Buch lesen: «Romancing the M.D.»
Tamara emerged from the hospital to find Victor sitting astride a gleaming black-and-silver motorcycle. His long legs were covered in dark Levi’s that stretched taut across his strong, muscular thighs.
Her mouth ran dry. “Victor.”
“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured. “Want a ride?”
She wanted a ride all right, but not necessarily the kind he was offering. She’d thought he couldn’t look any sexier than he did in his scrubs, but damn, was she wrong. He looked hot as hell on his Harley, straddling the powerful bike with an innate, dangerous-edged masculinity that sent her hormones into overdrive. She wanted to hop onto the seat with him, thrust her breasts into his face and wrap her legs around his back.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “That’s okay. I can walk.”
“Why walk,” he drawled, “when you can ride?”
Her bones turned to gelatin. “I only live fifteen minutes away.”
“I’ll get you there in five.”
She glanced pointedly at the black helmet dangling from the motorcycle’s handlebar. “You don’t have one of those for me.”
“Actually,” he said, reaching inside a compartment next to the gas tank and producing another helmet, “I do.” He held her gaze. “So let me take you home.”
Tamara wavered, biting her lower lip.
“Get on, cariño.” His voice dropped an octave, going indecently husky. “You know you want to.”
Dear Reader,
I hope you’ve been enjoying the Hopewell General continuity series.
In the third installment, Romancing the M.D., the scandal and drama continue with the story of rival interns Victor and Tamara. These brilliant cardiac surgeons share a sizzling attraction that they have been fighting for months. But even as they find themselves competing for the same research grant, they’re already losing their hearts to each other… .
It was fun for me to revisit Alexandria, Virginia, the setting for the fictitious Hopewell General Hospital. I grew up near Alexandria and worked in that lovely, historic city for three years. Victor and Tamara are about to create their own special memories there … if they don’t kill each other first!
As always, please share your thoughts with me at author@maureen-smith.com.
Until next time, happy reading!
Maureen Smith
Romancing the M.D. Glossary of Spanish Terms
Me importa un carajo—I don’t give a damn
Vete al carajo—Go to hell
Cariño—Sweetheart (term of endearment)
Gracias—Thank you
Muchas gracias—Thank you very much
De nada—You’re welcome
Mierda—Shit
Maldito sea—Damn it
Carajo—Damn it
Pendejo—Jerk
Vámos corre rápido—Let’s go, run fast
Hermanote—affectionate nickname for an older brother (variant of hermano)
Culo—Ass
Muy bonita—Very beautiful
Mijo/mija—My son/my daughter
Papito—Daddy (often used as a Colombian term of endearment for sons)
Tía—Aunt
Apellido—Last name
Mira—Look
Bésame—Kiss me
Te necesito—I need you
Te adoro—I adore you
Te amo—I love you
No puedo vivir sin ti—I can’t live without you
Quiero estar contigo para siempre—I want to be with you forever
Romancing
the M. D.
Maureen
Smith
MILLS & BOON
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Special thanks and acknowledgment
are given to Maureen Smith for her contribution
to the Hopewell General miniseries.
For the men and women everywhere who have devoted their lives to healing others.
My utmost gratitude to Zora Bilicich, who patiently answered
my questions about her native Colombia and provided the
Spanish translations for this book.
A heartfelt thanks to Sylvia Hightower, R.N., my go-to expert on all things medical.
Chapter 1
Dr. Tamara St. John was feeling murderous.
It was too bad she’d taken an oath to do no harm. Otherwise, Victor Aguilar García would be a dead man. A gorgeous one, but a corpse nevertheless.
They squared off in the hallway outside the room of a patient who’d been readmitted to the hospital after developing a postoperative wound infection. The two interns had struck combative poses, hands on hips, lab coats spread open as they argued with each other. Tamara hated that Victor’s six-two frame forced her to angle her head back to meet his flashing gaze, and she hated that the dark blue color of his eyes reminded her of the most beautiful sapphire she’d ever seen.
