The Money Man. Carolyn McSparren

on. My assistant said the keys would be over the door. Bags?”

      She opened the back door of her truck and pointed to a pair of bulging duffel bags. She was suddenly aware of how ratty they looked. He probably carried matching monogrammed pigskin cases—but he reached for her duffels without batting an eye.

      She tried to take at least one, but he walked off before she could snag it. The man had shoulders on him. Probably one of those guys who worked out at the gym five days a week and did iron-man competitions on the weekend. No wedding ring.

      She followed him down the hall, waited while he carefully lowered the bags (which she would have simply dropped), unlocked the door and stood aside. She entered, to find a tiny hall, a small living area with a couch, a couple of chairs at a round table and chairs for dining, a credenza, a small kitchen that could be closed off with louvered doors, and at the back a bedroom with a king-size bed and a bath with a whirlpool.

      The thought of the whirlpool was seductive. Her arms and shoulders ached not only from the drive, but from the tension of the past few days.

      The suite was institutional and bland, but still more than she had expected. “I can’t possibly afford this,” she said.

      “The clinic is paying for the first two weeks,” he said over his shoulder as he carried her bags to the bedroom. “By then, you should have your own place and can send for your things.”

      “What things? With the exception of books, stereo equipment, my computer and a few old pictures that mean something to me, I’m starting from scratch. New furniture, new town, new job, new apartment.”

      “Excellent idea. I didn’t know whether you’d prefer to be on an upper floor, but this level has a small terrace—and the security is good.”

      “A terrace?” She hadn’t noticed. She walked past him, unlocked a sliding glass door, and opened it. The motel had been built on the edge of a golf course, and acres of landscaped grass stretched down from the tiny terrace. She turned. “This is heaven.”

      For the first time Mark smiled. “Glad you like it.”

      He had a genuinely sweet smile. “You ought to do that more often.”

      “What?”

      “Smile. Makes you look human.”

      “Coy says it makes me look like a gator who’s just spotted an absent-minded duck.”

      She laughed. “He has a point.”

      “I had the refrigerator and the bar stocked. Could you use a drink?”

      “Yeah, I guess I could. Could we sit out here?” She pointed at the two molded plastic chairs.

      “If you like. I didn’t know what you like, so my assistant brought over a bit of everything. Frankly, I’m amazed she got here and left again before we arrived— but then, Beth’s amazing.”

      “I’d better go with what the natives drink.”

      “That would be Jack Black and branch.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Jack Daniels bourbon and branch water. Or in this case, good bottled water.”

      “Oh. Make it very light, otherwise you’ll have to pour me into bed when I pass out.”

      He raised an eyebrow. She felt her face go red, as he turned away and went back into the suite. One lousy eyebrow, and she reacted like a schoolgirl.

      He handed her the drink in a heavy crystal glass that clearly had not come with the motel’s stock of bar glasses, and took the chair beside her. He stretched his long legs in front of him. “To crime.”

      “How about to secrets?”

      He glanced over at her. “Huh?”

      “Come on, Mr. Scott…”

      “Mark.”

      “I doubt you generally baby-sit newcomers in your busy executive life, yet here you are playing bartender, while Rick ran from me to trim a pig’s toenails. What gives?”

      He took a deep breath. “You’re too observant for your own good, Dr. Marsdon.”

      “Oh Lord, don’t tell me there’s no job!”

      He raised a hand quickly. “No, no, there’s a job. There’s very much a job. You are our only full time large-animal specialist at this point. We’ve got a couple of part-timers, and everybody has had some experience with large animals—but we definitely need you.”

      “So, what’s the problem?”

      “The problem is the same as it usually is with any start-up organization. Money is tight.”

      “Is that all?”

      “Oh, that is very much all. Or is likely to be if we’re not careful.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning that everyone connected with the clinic is going to have to start generating income big-time or make do with a great deal less in the way of resources for the foreseeable future.”

      “No problem.” She hesitated. “How much income? And how much less are we talking about?”

      He sighed. “That’s the thing. We’re only now going fully operational 24–7, and you are the low man on the totem pole, since you are the newest vet.”

      “And?”

      “That means we need you not only to cover the large animals, but to work small animals most evenings and some weekends.”

      She sat up. “And I sleep and eat when?”

      “You’ll have time off during the day and at least two—possibly three—weekends a month, but most of that time you’ll still be on-call for large-animal emergencies.”

      “For how long?”

      He opened his hands. “A few weeks, maybe a few months.”

      “Uh-huh.” She leaned back and peered at him. He avoided her eyes. “I don’t mind the hours, since I obviously don’t have any other life yet. What else?”

      “There have been a few construction problems, delays, cost overruns. Nothing unusual in the start-up phase of an operation this size.”

      “Rick said that.”

      “The thing is, Rick tends to make promises—all in good faith—that he may not be able to deliver on.”

      “What precisely can he not deliver on?” Her drink splashed onto her jeans.

      “Calm down. We’re talking a little glitch here.”

      “How little?”

      “At the moment, there aren’t sufficient funds to equip more than one operating theater for large animals, and even that is not quite finished. We need additional lights, for one thing.”

      “Is that all? I can’t operate on more than one animal at a time, anyway, and we can always bring in portable lights for a few days. You had me worried. As long as I’ve got the diagnostic equipment and the other stuff…”

      “Yes, well. Unfortunately, that is the other problem. We don’t quite have all the equipment yet.”

      She set her drink down on the plastic table beside her. “The equipment is nonnegotiable, Mr. Scott. Why do you think I uprooted my life and dragged myself down here to work with Rick? He promised me lasers, ultrasound, magnetic imagery, fluoroscopes, an anesthesia machine—a state-of-the-art operating theater.”

      “And you’ll get all of it, Dr. Marsdon. Just not in the next few months.”

      “But it’s ordered, right? You’re simply having a problem with delivery dates?”

      “Unfortunately,