Man of Fate. Rochelle Alers

York’s no-fault insurance law. He quickly changed his mind when he recalled her reluctance to seek medical assistance. He was the one who’d insisted she go to the hospital.

      “When you see her face it looks like she has been hit with a baseball bat.”

      “May I see her?”

      The doctor nodded. “I’m hoping you can convince her that she should stay and have the scan.”

      Kyle followed the doctor across the waiting room, where mothers sat cradling their sick children and a group of teenagers huddled together, talking and awaiting news of their friend who’d come in bleeding from a gunshot wound.

      He made his way down a corridor to an area where curtains cordoned off a row of stretchers into examining rooms.

      Dr. LaMarca stopped and swept back a curtain. Ava Warrick sat on a chair, eyes closed and hands clasped in her lap. The right side of her face was bruised and swollen, and Kyle doubted whether she had complete vision in her left eye.

      Moving quickly, he went to his knees and took her hands. They were ice-cold. “I’m sorry, Ava.” Now he knew why the doctor had recommended a brain scan.

      Ava opened her eyes when she felt the warmth of the hands cradling hers. It took her a full minute before she recognized the man hunkered in front of her. He was the one whose car she had rear-ended.

      “I want to go home, Mr….” Her voice trailed off when she realized she didn’t know his name.

      “My name is Kyle Chatham, and no, you can’t go home tonight.”

      “Why not?”

      “The doctor wants you to have a CT scan.”

      Ava blinked slowly. “Why?”

      “To make sure there isn’t another problem.”

      She closed her eyes. “The only problem I have right now is a mother of a headache.”

      “You have more than a headache. You suffered a concussion.”

      Her eyes opened again. “What I have is a slight concussion.”

      “What you have is an injury to the brain which interferes with your cerebral functioning. Simple or severe—it’s still the same thing.”

      “Don’t tell me you’re a doctor.”

      “No. I’m a lawyer.”

      “I guess you’re going to sue me for dinging your little car.”

      “My little car happens to be a classic Jaguar XKE.”

      Ava shook her head then chided herself for not remembering how much it hurt just to move her head. “That means nothing to me.”

      Rising to his feet, Kyle glared at her. “Of course it doesn’t mean anything to you, because if it did then you wouldn’t have been trying to run the light.”

      Resting her fingers on her forehead, Ava gently massaged her temples. “I wasn’t running the light, Kyle. It was still green.”

      “It had just changed to yellow.”

      She lowered her hands. “I’m not going to argue with you. I’m going home.”

      Kyle knew he had to act quickly, or Ava would walk out of the hospital. “If you leave here I will sue you.”

      Ava went completely still, not wanting to believe she was being threatened. Her chin lifted and she stared up into the steady gaze of a man who, up until an hour ago, she hadn’t known. Everything about him reeked of power: his voice, his body language. She stared at the shirt with French cuffs that bore his monogram. The silver buckle on the black alligator belt around his slender waist was also monogrammed.

      “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

      A hint of a smile tilted the corners of Kyle’s mouth. “Hell, yeah, I would if you decide to walk out of here.”

      “What’s with you?” Ava asked. Her fingers curled into tight fists. “My insurance company will pay for the damage to your little classic car, and I give you my word that I’m not going to…” Her words trailed off again, this time as a rush of bile filled the back of her throat.

      Clapping both hands over her mouth, she scrambled off the chair as Kyle reached for a plastic kidney-shaped bowl and pushed it under her chin. Vomiting left Ava gasping for air, her eyes filled with moisture and her throat raw and burning.

      Reaching into the pocket of his suit trousers, Kyle handed her a handkerchief and watched as she touched it to her mouth. “Do you still think you’re ready to go home?”

      “No,” she moaned.

      He eased her off the chair and helped her onto the stretcher. “Lie down, Ava. I’m going to get you some water.”

      For the first time since meeting Kyle Chatham, Ava didn’t have a comeback. She lay on the stretcher, closed her eyes and awaited his return. The E.R. doctor who’d examined her had suggested a scan to rule out bleeding in the brain, and she’d refused his recommendation. Her vision was blurred, she’d passed out and now she was vomiting—all of the symptoms associated with a concussion.

      She didn’t want to believe an air bag could cause such a serious injury. But when she thought about the air-bag warnings about infants or young children riding in the front seat leading to serious injury or death, she knew the doctor’s recommendation was best. Ava had become a patient in the very same hospital as the client she’d been rushing to see.

      Kyle returned with a bottle of water he’d gotten from a vending machine and handed it to Ava. The bruising and swelling in her face did little to detract from her attractiveness. Despite all that had happened to her, not a strand of her hair was out of place. He watched as she put the bottle to her mouth and took furtive swallows.

      “Is there anyone you want me to call to let them know where you are?” he asked Ava.

      She lowered the bottle. “Yes.” Ava gave him the telephone number to the Upper West Side family services center. “When the answering service picks up please tell them to contact Dr. Mitchell and let her know that someone will have to cover my caseload and that I’ll be out for a couple of days.”

      Kyle stopped writing on the piece of paper he’d torn from a pad advertising a drug for hypertension. “It’s going to take more than a couple of days for your bruises and swelling to go away. What if I tell them you’ll return once you get medical clearance?”

      “Tell them whatever you think is best, counselor.”

      Smiling, he winked at her. “Thank you. Who else do you want me to call?”

      “That’s it.”

      “What about your folks?”

      “My mother lives in D.C. and my dad in North Carolina, so there’s no need to call and upset them.”

      “What about your husband or boyfriend?”

      The seconds ticked off before Ava said, “I don’t have a husband or a boyfriend.”

      “My mechanic towed your car to his garage. If you still want your friend to take care of the repairs then I’ll give you the name and address of the garage so he can come and pick it up.”

      Ava closed her eyes again when pain shot through the left side of her face. “Your mechanic can take care of the repairs. He can’t rip me off too much because the insurance adjusters won’t approve it.”

      Kyle leaned forward and glared at her. “My mechanic happens to be my cousin and he’s not going to jeopardize his business or reputation by ripping off a customer.”

      Ava returned the hostile stare with one of her own. “I’ve lived in this city long enough to know everyone has some sort of a hustle. And I’m willing to throw shyster lawyers into the mix.”

      Throwing