even, if there was such a thing. There wasn’t much to indicate it was a medical facility. Even the woman behind the desk looked as if she had stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her hair was styled in a neat bob and her make-up had been expertly applied, and Abi felt more and more like the country cousin who expected to be evicted for not being glamorous enough.

She tried to ignore her misgivings as she introduced herself to the receptionist and explained that Freya Rothsberg was expecting her. Abi knew the clinic was owned by Freya and her brother, James. James was a world-renowned reconstructive surgeon who specialised in cosmetic surgery, and, from what Abi had discerned, Freya was responsible for the PR side of things. Freya had interviewed Abi over the phone but they were yet to meet.

‘Welcome!’ a woman called out loudly from several feet away. This must be Freya. She was about Abi’s age, thirty or thereabouts, and of similar height, but that was about the extent of any resemblance. The closer Freya got the more the differences between them multiplied. Freya gave the immediate impression of someone who belonged here in the sun-kissed glamour of LA and the Hollywood Hills. She had a mane of dark hair that fell over her shoulders in natural surfer-chick waves. Her blue eyes were shining and her skin had a light tan, even at the end of winter. She had the typical LA cheerleader look—fit, trim and toned—and Abi doubted anything would have ever gone wrong in Freya Rothsberg’s life.

In contrast to Freya’s glowing Californian beauty Abi felt like a pale imitation of an LA woman, even though she had been born and bred here. Her dark brown hair with mahogany lights was cut just below her chin and had been softly feathered to frame her oval face. Her porcelain skin always looked like it had never seen the sun and Abi had never felt particularly pretty or noticeable. Her best, most striking feature were her eyes and she noted Freya’s double-take when their eyes met as they introduced themselves. Abi was used to that reaction from people. Her eyes were a deep, rich amber, much like the glass eyes often found on a child’s teddy bear. They were an unusual colour and she knew that was what people remembered about her.

‘Hello, I’m Freya Rothsberg,’ she said as she shook Abi’s hand firmly. ‘It’s so nice to meet you! I hope you’ll love it here at The Hills. Hold on one moment,’ she said, ‘there’s someone I want to introduce you to.’ A man entered the foyer and Freya called out to him. ‘Damien!’

The man started walking towards them and Abi’s first thought was that he was absolutely divine to look at. There was no other word to describe him. Was there no end to the beauty in this place?

He had designer stubble, brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, and a full head of black hair, short and spiky. He was tall, lean and looked like a model. His black suit might have been tailor-made for him rather than off the rack. No tie, open-collar shirt. Incredibly smooth, unlined skin.

‘Abi,’ Freya said as he reached them, ‘this is Damien Moore, chief of reconstructive surgery.’

Abi recognised his name. This gorgeous man was her new boss. She found herself looking for telltale signs of plastic surgery and hoping not to find any, hoping it was just good genes because, despite working in the industry, she didn’t find narcissistic men attractive. Not that she should care about what Damien Moore did with his body or his spare time.

‘Damien, this is Abi Thompson, the new addition to your surgical team.’

‘Dr Thompson.’ He greeted her with a slight nod of his handsome head. Everything about him was dark and intense. Serious. He sounded totally controlled or was he just underwhelmed? Abi’s lack of confidence made her question his expression before she could tell herself to relax. There was no reason for him to be unimpressed. He extended his hand but as Abi took it she felt a sharp shock as if there was a massive amount of static electricity between them. She felt as if her hand had been burnt and she withdrew it quickly, almost snatching it away, and resisted the temptation to check her palm for redness.

‘You’re a reconstructive and plastic surgeon?’ he asked, apparently oblivious to the shock. Had he not felt it? ‘Fully qualified?’ he added, and Abi felt herself bristling.

What the hell did he mean by that?

‘Of course,’ she replied.

‘Your résumé is very extensive.’

Was he accusing her of lying about her experience? Abi met his chilly stare head on and felt some of her old fire returning. ‘If you’d like to fetch my application I’ll wait and then we can compare notes.’ She could feel the steam coming out of her ears and knew her amber eyes would be flashing angrily, but if she thought that would scare him into apologising she was mistaken. So she carried on. ‘I have spent the past two years in Afghanistan, working in a CASH unit, putting soldiers back together. Making sure they have viable stumps for prosthetic limbs, repairing hands, sewing fingers back on that have been blown or shot off, holding chest walls together on the side of the road while under fire, so I think I’ll be able to handle working here. I’m sure your facilities and your clients won’t trouble me too much.’ A combat support hospital may not be the equivalent of the five-star set-up currently surrounding her but Abi knew the surroundings were irrelevant. She was good at her job, very good, and she refused to let someone denigrate her skills.

Abi was aware that Freya was grinning and trying to suppress laughter but her cellphone rang before she could comment.

Freya glanced at the screen and apologised to them. ‘It’s Mila. I’m sorry but I have to take this. We have to finalise the plans for the function this weekend. Damien, would you mind giving Abi a quick tour of the clinic? I was going to do it but I’ll catch up with you at morning tea instead.’

Abi hesitated as a slight sense of panic crept up on her. ‘I don’t mind waiting,’ she said. It seemed a better option than going with Damien, who clearly wasn’t impressed by her and who was putting her on edge. She didn’t need to be stressed. Not on her first day. But Freya had already turned away to answer her phone, leaving Abi and Damien standing in silence, staring at each other.

‘Looks like you’re stuck with me.’ The prospect didn’t seem to bother him. ‘Come on, it’ll give us a chance to get acquainted. To see if we’ll be able to work well together.’

Not an overly pleasing prospect. Abi was feeling increasingly nervous about the decision she’d made to take the Hollywood Hills job. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to have had a face-to-face interview and checked out not only the facilities but her new colleagues too.

