Crisis by Robin Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

face.
    "Your best friends are always honest." Lou laughed. He handed the napkin back.
    "It's a perfect size," Laurie said. "I don't like jewelry to be gaudy."
    "You got your wish," Lou added. "No one is going to call it gaudy."
    "When will the big day be?" Natalie asked.
    Jack looked at Laurie. "Obviously, we haven't talked about it, but I think I'll leave it up to Laurie."
    "Really?" Laurie questioned.
    "Really," Jack answered.
    "Then I'd like to talk to my mom about the timing. She's let me know on many an occasion in the past that she'd like me to have my wedding at the Riverside Church. I know that was where she had wanted to be married herself, but it didn't happen. If it's all right, I'd like her to have a say as to the timing and the place."
    "Fine by me," Jack said. "Now where's that waiter? I need some more champagne."

    Boston, Massachusetts October 9, 2005 4:45 p.m.
    (one month later)
    It had been a great workout. Craig Bowman had used the weight room for a half-hour to tone up and stretch. Then he'd gotten into a series of competitive, pickup, three-on-three basketball games. By pure luck, he'd managed to be teamed up with two talented players. For well over an hour, he and his teammates had not lost and had given up the court only from sheer exhaustion. After the basketball, Craig had indulged himself with a massage followed by a steam and shower.
    Now, as Craig stood in front of the mirror in the VIP section of the Sports Club/LA men's locker room and regarded himself critically, he had to admit he looked better than he had in years. He'd lost twenty-two pounds and an inch from his waist since he'd joined the club six months ago. Perhaps even more apparent was the disappearance of the pudgy sallowness of his cheeks. In its place was a healthy, rosy glow. As an attempt to appear more contemporary, he'd let his sandy-colored hair grow out a bit, and then had it styled at a salon such that he now brushed it back on both sides rather than parting it on the left as he'd done for as long as he could remember. From his perspective, the overall change was so remarkable that had he seen himself a year ago he wouldn't have recognized himself. He surely was no longer the stodgy, bromidic doctor.
    Craig's current routine was to come to the club three times a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Of the three days, Friday was the best, since it was the least crowded and afforded the psychological stimulus of the weekend stretching out in front of him with all its promise. As a standing policy, he'd decided to close the office at noon on Fridays and take calls with his cell phone. That way, Leona could come with him to work out. As a present for her as well as himself, he'd sprung for a second membership.
    Several weeks previously, Leona had moved in with him at his Beacon Hill home. She'd decided on her own that it was ridiculous for her to pay for an apartment in Somerville when she was staying with him every night. Craig initially had been miffed about the move, because there had been no discussion and it had been presented as a fait accompli. To him it seemed coercive just when he was reveling in his new freedom. But, after a few days, he had adjusted. He had forgotten the power of eroticism. Also, he rationalized that the living arrangement could be reversed with ease if the need arose.
    Craig's final preparation was to slip on his new Brioni jacket. After shrugging his shoulders a few times to settle it into place, he glanced back into the mirror. Turning his head from side to side to view himself from slightly different angles, he briefly entertained the idea of studying acting instead of art. The notion brought a smile to his face. He knew his imagination was running wild yet the thought was not completely preposterous. As well as things were going, he couldn't help feel that the world was his oyster.
    When Craig was fully dressed, he checked his cell phone for messages. He was in the clear. The plan was to head back to