“You’re not listening to me,” he said, the words gritted through straight white teeth. “Naphtomycin—”
“—is still in the clinical trial stage,” Tamara interrupted sharply. “So that means the jury’s still out on the drug’s safety and effectiveness. Unlike you, I don’t like hedging my bets on a wildcard. I think we need to administer another course of antibiotics—”
“Because that’s been working so well, right?” Victor countered mockingly.
Tamara bristled. “Let’s not forget that this is my patient—”
“—who’s been readmitted twice for a postoperative sternal wound that won’t heal. It’s time to pursue more aggressive treatment options.”
“Naphtomycin isn’t an option,” Tamara said unequivocally.
“Well, it should be.”
“I disagree. Until it’s been approved by the FDA—”
Victor interrupted, “German physicians are already using Naphtomycin on their patients, with proven results.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Tamara said obstinately.
“What do you mean it doesn’t—” He broke off, shaking his head in angry exasperation. “Look, St. John, you have the potential to be a good cardiothoracic surgeon one day, but if you want to be the best, you’re gonna have to start thinking outside the damn box.”
“How dare you?” Tamara hissed furiously. “I don’t need career advice from you! Last I checked, we both graduated from top medical schools, and we’re both finalists for the same research grant—”
“Me importa un carajo!” Victor swore in Spanish, striking his fist against the wall. “Why does everything have to be a damn competition with you? This isn’t about you and your egotistical need to be right—”
“My egotistical need?” Tamara sputtered in outrage.
“What about you? Every decision you make is based on the false assumption that you can never be wrong. You take risks with patients’ lives like you’re rolling dice on a craps table. Don’t you dare lecture me about my ego when you’re the one with the God complex!”
Victor scowled blackly. “I don’t have a—”
“Like hell you don’t!”
He glared at her another moment, then scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head at the ceiling, as if he were petitioning God for a flood that would sweep her away. He needed a shave and a haircut, Tamara noted irritably, eyeing his stubble-roughened jaw and the thick dark hair that brushed his collar. He always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, tossed on some clothes and hopped on to his Harley to ride to work. Tamara supposed that the rumpled, sexy look worked for some women. But not her. Everything about the man grated on her damn nerves.
She felt an unwelcome jolt as his strikingly blue eyes suddenly returned to hers. “Look, St. John,” he said in a low, controlled voice, “I don’t have time to stand here arguing with you, and the patient sure as hell can’t afford any more delays in her treatment. Before you rule out administering Naphtomycin, just ask yourself what you would do if Mrs. Gruener were your mother.”
“I wouldn’t endanger her life by giving her a drug that hasn’t even been approved by the FDA!” Tamara snapped.
“How do you know?” Victor shot back. “Until you’re in that situation, you have no idea what measures you’d take to help your mother.”
“I don’t deal in hypotheticals. I deal with hard, cold facts, which is something you seem incapable of—”
“Why am I standing here talking to you?” Victor cut her off. “You’re an intern just like me, so ultimately, it’s not your call whether or not Mrs. Gruener receives Naphtomycin. And thank God for that!”
Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare go over my head.”
“Think I wouldn’t? Let me tell you something. Mrs. Gruener’s recovery is more important than your stubborn need to be right.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Sure as hell could have fooled—”
Beep, beep, beep!
The two combatants glanced down at the pagers clipped to their waists. When they saw the familiar code that signaled a crisis requiring all available medical personnel, they turned and rushed downstairs to the emergency room.
They were greeted by pandemonium as several stretchers bearing injured victims were wheeled into the hospital, where a triage had been set up to evaluate the new arrivals. Those who were most seriously injured were already being tended to.
Tamara and Victor hurried over to fellow intern Jaclyn Campbell, who was examining the bloody head wound of a teenager who was moaning in pain.
“What happened?” Tamara asked anxiously.
Jaclyn grimaced. “School bus accident. At least thirty students were on board, not to mention the driver and several other motorists involved in the collision.”
“Shit,” Tamara and Victor swore in unison.
“Let’s go, people!” shouted Dr. Lucien De Winter, the new head of the E.R. at Hopewell General. He strode through the bustling emergency room, calling out authoritatively, “All hands on deck!”
Alerted by the wail of an approaching ambulance, Tamara and Victor raced outside to greet the arriving EMTs, who had just removed a stretcher bearing a teenage biracial girl covered with blood and multiple lacerations.