She needed to calm down, employ some of the coping strategies she’d been working on.

She took a deep breath and fought for composure. She needed to present a professional, controlled demeanour. It wouldn’t do to fall to pieces in front of her new boss in the first five minutes of her first day.

‘How much of the clinic did you see when you had your interview?’ Damien asked her.

‘This is the first time I’ve been here. My interview was conducted over the phone, that’s why you read my résumé and why we haven’t met.’

‘I see. I’ve been on leave, I assumed this was all finalised while I was away. Didn’t you want to see where you’d be working?’

‘I know the clinic’s reputation. That was enough for me.’ In reality it was the closeted, safe and secure environment that she was most attracted to. She wasn’t ready for a large public hospital. She didn’t want to fight for funding or waste hours in meetings. She wasn’t ready to deal with emergencies and chaos and shift work. She needed regular patterns and habits. She needed regular sleep too if she was to get her life back on track. Well-mannered, exclusive and polite was what she wanted and she hoped that this job would be a peaceful environment compared to public-hospital and defence-force work.

Damien showed her to her new office, which had light oak furniture, leather chairs and large picture windows with one-way blinds that looked out over Los Angeles. His office was beside hers and they shared a secretary who managed their appointment diary and theatre bookings. Damien introduced her to Jennifer and Abi expected that he would palm her off onto the secretary, but he surprised her by continuing her tour himself. Abi wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he being polite or was he going to use this as an opportunity to cross-examine her further about her experience?

Let him interrogate her, she decided. She’d answer any question he put to her.

He showed her through the rehabilitation area, which included a gym and hydrotherapy pools used by the physical therapists on staff, before taking her into the operating theatres. The facility was amazing. Absolutely no expense had been spared and Abi couldn’t help but be impressed.

‘Different from what you are used to?’ Damien asked as he pushed open the swing door that led into an operating suite.

‘We have state-of-the art equipment in the defence forces but those facilities don’t extend past the medical necessities. The army certainly doesn’t waste money on modern art and marble floors.’

‘The Hills patients have high expectations,’ he said with a light shrug of his designer-clad shoulders, ‘not only of our expertise but of the service. They’re LA’s wealthy and they are used to having every whim catered for, and they have the same expectations when they walk through our doors as when they walk into a hotel or restaurant. They expect to be well looked after.’

Abi didn’t care about the patients’ expectations. The demands these patients would put on her would be nothing compared to what she’d put upon herself. In the army people got what they got, they had no expectations, the most important things were to keep them alive and maintain their function, but her expectations of her own skills was high. She knew she’d be able to handle the patients here. Operating on a millionaire would have to be less stressful than operating under fire. What she was interested in was a job that wasn’t dangerous. She wanted peaceful. She needed peaceful. She knew she was going to get demanding but she was confident that she could cope. Stress presented in different ways and the pressure that she expected to encounter here, in civilised luxury, would be entirely different from the high stress in Afghanistan.

She was interested in a low-stress environment and one factor in keeping her stress levels down was knowing that the people she worked with were capable. It was time to ask Damien some questions of her own. ‘How long have you worked here?’

‘Two years.’ He didn’t volunteer anything further as he led the way out of the theatre suites. ‘Our definitive observation unit is through there and the patient suites are around this way.’

They were six feet along the corridor when there was a crackle over the ceiling intercom.

‘Code blue, room five. Repeat, code blue, room five.’

Damien took off. One minute he was next to her, the next he was gone, his long legs eating up the metres of the corridor and leaving Abi staring after him.

CHAPTER TWO

ABI LOOKED AT his retreating figure before she came to her senses and followed in his wake as the voice continued through the loudspeaker. ‘Code blue, room five.’

Damien sprinted past the next two rooms before he shouldered open a door and Abi followed him into what was possibly the largest private hospital room she had ever seen. In the centre of the wall in front of them was an oversized hospital bed. A nurse was kneeling on the bed, delivering cardiac compressions to a young woman wearing pale pink silk pyjamas.

‘She’s in cardiac arrest. Unresponsive, not breathing, no pulse,’ she told them as she continued with the compressions. She was doing a good job, delivering regular hard, deep compressions. The patient’s shirt had been opened at the front and Abi was astounded at how underweight the woman was. She was so thin Abi could see each and every rib.

‘Ellen, this is Dr Thompson,’ Damien said, as he reached behind the bed and pushed on the wall. A small door that was set flush into the panelling popped open and he pulled a defibrillator from the alcove. And that was it by way of introductions. There was no time for anything more as he quickly tore open the packets and Ellen sat back, stopping CPR, as Damien applied the adhesive electrodes to the patient’s chest wall.

Abi watched as he connected the wires, flicked the machine on and pressed the ‘analyse’ button. The patient’s heart rhythm appeared on the screen. She could see the disorganised pattern of ventricular fibrillation indicating that the brain was sending chaotic impulses to the heart that the heart couldn’t interpret. This meant the heart couldn’t fire a proper beat and it lost its rhythm and was unable to pump blood. The brain would be starved of oxygen, causing the patient to lose consciousness, and if the heart rhythm wasn’t corrected the patient would die. Defibrillation to restore regular rhythm and normal contractions was the best way to stop ventricular fibrillation, and that was exactly what Damien was instigating.

The machine issued instructions in its automated voice.

Stop CPR, analysing.

Shock advised.

Abi could hear the whine as the power built up in the defibrillator unit.

Stand clear.

‘Clear.’ Damien repeated the machine’s instructions to Abi and Ellen and checked to make sure they were well away from the patient before pressing the flashing red button. The machine delivered its first shock but there was no change in the rhythm of the heart.

Continue CPR.

‘Ellen, can you get an IV line in, oxygen monitor and an Ambu bag,’ Damien instructed, as he lowered the bed before continuing chest compressions.

