CHAPTER NINE
Graham
He had slept for less than two hours. The acquisition documents remained open on a laptop near the bed, although they had stopped discussing them shortly after midnight.
“Wake up.”
Graham opened his eyes. Taryn's bedroom was lit by the city beyond the windows. Her hair had come loose across the pillow, and she wore the pleased expression she reserved for moments when his attention belonged entirely to her.
“What time is it?”
“Early enough that no one needs you yet.”
She kissed him before he could reach for his phone.
Graham allowed himself to be drawn back beneath the covers. Taryn did not ask where he had been, why he had missed dinner, or whether another appointment required him in the morning. She wanted him without attaching the desire to an accusation.
Afterward, she rested across his chest.
“You were distracted.”
“I'm here.”
“That is geography, Graham.”
He looked down at her. “You're beautiful.”
Taryn smiled and traced the edge of his mouth. “More beautiful than she is?”
The question should have irritated him. Instead, he remembered Laurel standing in the hallway with his phone, asking why everything she gave had taught him that she deserved nothing in return.
He pushed the memory away.
“Yes.”
Taryn raised herself on one elbow. “Do you ever wish you had chosen differently?”
Graham understood what she wanted. Answering cost him less than another argument.
“I wish I had married you.”
Pleasure softened her face. She kissed him, then reached toward the nightstand and retrieved her phone.
“In that case, your future wife needs something.”
She opened a shopping application and placed the device in his hand. An evening dress and a diamond bracelet waited in the cart, already selected, already expensive.
“You already bought a dress this week.”
“That was for the charity exhibition.” Taryn moved closer. “This is for Paris. I want to look beautiful for you.”
Graham selected the payment screen. “Anything for you.”
His phone began ringing before he completed the security verification.
The number belonged to Mount Sinai Hospital.
Graham sat upright.
Taryn drew the sheet around herself. “Who is calling you at this hour?”
He answered. “Graham Weller.”
A woman introduced herself as an emergency department nurse. “Mr. Weller, your wife was brought in by ambulance. She is unconscious and experiencing severe obstetric hemorrhaging. You are listed as her emergency contact.”
The words reached him in the wrong order.
“Pregnant?”
“Yes, sir. We are aware that Mrs. Weller is thirty four weeks pregnant. You need to come to the hospital immediately.”
“What happened?”
“I cannot provide a full assessment over the phone. The medical team is treating her now.”
“Is the baby alive?”
“I need you to come to the hospital.”
The nurse had already disconnected.
Graham stared at the screen.
Six missed calls waited beneath the hospital number. Three came from the mansion's security service. Two came from an emergency dispatch number. Another came from Rosa, although she was not scheduled to work overnight.
Taryn touched his back. “What happened?”
Graham moved away from her and reached for his trousers.
“Is it Laurel?”
He pulled on his shirt without fastening it correctly. One button entered the wrong opening, dragging the collar sideways. He tore it free and began again.
“Graham, talk to me.”
He found one shoe beneath the bed and the other near the bedroom entrance. His hands would not cooperate with the laces.
Taryn stood, wrapping the sheet around her. “Do you want me to come?”
He left without answering.
The elevator required fourteen seconds to reach the lobby. Graham knew because he watched each number appear while calling Laurel.
The first call rang until voicemail.
The second ended after six rings.
Someone answered the third.
“Emergency services.”
Graham stepped out of the elevator. “Where is my wife?”
“Who is this?”
“Graham Weller. This is Laurel's phone.”
A pause followed while the responder confirmed information with someone nearby.
“Your wife has been transported to Mount Sinai. Paramedics found this phone near the staircase.”
“Was she conscious?”
“No.”
“What happened to her?”
“She appears to have fallen. The hospital can provide further information.”
Graham reached the street and discovered that his driver was forty minutes away. He entered his own car in the private garage beneath Taryn's building and started the engine.
The city was mostly empty. Red lights changed for streets containing no traffic. Graham crossed two of them after checking the intersections and accelerated along Fifth Avenue.
He called the hospital administrator. No one transferred the call quickly enough. He called Russell, then ended it before the line connected. There was nothing Russell could do.
Laurel's phone lay near the staircase.
Graham pictured the mansion steps, pale carpet, polished railing. He imagined Laurel carrying a glass of water, losing her balance beneath the weight of the pregnancy.
Then he remembered her standing on the upper landing that morning, one hand over Samuel and the red mark from Graham's fingers visible around her wrist.
There would be no marriage after the baby was born.
He had left anyway.
A traffic light changed. The car behind him sounded its horn before Graham realized he had stopped at green.
He drove faster.
At the hospital entrance, an attendant tried to direct him toward parking. Graham abandoned the car near the ambulance lane and ran inside.
A security officer called after him. Graham continued until a receptionist blocked his path.
“My wife was brought here. Laurel Weller.”
The receptionist searched the system. Her expression changed when she found the name.
“Labor and delivery. Fourth floor.”
Graham reached the elevator and struck the button several times. When it failed to arrive immediately, he took the stairs.
On the fourth floor, people moved with controlled urgency. A nurse carried blood bags through a pair of restricted doors. Another spoke into a telephone while entering information into a computer.
Graham approached the desk. “Laurel Weller.”
The nurse looked at his open collar and unfinished clothing. “Are you her husband?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Kessler is coming to speak with you.”
“I need to see Laurel.”
“You cannot enter the operating area.”
“Is she awake?”
The nurse did not answer.
Dr. Miriam Kessler came through the restricted doors wearing surgical clothing. There was blood on the lower edge of her gown.
Graham moved toward her. “What happened?”
“Laurel suffered a severe placental abruption at home. She was already hemorrhaging before she fell. The trauma and delay have worsened her condition.”
“Can you save them?”
“We are taking her into surgery now. Samuel's heart rate is critically abnormal, and Laurel is hemorrhaging faster than we want. We need to deliver him immediately.”
“Then go.”
“There is more you need to hear first. If medication and surgical repair cannot control the bleeding, we may have to remove her uterus to stop it. I need you to authorize that possibility along with the delivery and the transfusions.”
Graham looked through the small window in the restricted doors. All he could see were people moving beyond another corridor.
“Will Samuel survive?”
Dr. Kessler did not soften it. “His heart rate is not reassuring. We will do everything possible once he is delivered. I cannot promise you more than that.”
A nurse rushed through the doors.
“Dr. Kessler, her BP is falling again.”
The physician turned back to Graham.
“I need your authorization. Now.”