“She’s hypotensive,” one of the EMTs informed them as he and Victor quickly wheeled the gurney toward the entrance to the hospital. “Blood pressure’s eighty-three over forty-two, pulse is one-thirty-six.”
Moments after they rolled the new patient into the E.R., she went into cardiac arrest.
“She needs to be opened up!” Victor said urgently.
Tamara was already sprinting ahead, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she frantically searched for an attending physician to assist them. To her dismay, none could be found.
Victor and the EMT had wheeled the patient into an available trauma bay and were using a defibrillator on her. As Tamara raced in after them, Victor called over his shoulder, “We’re gonna have to open her up!”
Tamara stared at him. “We can’t!”
“Why the hell not?”
“We’re interns, Victor! We’re not supposed to be operating on patients!”
“If we don’t help this girl ASAP,” he barked, “she’s going to die!”
Tamara knew he was right. The teenager had suffered blunt chest trauma during the traffic accident, so time was of the essence. Surely she and Victor wouldn’t be punished for taking matters into their own hands in order to save the girl’s life, she reasoned.
After casting one last glance around the chaotic emergency room, Tamara sprang into action, setting up the ultrasound machine as Victor hurriedly unpacked a tray containing the necessary equipment for an emergency resuscitative thoracotomy. They didn’t have time to get the patient transported to an operating room. They’d have to perform the procedure right there in the E.R.
After intubating the patient and donning protective equipment, Tamara and Victor went to work cutting open her chest cavity to gain access to her heart. With the hospital’s medical staff stretched perilously thin that morning, she and Victor had to rely on each other’s training and instincts to ensure a successful operation. Like a precisely choreographed ballet, they passed the scalpel, scissors and forceps back and forth, and moved out of each other’s way without being told. As Victor massaged the patient’s heart with his gloved hands, Tamara murmured encouragements to him.
Suddenly their personal differences and grievances didn’t matter. All that mattered was the single goal they shared—to save a young girl’s life.
So that’s what they focused on doing until an attending physician arrived to take over.
Later that evening—after their young patient had been transported to the intensive care unit for recovery, and the other accident victims had been stabilized or discharged—Tamara and Victor found themselves alone in the interns’ locker room. It had been a long, exhausting day. All Tamara craved was a hot shower and a soft bed, though part of her was so wired from today’s events that she wondered whether sleep would elude her tonight.
She was tying her sneakers when the deep, masculine timbre of Victor’s voice came to her from the other side of the lockers. “You did a great job today.”
Tamara straightened slowly from the floor. She was surprised by the unexpected compliment. And undeniably pleased.
“Thanks,” she said. “So did you.”
“Gracias.” Victor paused for a moment. “We make a good team.”
Something foreign fluttered in her belly. “Yeah,” she agreed softly, “we do. Shocking, isn’t it?”
He gave a low chuckle. “Yeah.”
A long silence fell between them.
Tamara found herself holding her breath, waiting for him to say more. When he didn’t, she rose from the bench, grabbed her backpack from the locker and swung the door shut. As she started from the room, she tossed over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tom—”
“Wait up. I’ll walk you outside.”
She turned to watch as Victor emerged from behind the row of lockers. He’d changed into a blue T-shirt and dark jeans that rode low on his hips and clung to his strong, muscular thighs. His duffel bag was slung over his back, while a gleaming black helmet was tucked beneath his arm.
He sauntered toward her, exuding such raw magnetism that Tamara’s mouth ran dry.
When he reached her, she noticed two things at once: the color of his T-shirt brought out the piercing blue of his eyes, and his hair had gotten tousled when he’d put on his clothes. She had an overwhelming urge to reach up and slide her fingers through the thick, wavy locks to see if they felt as soft as they looked.
“Ready?” Victor asked her.
She glanced away quickly. “Sure. Let’s go.”
They left the locker room and headed down the corridor toward the nearest exit. The hospital was so quiet, the chaos from that morning’s school bus accident almost seemed like a distant memory. But Tamara knew she’d never forget it. She and Victor had saved a sixteen-year-old girl from dying today. No matter how many years she practiced medicine, or how many more lives she saved, Tamara hoped she’d never take a single miracle for granted.