Abi kicked off her shoes and stepped forward, ready to help. She hitched her skirt up to give her room to move, wondering why on earth she’d thought it was a good idea to wear a suit, and climbed up on the bed. She tipped the patient’s head back, opening her airway. She was ready to breathe for her the moment Damien paused in his compressions. They worked at a steady rate for two minutes until the AED machine interrupted them.

Stop CPR, analysing.

Shock advised.

‘Clear.’ Damien repeated the process to deliver a second shock.

Their patient was pale and clammy and she was starting to go a little blue around the mouth and jaw. Abi and Damien continued another round of CPR but this time Abi used the Ambu bag, squeezing air into the patient’s lungs after each set of thirty compressions. Another two minutes passed.

Stop CPR, analysing.

Shock advised.

They stood clear again as once more Damien pressed the red flashing button and this time a normal heart rhythm was restored.

Abi’s shoulders sagged as she slid off the bed and all three of them breathed a collective sigh of relief as they watched the heartbeat on the little screen.

Ellen removed the electrodes of the AED and replaced them with ECG leads as a second team, who Abi could only assume were the resus team, moved further into the room. Abi hadn’t noticed their arrival in all the chaos and they departed as swiftly and silently as they had arrived. Accompanied by Ellen, they wheeled the patient out of the room, no doubt taking her to the definitive observation unit, and Abi was left alone with Damien.

Now that the drama was over she didn’t know where to look or what to do. She stood in the middle of the room and tried to avoid looking at Damien. She studied her surroundings instead. The oversized hospital bed was gone but the room was far from empty. In front of a large window that overlooked a courtyard was a carpeted lounge area complete with a leather sofa, an armchair upholstered in a rich cream fabric and a marble-topped coffee table. She wandered over to the window, the carpet thick and plush under her stockinged feet, and took in the view over the courtyard. It offered complete privacy but even so the glass was tinted. Abi could see out but no one could see in. An en-suite bathroom was tucked into the far corner of the room and Abi could just glimpse a marble vanity in the mirrored reflection. The medical equipment was all tucked away discreetly, Abi assumed into purpose-built storage, and the room looked and felt like a hotel suite. The surroundings might be very different to what she was used to but the patients were the same. They all had lives that needed to be improved, or even saved, and that was her job. It didn’t matter if they were civilian or military, she just had to do what she was trained for.

‘Thanks for your help.’ Damien was standing beside her. ‘It was a good outcome,’ he added with a slight nod of his head.

Was that all the acknowledgement she was going to get?

She supposed she was only doing her job, she didn’t need to be congratulated for that, but she felt a little short-changed that he wasn’t more effusive, particularly after his previous criticism and questions relating to her medical qualifications. Surely she’d put some of his doubts to rest now?

She was pleased with how she’d coped. She hadn’t panicked, hadn’t felt stressed, she’d simply just clicked into gear. Her medical skills were as precise as ever. It was like riding a bike and she was thrilled to know that she hadn’t lost her touch in that regard. Her personal life might be a disaster, her self-belief might have taken a pounding and she might be struggling to cope out in the big wide world, but in the familiar environment of a hospital it seemed she’d lost none of her confidence. It was a reassuring discovery but it didn’t take away the disappointment that Damien didn’t seem quite so impressed.

‘I’d like to retract my earlier comment,’ he added.

‘What?’

‘When I questioned your qualifications. I jumped to conclusions and I’m sorry for that.’

‘Thank you.’ That was all she’d wanted. Some recognition of a job well done. Her day had just got a little bit brighter.

She could do this.

‘It’s obvious you can think on your feet and cope under pressure. Your defence-force experience means that you are undoubtedly qualified to cope with anything we can throw at you, as you’ve capably demonstrated, and I apologise,’ he said, and then he smiled.

Abi’s knees went weak. She sat down hard on the sofa as she tried to pretend that it was the adrenalin from the resuscitation that was flooding her system and making her knees wobble but she knew it was Damien’s smile. Suddenly he lost his serious, intense expression. His smile transformed his face and now he looked like a man who knew how to have a good time, who knew how to laugh.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s grab a coffee and catch our breath. We can finish the tour later.’

He extended his hand to help her up from the sofa and the touch of his palm as Abi placed her hand in his created a current of electricity so strong that it couldn’t be contained and it shot out of her to ignite the air surrounding them until it seemed to glow. She could feel the air around them moving. It crackled and swirled like a living, breathing entity, creating a fire that sucked the air from her lungs and made it impossible to breathe. She pulled herself up on wobbly legs. Her vision was blurred around the edges and she felt dizzy and light headed. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

‘Are you okay?’ Damien asked as he let go of her hand.

Released from his hold, abruptly disconnected from him, she found she was able to breathe again. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, as she smoothed down the front of her skirt and stepped into her shoes. She closed her eyes briefly and took a quick deep breath to make sure she really was all right before she followed him out of the room. As they walked along the corridor she made sure she kept a couple of feet between them. Touching him again was out of the question.

* * *

Damien drank his coffee as quickly as possible without being impolite. He had taken Abi into the staff kitchen to make coffee but the room felt too small for both of them. He was having trouble breathing and it had nothing to do with the emergency he’d just averted and everything to do with a slim brunette who sat opposite him. He’d been dismissive of her without cause earlier and he felt badly about that, but now he was having trouble remembering exactly what his issue had been.

He could smell fresh peaches and he knew that was her fragrance he was inhaling. Was it any wonder he was having difficulty breathing? Every breath was like inhaling the essence of Abi and it was sweet torture. She made him think of the golden days of summer. Her amber eyes glowed like the late afternoon sun and she shimmered as if there was an energy within her that was too big to contain, although a sixth sense told him that something had happened that had diminished her glow. Something had damaged her, something had given her an air of fragility. She was only a waif of a girl but it wasn’t just about her size and he wondered what had happened in her past. But he didn’t have the time or energy to worry about her psyche; he had enough of his own issues to deal with. He didn’t have time for distractions and that was what she was.

