No Regrets

“She was crossing Sunset and got hit by a car,” the paramedic began. The man, whose badge read Sam Browning, had earned the nickname Big E his first night on the job when he’d excitedly radioed that he and his partner were bringing in a twenty-year-old male who’d been “ejaculated” from his Corvette.

“It was my fault,” the patient interrupted, struggling to sit up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Fault’s for the cops to decide,” Big E said. “Why don’t you just lie down, ma’am, and let me tell the nurse what she needs to know to treat you, okay?”

“I’m sorry.” The woman gave Molly an apologetic look through lashes coated with navy blue mascara. Molly was momentarily distracted by the thin row of rhinestones bordering her eyelids.

“That’s all right,” she soothed. “I can understand you’ve suffered a great deal of stress.”

“I just don’t want that poor driver to get in trouble. Especially on Christmas Eve.”

“The driver’s pretty shook up,” Big E told Molly. “He insisted on coming along. He’s out in the waiting room. You might want to talk to him after you’re finished.”

“I’ll do that.”

“You won’t be sorry. He’s very handsome,” the patient informed Molly, earning a glare from the paramedic who was obviously frustrated at having been interrupted again. “A girl could certainly do worse.”

“Anyway,” Big E doggedly continued, “according to witnesses, the patient suffered a brief period of unconsciousness—”

“I suppose that’s why I can’t remember what happened.”

“It’s possible you’ve suffered a slight concussion,” Molly said.

“She had some labored breathing in the vehicle coming over here, which suggests a cracked rib,” Big E said, grimly determined to finish his report. “We started her on glucose, thiamine and naloxone. As you can see, there’s no loss of verbal skills and her only other symptoms are retrograde amnesia and a few scrapes and bruises.”

“I skinned my leg when I landed,” the patient revealed as Molly took her blood pressure.

Molly observed the red-and-purple scrape along one firm thigh. The skin around it was darkly bruised. “Don’t worry, we’ll have the gravel cleaned out in no time.”

“But it won’t scar?”

“No.” Molly smiled reassuringly. “It shouldn’t.”

“I’m so relieved. I’m a dancer. My legs are my livelihood.”

“When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a ballerina.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“My family couldn’t afford the lessons.”

“Oh.” The woman pursed her vermilion lips and thought about that for a moment. “That’s too bad.”

“Not really.” Molly began swabbing the wound while she waited for Reece to arrive. “Because I know now I was meant to be a nurse.” She didn’t mention being a nun, since that always seemed to lead to questions, and this patient was already talkative enough.

“I’ve always admired caretaker personalities,” the woman said. “Unfortunately, there aren’t enough of them in the world. Especially these days.”

“I don’t know about the world, but we could use a few more in here tonight.”

“Amen,” Reece agreed as he joined them in the curtained cubicle. “I’m Dr. Longworth. Looks as if someone had a close encounter with Santa’s sleigh.”

The woman laughed, as Reece had intended. When the laugh deteriorated into a wheezing cough, he and Molly exchanged a look.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to remove your dress, Ms....”

“Fuller. Dana Fuller,” the woman responded in a breathy voice that Molly suspected had little to do with a possible cracked rib.

Molly had seen this happen innumerable times. Reece Longworth was a devastatingly attractive man; whenever he appeared in the emergency room, women invariably took one look at his laughing emerald eyes, perpetually tousled chestnut hair, boyish smile and lean muscular body, and experienced an immediate increase in their heart rates.

“And I’ll be more than happy to take off anything you’d like, Doctor.”

The sexual invitation was unmistakable. Molly was amused by the flush rising from the collar of Reece’s white jacket.

As Molly helped Reece remove the sequined dress, he stared in momentary puzzlement at the flat brown nipples. As comprehension crashed down on him he lifted the sheet he and Molly were pulling up over the patient’s chest and viewed the penis nestled in the curly dark hair.

He’d learned in medical school never to make assumptions, and he assured himself that the only reason he hadn’t realized he was treating a man was because he’d already been working for twenty-four hours. Now, as he managed to keep a straight face and examine the patient’s breathing, Reece reminded himself again why he was hooked on the ER.

He enjoyed the action, the constant surprises. There was nothing worse, he reminded himself as he referred the patient to neurology for a CAT scan, than being bored. Fortunately, that damn sure wasn’t going to happen tonight.