As she and Victor neared the sliding glass doors that led to the parking lot, they saw that it was raining outside. No, not just raining. Pouring.
“Oh, no,” Tamara groaned, dreading the fifteen-minute walk to her studio apartment in the torrential downpour. “I didn’t bring my umbrella to work this morning.”
“I don’t think it’d do you much good,” Victor muttered grimly, his heavy brows furrowed as he observed the slanted sheets of rain falling from the night sky. “You’d be soaked to the bone by the time you got halfway home.”
“I know.” Tamara frowned, eyeing the helmet under his arm. “You probably wouldn’t fare much better on your bike.”
“Probably not.” But he looked like he wanted to try anyway.
She heaved a sigh. “This really sucks. I don’t even remember the forecast calling for rain.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never listen to weather forecasts.”
Tamara’s mouth curved wryly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Victor cocked a brow at her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that you—” The rest of her reply was drowned out by a sharp clap of thunder that rattled the building and made the overhead lights flicker.
She and Victor stared at each other.
“Looks like we’re gonna have to wait out the storm,” he said.
Tamara nodded reluctantly. “Looks like.”
Victor glanced around the quiet reception area, then said abruptly, “Come on.”
Tamara frowned at him. “Where?”
“Just follow me.” He started off down the hallway.
When she remained where she was, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “If anyone sees that we’re still hanging around the hospital, we’re gonna get drafted into pulling another shift.”
He was right.
“Say no more,” Tamara muttered, hurrying after him.
Chapter 2
They rode the elevator to the tenth floor, where they disembarked onto a vacant wing that was undergoing construction. The long corridors were dimly lit, and plastic tarp covered the dusty linoleum floors. With rain lashing at the windows and forks of lightning streaking across the sky, the empty ward had a decidedly gloomy atmosphere.
“We probably shouldn’t be up here,” Tamara said, her voice hushed.
Victor chuckled softly. “What’s wrong? You afraid that some bogeyman is lurking in the shadows?”
“Of course not.” A wry grin tugged at her lips. “But you have to admit that this would be the perfect setup for some cheesy horror movie. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Michael Myers has slaughtered more than his share of victims in deserted hospital wards.”
Again, Victor chuckled. “Don’t worry, cariño. I’ll protect you.”
Tamara forced herself to ignore the way her pulse skipped at the term of endearment, which he’d undoubtedly used without conscious thought.
As they walked down the empty corridor, their footsteps crunched against the plastic tarp, the sound echoing loudly in the silence. “Where, exactly, are we going?” Tamara asked.
“To find an open room.”
“What if there aren’t any?”
He slanted her an amused look. “Think positive.”
They rounded a corner and tried the first door. It was locked, as were the next twelve doors they approached.
Weary and frustrated, Tamara was about to give up and suggest that they head back downstairs. And then they came to an unlocked room near the end of another hallway. Laughing softly, they slipped inside like a pair of vagrants relieved to find shelter on a brutal winter night.
When Tamara automatically reached for the light switch, Victor warned, “Don’t turn it on, or someone might see us.”
“Oops, that’s right. I forgot.”
Not that they really needed the light. Since the curtains were open, rooftop lighting from an adjacent building poured through the window to reveal a small room occupied by a single bed, a night table and a chair tucked into the corner.
It wasn’t until Victor closed the door behind them that Tamara felt a moment’s pause at being alone with him. Not because she was attracted to him or anything, she told herself. She just didn’t want to be caught in a compromising position with him. Their chief of staff, Dr. Germaine Dudley, frowned upon intra-hospital relationships. The last thing Tamara needed was to be disqualified from receiving the research grant because she’d violated the hospital’s nonfraternization policy.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Victor told her.
She hesitated, then sat stiffly on the bed and shrugged out of her backpack.
Victor set his helmet on the table and dropped his duffel bag to the floor, then crossed the room to retrieve the lone chair. He dragged it over to the bed and plopped down with a grateful groan.
“Damn, it feels good to be off my feet,” he said, stretching out his long legs and rubbing his hands over his face. “Thank God one of these rooms was open.”
