Tempted By Dr Patera. Tina Beckett

CHAPTER ELEVEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       PROLOGUE

      THE IMAGES FLASHING across the television screen were...horrific.

      Deakin Patera’s gut became a tight ball of fear as he strained to make out the words. He couldn’t hear the newscaster’s voice over the noise in the bar, but he knew that landscape—that shoreline—by heart. And the text crawling along the bottom of the screen told snippets of the story: Eight point one earthquake rocks Greek island. Hundreds injured. Death toll not yet available. A few still missing.

      Who?

       Hell! Who?

      Pulling out his phone, he checked for text messages. He had one from his aunt.

      Safe for now. Will advise about aftershocks. No damage on the house, thank God. Where are you?

      No damage on the house. Unlike that other time. His palm scrubbed over the rough skin on the side of his neck, even though that particular damage had faded long ago.

      He typed a quick message back.

      Glad you’re safe. I’m in Africa on medical mission. Any word from the others?

      She would know who he was talking about. His best friends from childhood. They had all partnered together to open a much-needed clinic on their home island—just as their parents had all partnered together to found Mopaxeni Shipping, the company that had made them all rich.

      Deakin rarely saw the clinic nowadays, but Theo kept him apprised of how it was doing. Their joint trust funds paid the bulk of the expenses, but a crisis like this one was going to stretch its finances to breaking point.

      He kept half an eye on the reports as he scrolled through the contacts on his phone.

      There were worries over tsunamis rolling in from the sea. His aunt hadn’t said anything about that, and nor had she texted back about his friends.

      He sent off another question.

      Tsunamis?

      Within seconds he had a reply.

      So far, no, thank God. But we’re on high ground. Should be okay. I have a message out to Theo. Chris and Ares aren’t on the island. Haven’t heard of damage to the clinic. The airstrip is a wreck, though. No flights in or out at the moment.

      No flights. Well, at least they were able to get messages in and out—although that could change at any moment as more and more people tried to get a hold of loved ones.

      His aunt hadn’t heard from Theo. Where was he?

      Even as he thought it, his phone began to vibrate in his hand. The readout was exactly what he wanted to see.

       Thank God!

      He shot off a final text to his aunt.

      Will write more soon.

      Then he answered the call.

      “Theo, glad to hear from you.”

      “Don’t be glad. Not yet. You’ve heard?”

      Was his friend injured? The clinic decimated?

      “I’m just seeing the news. Is it as bad as it looks?”

      “If you mean does the island look like it’s been through a meat grinder...almost. Where are you?”

      The same question his aunt had asked.

      “Africa. I still have a bit more than a month left on my contract.”

      “Find a way to get out of it, then. Mythelios needs you.”

      “No, it doesn’t. It’s done fine without me—better without me.”

      A sigh came over the phone. “Stop with the tired excuses, already. That was ages ago. Everyone who matters has already forgotten.”

      His parents were dead, so they certainly had. But everyone?

      “I haven’t forgotten. And I bet if you asked Ville neither has he.”

      He scrubbed a hand over his neck once again. Even without the obvious reminders looking back at him in the mirror he would never be able to erase those images from his head. Of his best friend’s grin right before the world exploded before his eyes.

      “Ville’s family moved off the island ten years ago. Besides, it doesn’t matter.”

      Before he had time to draw enough breath to throw another excuse at his friend Theo brushed it aside with a sharp expletive.

      “No buts, Deak. We’ve had this argument before. Mythelios is suffering. So put aside your self-pity for once. It’s time for you to do the right thing. Come home. The sooner, the better.”

       CHAPTER ONE

      THE CRUSH OF people in the inner sanctum of the clinic made Leanora Risi wince. Just over a month since the earthquake and the flow of those emotionally and physically wounded had not completely abated.

      Many were drawn to the steady presence of the clinic and its outside garden. It had gotten so it was hard for her to find a quiet corner in which to hear from those who were still having problems dealing with the after-effects. She was well past the end of her vacation and her savings were slowly dwindling. She was going to have to make a decision about whether to leave or not...soon.

      But not right now.

      A man with dark shaggy hair and a jaw shadowed with what had to be a three-week growth of whiskers made his way to the front desk. There was an exhaustion about him that went beyond physical tiredness. It was in the way his eyes shifted slowly from one person to the next. He greeted several of them, shaking their hands, but it was a rapid clasp and release. Not the hearty greeting most of the islanders gave each other.

      He reached the desk, but didn’t take the pen to sign in. Instead he flipped over the top sheet with his right hand and started studying the entries.

      An internal alarm went off inside her. While it wasn’t against the rules for patients to glance at the list of other patients to see how long the wait would be—at least she didn’t think it was—the way he was acting was odd, making her gut tighten.

      The number of patients they’d had right after the earthquake was staggering, and they had ended up just stacking new sheets on top of the old ones, since they hadn’t had time to sit down and collate the data and put the sign-in times on charts yet. Even though things had evened out quite a bit, there were still things they hadn’t completely caught up with.

      When those long fingers flicked another sheet over, it was Lea’s signal to move. Murmuring an apology as she accidentally brushed shoulders with an older woman, she hurried forward, arriving beside the man and firmly placing her hand on the first couple of sheets, trapping his beneath them.

      “Can I help you with something?”

      His gaze swiveled from the stack of papers to her face. Up went dark brows, a hint of irritation marring his rugged features. “You can let me see how many patients have been treated today.”

      That inner alarm became less certain. Those low growled words didn’t sound apologetic. At all. No sign of the nosy-neighbor-caught-with-binoculars-up-to-his-eyes syndrome. Instead he