The driver of the car that had struck the cross-dressing dancer was still pacing the waiting room when Molly came to assure him that the patient was going to survive with a minimum of injuries.

“Thank God.” He took both her hands in his. “I’ve been so worried.”

“I can certainly understand that.” Molly smiled her professional caretaker’s smile. “But you can go home now and sleep easy.”

“Sleep.” He thrust his hands through his hair. He was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties. “Lord, I doubt if I’ll sleep for a week, after this.”

“If you’d like, I can ask the physician on duty to prescribe a sleeping pill for you. Just for tonight.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll be all right.” He took another deep breath. “I want to thank you, Nurse…” He glanced down at her name tag, which, due to security measures lobbied for by the female employees of the hospital, had only her first name along with the alphabet soup of initials representing her numerous professional credentials.

He tilted his head and studied her. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look much like a Margaret.”

“My friends call me Molly.”

“Molly.” He considered that a moment. “That’s much better. Do you have a last name?”

“McBride.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I can see the emerald isle in your face, Molly McBride. My mother, Mary Keegan, was black Irish. I should have recognized those lovely blue eyes and dark hair right away.”

“You had other things on your mind.”

“True. But the day I fail to notice a beautiful woman is the day I need to reassess my priorities. My name is Patrick Nelson.”

The conversation was getting more than a little sticky. Molly pulled her hand out of his grasp. “Well, it’s a very busy night, Mr. Nelson, and I’d better get back to work—”

“Would you have a drink with me when you get off shift, Molly?”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“A cup of coffee, then. Or a glass of eggnog. It’s Christmas,” he reminded her. “I transferred down here from San Francisco last month and don’t know many people. I’ll also admit to being so desperate for company that I’m throwing myself on your mercy.”

Patrick Nelson seemed sincere. And nice. Which left Molly feeling a bit like the Grinch about to steal his Christmas. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“If you’re involved with someone, that’s all right. I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t find you very attractive, Nurse Molly, but if you just want to share some friendly, platonic conversation, that’d be great, too.”

From the flirtatious, masculine gleam in his eyes, she suspected he was looking for more than mere conversation. “Mr. Nelson—”

“Patrick,” he reminded her.

“Patrick.” She decided the best way to handle this was to just go straight to the point. “I’m a nun.”

“A nun?” His gaze swept over her, from the top of her unruly dark hair down to her shoes, stained with blood spatters. “Jesus—I mean, jeez,” he corrected quickly, “talk about a waste.”

This was not the first time Molly had heard that statement. She understood that much of the world found women who’d chosen to sacrifice worldly pleasures mysterious. What she’d never figured out was why so many men seemed to take a woman’s decision to live a celibate life personally.

“I’m afraid we’re in disagreement about that, Mr. Nelson.” She patted his arm. “Have a happy holiday.”

Two hours later, the shift had finally come to an end. After assuring Reece that she’d be at their house for Christmas dinner, Molly retrieved her coat from the nurses’ locker room and left the building.

Unlike the previous night, the street was quiet and empty in the midnight hour. A huge white galleon of a moon soared high in the sky, illuminating the men wrapped in sleeping bags, blankets or newspapers, sleeping in doorways, all their worldly possessions piled into purloined shopping carts.

Molly stopped in front of the crèche. As she’d feared, the towels intended to represent the baby Jesus had been stolen. One of the lambs and an angel were also missing and someone had painted gang signs on Joseph in seasonal red and green paint. A lingering scent of spray enamel blended with the aroma of garbage from the overstuffed Dumpsters and diesel fuel from the trucks that roared by overhead on the freeway.

As she continued walking to the bus stop, Molly thought it sad that those truckers were having to work on Christmas, the one day of the year they should be home with their families.

Families. As content as she was with her life, there were times Molly found herself wondering what would have happened if things had been different? If the police could have convinced her father to surrender, that long-ago Christmas Eve? Or if Tessa hadn’t been taken away from them and adopted by some unknown family. Not a day went by that Molly didn’t think about—and pray for—her missing sister.

She was standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change so she could cross the deserted street, when she became aware of someone coming up behind her.

She reached into her coat pocket, intending to give the poor beggar her usual referral to the mission, when a gloved hand came over her mouth and she was dragged backward, toward the alley.