He needed to breathe, he needed to leave.

He drained the dregs of his coffee, pushed his chair back and stood. ‘Will you be able to find your way back to your office? I need to speak to Freya.’ He knew he was making excuses but he needed to get away. He needed to break the spell he could feel her casting over him.

His departure was abrupt, and he could see from Abi’s puzzled expression that she thought so too but she didn’t complain or argue. She just nodded silently. It appeared she wasn’t much of a talker.

He did genuinely want to speak to Freya—he felt she needed to know about Clementine Jones, though he knew she would have heard the alarm and the code-blue call—but he suffered a moment of guilt over his hasty exit. He pushed those thoughts to one side as he knocked on Freya’s door and then brought her up to speed on the emergency.

‘Clementine was booked in for a breast enlargement but she has a long-standing eating disorder that probably triggered her cardiac arrest. She’s in the DOU under Geoff’s care now, but she needs counselling. I know you’re only taking on a handful of clients but this girl needs to be included on your list. She’s playing Russian roulette at the moment. It’s only a matter of time before she’s a statistic instead of a person. If she won’t see you then she needs to see another psychologist. James is her admitting surgeon but I’m sure he’ll agree.’

Freya nodded. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘So you were first on the scene?’

‘With Abi.’ He had to give credit where it was due.

‘You resuscitated her together?’

Damien nodded.

‘Now do you think she can handle the job?’

He needed Abi to pull her weight. He’d fought to have an extra surgeon on staff to ease some of his caseload but his first impressions had worried him. He hadn’t thought her old enough or strong enough to help him but he had to admit he had revised his opinion. He would give her the benefit of the doubt now after the composure she had displayed during the emergency. ‘I’ll agree I’m more confident now,’ he replied.

‘Good.’ Freya nodded. ‘Because James wants her to assist you in Theatre tomorrow. That will give her a feel for how the clinic runs and also give you a chance to assess her skills. Once you’re happy we’ll start to give her patients of her own, which will free up some of your time.’

Damien was happy with that. He was exhausted and had far too much on his plate. There were far too many things fighting for his attention. He had too much else to think about at the moment. He was virtually a single parent, raising a young daughter, and he had more work than he could handle. He couldn’t work twenty-four-seven—it wasn’t feasible and it was not what he wanted. Abi’s appointment needed to be successful. She had to work out and if she didn’t she’d have to go. It was as simple as that.

* * *

Abi’s head was spinning as she pulled her 4x4 into the driveway and hit the button for the automatic garage door. She needed time to think about her day and what had happened. What she’d seen, what she’d done, who she’d met. She would collect Jonty and they’d go for a walk. That would give her time to sort through her thoughts on the clinic, on Freya and on Damien.

The motor of the garage door made a distinctive whine as it kicked into gear and Abi could see Jonty racing across the lawn to greet her as she eased her car forward. A wave of guilt washed over her as she saw how eager he was to welcome her home. This was the first day that she and Jonty had been parted. She wondered if his day had been less eventful than hers. Was this how working mothers felt? At least she’d organised company for him. He shouldn’t have been lonely but she still hoped he’d missed her.

She closed the door and made a beeline for her landlords’ bungalow at the front of the property. Her landlords, George and Irma, were a retired couple in their late sixties and Abi rented their converted garage apartment. She had moved in about six weeks ago and had since found herself adopted by George and Irma as part of the family. She didn’t mind; she was enjoying feeling like she was part of a family. They had adopted her dog too, offering to keep him company while Abi returned to work. She wished she’d been able to take Jonty with her, for her sake more than his, but the clinic was no place for a large, hairy, golden retriever.

‘How did your first day go?’ Irma asked as Abi stepped onto the back porch. ‘Not quite what I expected,’ she replied. ‘But I’m sure it will be okay.’ She still needed time to process the day’s events. The Hills was different from what she was used to, very different, and even if she wasn’t sure that she would be suited to working there she suspected it would be interesting, albeit slightly more routine than the army. But perhaps that was just what she needed—ordinary and routine, excluding the odd cardiac arrest, of course.

‘I’ve made an extra-large pot of chilli beef. Would you like to eat with us tonight? You must be tired.’

Abi was more than happy to be looked after by Irma. She knew her fridge was bare and dinner at her place was likely to be toast and maybe a packet soup. But more than the dinners it was the feeling that someone was interested in her and cared enough to make sure she was fed. She’d never experienced that on a regular basis. Growing up, her family life had been erratic, to say the least. Swings and roundabouts. Her mother had done her best at times but she really hadn’t coped with the real world and Abi didn’t remember her father. And army life, while she’d been looked after, she suspected was also very different to normal family life. George and Irma missed the company of their children and Abi enjoyed filling that void. It was nice to feel normal.

‘That sounds delicious. Have I got time to take Jonty for a quick walk first?’

‘Of course.’

Above the garage George had added a bedroom, small bathroom and a kitchen/living area that opened out onto a deck that overlooked a small park. Jonty loved exploring the park but Abi avoided it once the sun had set. She needed milk for her morning coffee so she changed quickly into a pair of black exercise leggings, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a bright pink, puffy, padded, insulated vest. She wrapped an orange scarf around her neck, shoved her phone and some coins into her pocket and clipped Jonty’s lead to his collar. They’d make a quick dash to the mini-mart two blocks away. She let Jonty go to the toilet before they left as once he had his coat on he would know not to stop unless she directed him to. She fastened his coat around his body and headed out to the street.