“Yeah.” Tamara glanced out the window. “The rain doesn’t appear to be letting up.”
Victor followed the direction of her wistful gaze. “Nope. Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”
She sighed heavily. “Looks that way.”
Victor chuckled dryly, bending to remove his black boots. “Don’t sound so depressed, St. John. I’m sure we can get through a couple more hours without killing each other. Especially if we’re both asleep—which I intend to be pretty damn soon.”
Tamara grinned. “Good point.” After another hesitation, she toed off her sneakers, loosened her ponytail, then stretched out on the bed facing Victor. “We should probably set an alarm so we don’t oversleep.”
“Good idea.” Victor pulled out his cell and quickly programmed some numbers, then stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “All set.”
“Thanks,” Tamara murmured.
“De nada. Sweet dreams.”
“You, too.”
She watched as he propped his big feet on the table, folded his hands across his flat abdomen, leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes.
Tamara rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. But she was too keyed up to take a nap, and Victor’s proximity didn’t exactly help. It had been eons since she’d last gone on a date, let alone shared a bedroom with a man. And this wasn’t just any man. This was her nemesis, her archrival, the only person who could derail her chance at landing the research grant she’d worked so hard to receive.
Gnawing her lower lip, Tamara cautiously turned her head on the pillow and looked at Victor, allowing her eyes to trace his features. Even she had to admit how ridiculously gorgeous he was, with thick dark brows, strong cheekbones, a square jaw and a deep, olive-toned complexion that was a gift of his Colombian heritage. But the feature Tamara found most distracting—next to his hypnotic blue eyes—were his lush, sensual lips. Watching those lips move had caused her to lose her train of thought more often than she cared to admit.
But she knew better than to indulge an attraction to Victor Aguilar, no matter how unbelievably hot he was. According to the rumor mill, he’d secretly dated over half the hospital’s nursing staff, as well as one of their fellow interns, Isabelle Morales. Even if Tamara weren’t a stickler for following rules, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to become involved with Victor. Her sense of self-preservation was too strong for that.
So why are you lying here ogling the man when you’re supposed to be sleeping? her conscience mocked.
Heat stung her face, and she quickly averted her gaze. As thunder rumbled outside the window, she squeezed her eyes shut and silently began counting sheep.
Several moments later she felt a light, prickling awareness that made her reopen her eyes and turn her head. Her heart thumped into her throat when she discovered Victor watching her from beneath the thick fringe of his dark lashes.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
After a prolonged silence, she whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head slowly. “You?”
She shook her head. “The thunder’s too loud,” she lied.
“Yeah.” But he didn’t sound very convinced.
“I think I’m too wired to sleep,” she added, sitting up and folding her legs into a half-lotus position. “No matter how exhausted I am at the end of the day, it usually takes me a while to come down off an adrenaline rush.”
Victor smiled a little. “Me, too.”
Tamara hesitated, then said with soft wonder, “We performed an emergency thoracotomy today.”
“We did, didn’t we?”
She nodded. “Even though we were taught how to do the procedure in med school, we were always told that the survival rate is so low, less than two percent. But we beat the odds, Victor. We defied the experts, and Bethany Dennison lived. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Absolutely,” Victor agreed, gazing at her with an expression of quiet fascination.
She blushed, sheepishly biting her lip. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to gush like that.”
“Don’t apologize. I feel the same way you do. That same sense of awe at the realization that you’ve been entrusted with people’s lives, that all the education and training you’ve received comes down to that pivotal moment when someone’s life hangs in the balance, and they’re counting on you to pull them through.” He paused, shaking his head slowly at Tamara. “It’s powerful.”
“Very,” she whispered, shivers racing up and down her spine. She felt more connected to him than she’d ever imagined was possible before today.
They gazed at each other for several charged moments as lightning flashed outside the window.
A half smile quirked the corners of Victor’s mouth. “Have you ever questioned your sanity for choosing cardiothoracic surgery as your specialty?”
Tamara grinned. “Why? Because we have to undergo four years of college, four years of medical school, seven years of a general surgery residency, and three more years of a 120-hour-per-week cardiothoracic surgery fellowship? Nahhh.”
Victor grinned. “Piece of cake, right?”
