Free The Next Accident by Lisa Gardner Page A

also fewer sharp lines and hard objects. It comforted her.
    They walked in silence, not heading anywhere in particular, but by some mutual understanding of the city, working their way toward Rittenhouse Square.
    "My turn to ask a question," Tristan said abruptly. He had loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves in deference to the wet-wool humidity. He still looked elegant, and Bethie was aware of other people casting them covert glances.
    "Ask," she prodded, becoming aware that Tristan was still studying her.
    "You promise not to be insulted?"
    "After two glasses of wine, you have to work very hard to get me insulted."
    He stopped walking in the middle of the block, then turned her so she'd have to face him. "It's not just the kidney, is it?"
    "What?"
    "This. It's not only about me having your daughter's kidney, is it? I know it's a rude question, and I don't want to upset you, but this evening is going even better than I imagined, and well, I need to know. Some people think when you get someone's organ, you get a piece of her soul as well. Is that what this evening is about? Am I just a proxy for your daughter?" He added in a rush, "Because I'm seriously considering kissing you, Elizabeth Quincy, and I don't think a proxy for your daughter should be doing that."
    Bethie felt dazed. Her hand fell free of his, fluttered at the base of her throat, toyed with the collar of her satin shirt. "I don't… Of course not! That's… that's foolishness. An old wives' tale. Silly superstition."
    Tristan nodded with satisfaction. He seemed ready to resume walking, when she ruined her own argument by saying, "You don't… You don't feel any differently, do you?"
    "Pardon?"
    "We did run into each other by chance," she continued hastily, "and yet you knew who I was right away, even though I'd been pointed out to you only once before. That's a little odd, don't you think? God knows when I go to parties I have to meet someone three or four times before I can put a name to a face."
    "You helped save my life. That's a bit more significant than some stuffed suit at a black-and-white soiree."
    "There's something else."
    "What?" He looked genuinely concerned now. The evening had been so beautiful. It pained her to say what she had to say next.
    She whispered, "You know my nickname."
    "What nickname?"
    "Bethie. You've called me Bethie. Many times. Always Bethie, never Liz or Beth. I never told you that was my nickname, Tristan. And how many Elizabeths do you know who go by Bethie instead?"
    The blood drained out of his face. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he appeared so horror-struck she wished she could recall her words. Simultaneously, both of their gazes slid to his side, where the scar still puckered pink and raw beneath the protective cover of his shirt.
    "Blimey," he breathed.
    Bethie had a chill. The night was hot, the humidity oppressive, and still she rubbed her arms for warmth.
    "This was a bad idea," she said abruptly.
    "No-"
    "Yes!"
    "Dammit, no!" He reclaimed her arm, his grip firm but not painful. "I'm not your daughter."
    "I know that."
    "I'm fifty-two years old, Bethie… Elizabeth. My favorite food is steak, my favorite drink Glenfiddich straight up. I run my own business. I enjoy fast cars, fast boats. Lord be praised, I have a deep and abiding love for
Playboy,
and it's not for the articles. Does any of. that sound like a twenty-three-year-old girl to you?"
    "How did you know Amanda's age?"
    "Because the doctors told me!"
    "You asked questions about her?"
    "Bethie… love, of course I asked questions. Someone had to die for me to live. I think about that. Hell, half my nights I lie awake thinking of nothing but that. I am not your daughter; I swear I'm not even the ghost of your daughter. But I am a man who's grateful."
    Bethie was silent. She needed to think about this. Then, she nodded. "It's possible," she offered, "that someone once referred to me as Bethie. You know, in the hospital."
    His grip loosened on her arm.