Jonty had been assigned to Abi on her return from Afghanistan, on her psychologist’s recommendation. According to Caroline, many of her patients who had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder found that an assistance dog brought enormous benefits, and Abi had to admit that she was grateful for Jonty’s companionship. She’d never had a dog, she’d never had any pets before, but she had very quickly grown attached to Jonty. She was a dog person, she’d decided.

Jonty had been assigned to help calm her and to increase her confidence in her ability to cope with the outside world, but nervousness still made her heart rate increase as they approached the supermarket. Ever since the incident in Afghanistan she had been exceedingly nervous in new or crowded environments until she’d had a chance to check out the lie of the land.

She quickly scanned the interior of the shop and only when she could see that it was relatively quiet, with few customers, did she step inside, taking Jonty with her. He was allowed to accompany her so long as he was wearing the coat that identified him as an assistance dog. They headed to the milk fridge at the back of the store, Abi wishing, not for the first time, that the shopkeeper would keep the milk near the front. Having to go to the far corner of the store always bothered her, even though she knew where the emergency exit was.

A dark-haired man stood in front of the open fridge door. He was reaching for the same milk that Abi wanted. She thought about asking him to grab one for her too but that would mean initiating a conversation with a stranger. Even with Jonty beside her she wasn’t comfortable doing that. She waited as the man closed the fridge door and turned around.

‘Dr Thompson!’

Abi’s heart skipped a beat as a voice that had become almost familiar in just one day uttered her name. She lifted her eyes.

He was tall and lean. His thick black hair was expertly styled to look effortlessly casual and a day’s worth of stubble darkened his square jaw and contrasted with the smooth olive skin of his forehead and cheeks. He was watching her with eyes so dark they were almost black. He was gorgeous.

Damien.

His serious expression vanished, to be replaced by his wide smile, showcasing perfect white teeth. Did this man have any physical flaws?

‘You need milk?’ he asked.

‘For my coffee,’ she replied, as if he’d care why she needed it.

He took a second carton from the fridge and passed it to her, not checking which one she wanted. ‘Do you live near here?’

‘A couple of blocks that way,’ she said, pointing east.

‘We’re two blocks south.’

She wondered who ‘we’ meant. Was he married? He didn’t wear a wedding ring.

She glanced at his left hand, double-checking, but she knew she was right. What she didn’t know was when she’d noticed and why. Not that it mattered. Lots of surgeons didn’t wear rings and his marital status was of no concern to her.

‘Is this your dog?’

She nodded. ‘This is Jonty.’

‘An assistance dog?’

‘It’s a project I’m involved with,’ she said. She didn’t see any need to mention that the project was personal and involved trying to fix her fragile psyche. There was no need to mention that her psychologist had recommended the programme. She didn’t intend to share tales about her private life with her new boss.

Finding out he was practically her neighbour was enough to deal with. He didn’t need to know anything more about her. She was used to mixing her work and her social life, there wasn’t another option in the military really, but things had changed recently. She had changed. She had become more reserved, more introverted, and that was part of the reason that Caroline had suggested Jonty. She’d hoped it would help to restore Abi’s confidence and alleviate some of her fears about the world. Bad things weren’t always going to happen. Abi needed to experience the world and remember the good things.

Damien insisted on paying for her milk, along with his own, and they left the shop together. As they stepped onto the pavement he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and pressed a button. Abi heard the sound of doors unlocking and saw the lights flash on a black, luxury SUV that was parked out the front of the shop. ‘Can I give you a lift?’ he offered.

It seemed he had the charming personality to match his very appealing features. But Abi knew how dangerous a weapon charm could be in a good-looking man. She looked at his car. There was not a speck of dirt or a scratch or dent on it. Its paintwork was immaculate and it suited him. It was shiny, sleek perfection and so different from her old soft-top. She couldn’t imagine hopping into something so tidy, let alone putting her hairy, thirty-kilogram companion in there too. Had he forgotten about Jonty?

‘No, thank you. We need the exercise.’ And she needed more time to think.

He was good-looking and charming, there was no denying that, but that was no reason to let him drive her home. She’d had good-looking, charming bosses before and things hadn’t turned out so well for her the last time. In fact, things had gone terribly pear-shaped and she was still recovering. She needed time to herself, time to heal. There was no room in her life or in her head for anything other than surviving. Her goal was to achieve emotional stability and financial security. She didn’t need any complications and she knew all too well how complicated men could make things. Besides, he was part of a ‘we’ and that was all she needed to know about him to ensure she kept her distance. Single men were one thing but men with other commitments were definitely off her list. That was one path she knew she would avoid at all costs. Being pleasant at work was one thing, mixing socially was another, but men with baggage were a definite no.

CHAPTER THREE

ABI ARRIVED AT The Hills on her second day wearing her smartest dress, a simple black jersey wrap, and nude-colored heels. She had a thin gold chain around her neck but she still wasn’t sure if she was dressed smartly enough. Freya had arranged a morning tea yesterday to introduce Abi to everyone and all the staff she had met had seemed extraordinarily beautiful and impressively well-dressed.

She supposed it made sense given that the clinic serviced the wealthy and elite of Los Angeles society but she wasn’t sure how, or if, she measured up by comparison. She suspected both her wardrobe and her looks were severely lacking and decided she’d have to wow them with her medical talents instead.

She found her way to her office, where she was greeted by Jennifer, the secretary who took care of her and Damien, and the news that Damien had requested an eight-thirty meeting.

A white doctor’s coat was hanging behind her office door. Still unsure about her outfit, she took the coat off the hook and slipped it over her clothes. She would feel more comfortable and in control if she was already in scrubs but this would have to do. Perhaps she could engineer her diary to ensure she spent most of her time in Theatre—she felt at home in that environment and in that uniform. She checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall and saw that the coat had The Hills’ intertwined double H logo monogrammed on the breast pocket. Like everything else in the clinic, even the coats had been taken to the next level.