“Ab-so-lute-ly.”
They looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
When their mirth subsided several moments later, Tamara let out a long, deep sigh. “Honestly? I have occasionally wondered whether I should explore a less demanding field, like dermatology or ophthalmology.
Something that would allow me to have some semblance of a life outside work.”
“Marriage,” Victor murmured. “Children. Guilt-free family vacations.”
“Exactly,” Tamara agreed. “I’ve never wanted to become one of those self-absorbed workaholics who’s never around for my family, who’s stuck in a hospital on gorgeous weekends while my husband and kids do fun things without me.” She sighed. “On the other hand, I’ve always wanted to be a heart surgeon. The best of the best. I can’t achieve that goal unless I’m willing to make some hard sacrifices.”
Victor nodded slowly.
She knew he understood where she was coming from. They were both driven to succeed as cardiothoracic surgeons, who were considered among the most talented and sophisticated of their surgical peers. Not only were they required to master the field of general surgery, they also underwent extensive training, charted new areas of research and technology, and performed extremely dangerous and complex operations. Being a cardiothoracic surgeon was not for the faint of heart—no pun intended.
“So what about you, Aguilar?” Tamara ventured, turning the tables on him. “After a grueling eighteen-hour day, have you ever thought about throwing in the towel? Just surrendering your scrubs and walking away from the madness?”
He chuckled softly, dragging his hands through his thick dark hair. “Even if I ever wanted to quit, I have too many people depending on me not to.”
“Your parents,” Tamara surmised.
He nodded. “They came to this country with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, and they worked their asses off to give me and my younger brothers a better life than the one we left behind in Colombia. I’m the first in my family to graduate from college. So my parents are counting on me to seize the American Dream so that I can reach back and help my siblings do the same thing. I’m not about to let them down.”
Tamara gazed at him, filled with newfound respect and admiration for his loyalty to his family. At the same time, she was struck by the realization that they were halfway through their two-year internship, and she didn’t know much about him.
She knew that he had at least one younger brother, who bore such a striking resemblance to him that Tamara had done a double take when she saw him. Alejandro Aguilar had stopped by the hospital one day to have lunch with Victor. Before they left, Victor had introduced his brother to Jaclyn and Isabelle, completely snubbing Tamara who’d been standing nearby, pretending not to notice or care.
Shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the slight, she asked curiously, “How many brothers do you have?”
“Four.”
Her eyes widened incredulously. “Your parents have five sons?”
Victor gave her a crooked smile. “That’s generally what four plus one equals.”
“Shut up, smart-ass.” But Tamara was grinning. “I feel sorry for your poor mother, being outnumbered like that.”
Victor chuckled. “If you ever met my mother, you’d save your pity. She’s always run the show in our family. Although my father would never admit it, we all know Mama’s the boss. So being the only female in the house has never made any difference to her.”
Tamara smiled softly, enjoying this rare glimpse into his background. Although he was well liked and respected by their fellow interns, he’d been known to keep the details of his personal life close to the vest. Which was something else he and Tamara had in common.
“It sounds like you and your family are pretty tight,” she observed.
“We are.” A quiet, reflective smile touched Victor’s mouth. “We’ve been through a lot together.”
Tamara nodded, then couldn’t resist asking gently, “Why did your parents leave Colombia?”
She watched as sorrow settled over his face like a veil. He looked past her, staring out the rain-streaked window. When he spoke, his voice was pitched low. “It was too dangerous to stay there. At the time, many parts of Bogotá were overrun with gangs. My parents lived in constant fear of something happening to one of us.” He paused for a long moment, and Tamara instinctively braced herself for what he would reveal next. “One day, my uncle and his daughter were sitting on their front porch when a gunfight broke out between two rival gangs. They were killed in the crossfire.”
A horrified gasp escaped Tamara’s lips. “Oh, my God, Victor,” she breathed. “How awful.”
Pain flickered in his eyes. “That’s the way it was,” he said grimly. “Even if you were at home minding your own business, you could still be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His brooding gaze returned to Tamara’s. “Not long after my uncle and cousin died, my parents packed up the family and fled to America, along with my aunt and her surviving children.”
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