Damien’s door was open. She took a moment to check him out before she knocked. He was wearing a different suit today, dark navy with a pale blue shirt and a red silk tie embroidered with blue fleurs-de-lis, but he still looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Abi pulled the white coat more firmly around her as she knocked and entered. Her whole outfit had cost no more than a hundred dollars; Damien’s tie alone had probably cost twice that.

There was a coffee waiting for her and Damien slid it across his desk as she sank into the leather seat by the window. His office was identical to hers in size and also looked out onto an internal courtyard complete with a bubbling water feature that had a stunning metal sculpture as its centrepiece. Everything about this place was slick and professional and for the first time since the previous day Abi relaxed slightly. It would be nice to be associated with this clinic. This move could turn out to be a good decision and having something work out right for her would be a pleasant change.

‘Milk?’ he asked, making a reference to their unexpected meeting last night. His voice was deep but it lightened when he smiled. She’d noticed how it changed with his mood, from serious surgeon to friendly colleague to charming shopper, and she wondered which one was the real Damien.

She nodded but Damien was already adding it for her. ‘Do you know how our patient from yesterday is? Clementine?’ she queried. She’d been worried all night about the young woman who’d gone into cardiac arrest.

‘She’s in a stable condition. I just spoke to Geoff, our cardiologist. He’s monitoring her closely but he’s happy. She wasn’t physically strong enough to undergo surgery so, in a way, this is not a bad outcome. She’s had a long-standing eating disorder that her parents thought was being managed but it appears not. Clementine needs to agree to get more help,’ Damien replied.

‘What was she booked in for?’

‘A breast enlargement,’ Damien explained. ‘James had been delaying her operation, telling her she had to put on weight because her body wouldn’t cope with an anaesthetic, but I have no idea if this episode will make any difference. From what I understand, she’s had intervention and therapy many times before. Freya is going to see her with her psychologist’s hat on—she has a special interest in patients who have eating disorders—but if Clementine isn’t receptive she’ll be transferred to another facility. Apparently Clementine wants to stay here and her parents have agreed so that will be the carrot Freya dangles.’

James Rothsberg was the head of the clinic and also a reconstructive and plastic surgeon, and Abi was relieved to hear that he had put the patient’s well-being first but surprised to hear that Clementine had been scheduled for a breast enlargement. ‘Do you do a lot of cosmetic surgery here?’

‘We are in Hollywood.’

‘I realise that.’

‘It’s not all we do,’ Damien continued, ‘but you’re assisting me in Theatre today and it’s what’s on our list and what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘We’re doing cosmetic surgery? That’s not what I expected.’ She was a specialist in the field of plastic and reconstructive surgery but her experience was in the reconstructive side of things. Cosmetic surgery wasn’t her forte.

‘It’s awards season in Hollywood,’ Damien said as he shrugged his shoulders in his bespoke suit jacket. ‘The film industry awards are only twelve days away, which makes this our busiest time of the year. Everyone wants something done without anyone knowing about it. James can’t possibly keep up with the demand so I lend a hand.

‘Don’t worry, no one will know you’ve relaxed your ethics,’ he added, making her wonder if he’d had another look at her résumé and refreshed his knowledge of her background. ‘The celebrities don’t want anyone to know they’ve had surgical assistance to look their best on awards night. We have a lot of rather wealthy and sometimes reclusive patients who demand privacy and anonymity. They won’t mention your name and they expect the same consideration from you.’

He smiled again and Abi’s breath caught in her throat. ‘All your recognition will come from your reconstructive work and there will be plenty of that. We have an arrangement with the Bright Hope Clinic to do some charitable work for the underprivileged children who are treated there and that, along with the other external referrals that come to us for reconstructive surgery, will keep you occupied most of the time. But this cosmetic work on the celebrities and their partners, and the Hollywood heavy hitters and their mistresses, wives and girlfriends, and the cash they are prepared to part with for the best medical care and for our discretion means that we are able to do that charity work, and I suspect that will appeal to you.

‘You will get paid for any charity work that you do but The Hills, by which I mean James, absorbs those expenses. We are strong believers in giving back to the community. It’s a win-win situation. So, does that make you feel better about today’s list?’

Abi nodded. She hadn’t really thought about the ramifications of the clinic’s location on the client base but Damien’s explanation did ease her conscience. Besides, the surgical procedures were the same no matter what you called them. Although the surgeries were performed for different reasons, aesthetics or function, the actual operations were similar and giving them labels such as cosmetic or reconstructive was really just semantics.

‘Okay,’ Damien continued, ‘on today’s list we have two blepharoplasties, one neck lift, two liposuctions, a breast lift and an arm lift. I have to warn you, a couple of our patients are men. One is a very well-known actor who has decided to treat himself to a neck lift and the other patient has recently left his wife and is planning on unveiling his much younger girlfriend at the awards and he wants to take a few years off his face with an eyelid lift. But remember, discretion is something we guarantee at The Hills and I know it’s been written into your contract but I need to know that you can rock a poker face. It doesn’t matter what we think about cosmetic surgery, these patients have their reasons for undergoing this work and we need to be discreet and respectful.’

Abi had plenty of her own insecurities. While she didn’t think she’d ever resort to cosmetic surgery, as her insecurities weren’t really physical, she could understand people’s need to change or to make a better version of themselves to boost their confidence, and she wasn’t going to judge them for their choices. She understood that different things worked for different people and she certainly wouldn’t criticise a patient’s decision, although, given the opportunity, she thought she might try to dissuade some of the people some of the time.

She wondered what the clinic’s policy on that was. Was honesty considered the best policy or was the bottom line the main consideration? But she wasn’t going to ask that question on her second day. She would toe the line for the moment, there would be time to find out later just how much she was expected to keep her opinion to herself.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said as she finished her coffee. ‘I understand how this works.’

The day ran smoothly and the time passed quickly, as it always seemed to when she was immersed in surgery. She was impressed with Damien’s skill but also with the way he related to the theatre staff. He treated everyone with respect and she could tell that the nurses adored him. She had done a large percentage of each of the surgeries under Damien’s watchful eye and he’d been encouraging and complimentary about her skills. As far as she could tell, there was not a vast difference between cosmetic surgery and regular reconstructive surgery, although it was perhaps always important to make sure the stitches were as tiny and neat as possible, and preferably hidden, in all cosmetic procedures. But neat stitching was one thing she had always prided herself on.

They were finishing off the second blepharoplasty and there was one more surgery still to come when the theatre phone rang. The blepharoplasty was something different for Abi. She was used to repairing eyelids, stitching eye injuries and even, on one occasion, making a new eyelid, but to do an eyelid lift purely to make someone look younger was novel.

The scrub nurse had answered the phone and Abi could see her looking at Damien. ‘Dr Moore, it’s for you, it’s your daughter’s school. Apparently no one has come to collect her.’

He had a daughter?

She didn’t know why she was so surprised. She knew he was a ‘we’ but a daughter was more than she’d expected.

‘Can you finish up for me, Dr Thompson?’ Damien asked as he tied off the last stitch. Abi glanced at the clock on the theatre wall. It was already after four in the afternoon and she wondered what he was planning on doing. ‘She needs ointment applied to her eyelids before they are bandaged,’ he continued.

‘I can do it,’ the theatre nurse offered. Abi wasn’t sure if she was offering because she saw Abi’s vague expression and took pity on her or whether she was trying to get into Damien’s good graces, but Abi wasn’t about to let her take over. She could do this.

‘I’ve got it,’ she said.

She listened in to Damien’s conversation as she applied the ointment. He could have taken the call on another phone but he seemed quite happy to have the conversation in front of the staff.

‘This is Dr Moore,’ Damien said, as the scrub nurse held the phone to his ear. He could feel the pressure building in his chest as anger rose in him. What was Brooke up to now? She was supposed to be collecting Summer from school. Had she forgotten again? What was the point of making arrangements with her if she was so unreliable? He worked hard to accommodate his ex-wife, he wanted to make sure that their daughter got to spend time with both of them, but sometimes Brooke made it impossible.

‘Summer hasn’t been collected,’ the woman on the end of the phone told him. ‘She has been sent to after-school care and I need to notify you. I need to make sure she is picked up by six o’clock.’

‘I’ve been in surgery all day, I’m still in surgery and I won’t be finished by then.’ Damien was aware that all the theatre staff could hear his conversation quite clearly but it was too late for secrets now. Abi was busy bandaging their patient’s eyes but he could sense by her posture that she was listening just as intently as all the others, but he couldn’t worry about them. Summer was his priority, now and always. ‘Have you contacted her mother? She was supposed to collect her.’

‘Of course, but she is in New York.’

‘What? She’s where?’ God, that woman was unbelievable. What the hell was she doing in New York?

‘She told me she contacted you.’

‘What? No, she hasn’t,’ he said, but he knew what she would have done. She would have left a message on his cellphone. No matter how many times he told her he didn’t check his cell if he was in Theatre, she never listened. Brooke always danced to her own tune; other people’s lives were of no consequence to her, she didn’t make allowances or exceptions for any of them, not even her own daughter. Once again, Damien would have to pick up the pieces left by Brooke’s selfishness. ‘Can you give me five minutes?’ he asked the woman on the phone. ‘I’ll make some arrangements and call you back.’

He nodded to the scrub nurse to hang up the phone and let out another expletive.

‘What’s going on?’ the theatre nurse asked.

‘Summer hasn’t been collected from school,’ he replied. He had another couple of hours left in Theatre and just five minutes to work out a solution. He wouldn’t be finished before six so he wouldn’t be finished in time to collect Summer.

His eyes roamed the room as he tried to figure out what to do. Abi taped the last bandage in place and looked up just as his gaze settled on her. She might just be the answer to his problem.

‘Abi, do you think you could do me a favour?’ he asked.

Damien looked worried, stressed, and Abi thought it was probably best that he didn’t operate while in this state. ‘Sure,’ she replied without hesitation, expecting he was going to ask her to start his final surgery, but his question when he asked it was completely unexpected.

‘Would you collect Summer for me?’

‘What?’ Was he crazy? Surely he was kidding. ‘I’ve never met your daughter,’ she retorted, but even in her flustered state she realised there was something he hadn’t considered. ‘I doubt the school would send her home with a complete stranger. Why don’t you go and I’ll start the last case?’

‘The last case is a breast lift.’

Abi knew that, she was supposed to assist for that surgery too.

‘How many of those have you done?’ he asked, and judging by his tone she knew he already knew the answer.

Exactly none. She stared at Damien and her silence was all the answer he needed.

‘That’s what I thought. I need to finish off here. Would you please collect her?’

‘Why doesn’t Summer’s mother pick her up?’

‘That’s a good question,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘She was supposed to but apparently she is on her way to New York.’

Apparently? ‘New York? Didn’t you know?’ Had it just slipped his mind that his wife was away and he was supposed to be picking up his daughter? Was it something he forgot on a regular basis and now he was trying to make it her problem?

Abi didn’t think so. It didn’t seem to fit with his character and he seemed to be genuinely upset and to be struggling for solutions. She believed this had come out of the blue for him too.

Damien shook his head. ‘Brooke told the school that she told me I would have to make arrangements but I haven’t heard from her. This is the third time she has done this.’

‘What did you do the other times?’ she asked, as the anaesthetist began to reverse the anaesthetic.

‘Once I collected her and another time she went home with a friend. But school finished forty-five minutes ago so those mothers would have left, and I don’t have any of their numbers. Please, Abi, I wouldn’t ask you if I had any other options. My daughter is five years old. You remember being five, don’t you? I don’t want her to feel abandoned.’

That word cut Abi to the core. Abandoned was the one word to use if he wanted her sympathy and cooperation. But he couldn’t have known that. That would be impossible. It had just been a comment. But of course she remembered being five.

She also remembered having no one to pick her up. Day after day she would get herself home from school. On a good day it had been because her mother had been working, but on a bad day her mother would be passed out on the sofa, hungover or drunk.

Abi had had no one to rely on when she’d been five or seven or nine. She’d had no one until she’d joined the army at seventeen and had gone to medical school. She’d had no one really until she’d met Mark and even then she’d still ended up alone. There had never been anyone she could rely on. She knew exactly what Damien was talking about.

She started to cave in. ‘I’d do it but I really don’t think the school would let me.’

Damien had an answer for that. ‘I’ll ring them and I’ll get Freya to email your staff ID photo to the office. You’ll just have to show some ID when you get there. Please? I don’t know what else to do. The school is ten minutes from home. If you could just pick her up and I’ll collect her from your place as soon as I’m done here.’

He knew she lived in his neighbourhood, which would put her home close to the school. His plan made sense but Abi didn’t know if she could do it, although it was hard to refuse when he was looking so distressed and imploring her with his dark, dark eyes. If she acquiesced she knew it would be stressful. Could she handle it?

But she remembered what it felt like to be five years old and know that no one was coming for you, knowing that you were on your own. She’d hated that feeling and she knew she couldn’t put someone else in that position.

She sighed and said, ‘Let me make a call.’ She threw her gloves and mask into the bin as Damien signed the surgical notes. She was careful not to agree to his crazy plan just yet. She still didn’t know if she was capable of agreeing to his suggestion. She needed a second opinion. She needed to run it past her psychologist but that wasn’t a conversation she was prepared to have in public. She pushed open the door into the scrub room and went to fetch her cellphone.

She dialled the emergency number, the one Caroline had promised to always answer. Abi wasn’t sure what Caroline termed an emergency exactly but, for her, going unprepared into a new environment that was not only large but filled with people and knowing she would have to introduce herself to strangers without time for any research or reconnaissance definitely fell into the emergency assistance category. Abi had no idea how she was going to manage this and she needed Caroline to give her some contingencies to help her cope.

Caroline answered on the third ring and Abi explained the situation.

‘I assume,’ Caroline said, after listening to Abi’s predicament, ‘that you would actually like to do this favour for your boss?’

Would she? Part of her worried that if she agreed she would be setting a precedent and part of her also worried that she was letting him take advantage of her. But she could also remember what it was like to be left to find her own way home because her mother was incapable, again. Back then nobody had noticed if you weren’t collected from school, lots of kids made their own way home, but not many primary school children had that freedom now. They were bundled off to after-school care before anything untoward could happen to them. Abi remembered all too well that feeling of abandonment and if she could help by collecting Summer she would. It didn’t matter that Summer didn’t know her; she imagined just knowing her dad had sent someone would be better than being forgotten. Abi wasn’t doing this for Damien.

‘I’m not doing this for my boss, I’m doing it for his daughter,’ she explained. ‘She was expecting her mother to collect her and I don’t want her to feel that she’s not important.’ Abi knew that Caroline understood her reasons and where they stemmed from. They’d been over a lot of old, and new, ground together and Abi didn’t have many secrets left that Caroline hadn’t heard. Damien, however, was a new topic and not one they’d discussed, and neither did she intend to. Abi felt it was best, safest to leave him in the category of work colleague. There was no reason to go into any detail about him, he was of no consequence. ‘But I have never met Summer, I don’t know the school, I don’t know the staff and they don’t know me. It’s making me nervous.’

‘The school is close to your house, though?’ Caroline asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Why don’t you go home and collect Jonty?’ the psychologist suggested. ‘Take him with you. You’ll feel better and if Summer likes dogs it will break the ice with her too.’

Abi took a deep breath. She could do this. ‘That’s a good idea. Thanks.’

She felt better when she ended the call, far more confident. This might just work.

* * *

Abi pulled her 4x4 into the school car park. The building was long and low and stretched out before her, but fortunately the car park was virtually empty and she was able to put her car two places from the front entrance. She took a moment to survey her surroundings, not that she really expected any danger but it was a habit she had formed over the past six months and it was proving hard to shake. There was no one around and she could see nothing suspicious. She was in the middle of suburban LA, she reminded herself. It wasn’t Kabul and she was unlikely to encounter a suicide bomber here. But her paranoia still got the better of her and she reached across to her right and opened the passenger door, letting Jonty jump out first. He sniffed the air and once she was certain he was showing no signs of distress she took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.

She showed her ID at the office and was taken to the after-school-hours area, where about two dozen kids were engaged in various activities. She spotted Summer straight away. Three girls were jumping rope and one of the girls turning the rope was a miniature, female version of Damien. Dressed in pink she had her dark hair tied in two short pigtails that stuck out from the sides of her head but there was no mistaking that gene pool.

‘Summer,’ the school secretary called to her, getting her attention. ‘This is Dr Thompson. She works with your father and she’s come to collect you.’

‘Please, call me Abi. And this is Jonty.’

‘A dog! You brought a dog in.’ All three girls, Summer and her two friends, immediately surrounded Abi. Jonty lapped up the attention. Caroline’s advice to bring him had been spot on.

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