She fought the man, flailing out with her arms, digging her heels into the sidewalk, trying to slow him down long enough to allow someone to come to her rescue. But he was strong. And so determined.

Her breath was trapped in her lungs, blood drummed deafeningly in her ears. Molly tried going limp, but all that did was earn a vicious curse and cause her hips to hit the pavement with a painful thump.

Her assailant tossed her onto a pile of boxes as if she were a rag doll.

Molly lay on her back, the man standing over her. She couldn’t see his face because of his garish black-and-purple ski mask. His clothes—camouflage printed shirt and pants topped by a faded army denim jacket—were ragged and filthy. His hair was long and stringy and unkempt.

She grabbed hold of the nearest box and flung it at him, but he knocked it away as if it was no more than a fly. And, to her amazement, he laughed. A rich roar of pleasure that was such a contrast to the menace in those black eyes that she almost believed she must be imagining it.

A nearby sound suddenly caused him to stiffen, as alert as an infantryman on reconnaissance. Taking advantage of his momentary shift in attention, she scrambled to her knees and on a half crawl, half stagger, tried to make her way over the tumbling, shifting pile of cardboard.

Unfortunately, he proved faster and, grabbing hold of her hair, yanked her back as the cat, who’d made the distracting noise, shot out of the alley.

He held her down with a booted foot that threatened to crush her chest. “What’s the hurry, honey?” His deep voice vibrated through her, sending icy fingers of fear zipping up her spine.

“You don’t want to do this.” She tried for a calm, reasonable voice, but the tremulous tone gave her away. “I can help you. I can help you find someplace to stay, some food—”

He struck her, a vicious blow to the face, cutting her off in midsentence. Seeming pleased with himself, he hit her again, with a backhanded slap that made her ears ring.

“Please.” Molly was not above begging, if that’s what it took to stay alive. “I’m a nun.”

Even as she said the words, Molly was infused with guilt. As if a nun was better than any other woman? More deserving to be spared the horror of rape? Yet she couldn’t help hoping that deep down inside this monster was a man who might respect her vocation.

She’d thought wrong.

“Even better.” As if to please himself, he hit her again. Harder. Her head was still spinning as she heard the sound of bone breaking and felt her cheekbone shatter beneath his fist.

A memory flashed through her mind, a memory of her father slapping her mother. Right before he’d put that gun to her head. Refusing to die as Karla McBride had, Molly managed to curl her fingers around a beer bottle and pushing herself up, slammed the bottle against the front of the mask.

“Bitch!” Her attacker roared like a wounded lion and swung his arm at her, sending her tumbling back into the boxes. She heard the beer bottle rattling as it rolled away.

He ripped off the mask and pressed the back of his gloved hand against his nostrils. When he took his hand away and viewed the black leather copiously stained with dark wine-colored blood, he screamed, “Fucking cunt!”

Molly felt him ripping away her clothes, exposing her to the chilly December air. But there was no longer anything she could do to stop him.

Through the swirling bloodred haze filling her head, she watched the heavily booted foot swing forward, then moaned as it landed with a bone-shuddering strength between her lax thighs.

His heavy demonic weight came crashing down on top of her, crushing her lungs, stealing her breath. Molly tried to scream as he battered his entry into her tight, dry virginal body, but the pained sound caught in her throat, choking her.

The back of her head kept banging against the asphalt as he pounded away violently at her defenseless body. Sometime during the seemingly endless assault, Molly vomited violently. Over herself and over the monster.

And then, as the crimson haze spread and she prayed silently to a God that seemed to have abandoned her, Molly finally surrendered to the enveloping darkness.

Chapter Three

Reece was almost home free. His grueling shift was over, he’d showered, shampooed the smell of disinfectant, disease and death out of his hair, shaved and changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that didn’t have a single bloodstain on it. He took the poinsettia he’d remembered to buy for Lena, and was headed toward the door when he saw a ragged man arguing with the security guard.

He considered trying to sneak out another exit, but recognizing Thomas and knowing that Molly would never forgive him if he turned his back on whatever problem was plaguing the former priest this time, Reece cursed beneath his breath and waded into the breach.

“What’s wrong, Thomas?”

“It’s Molly.” The eyes beneath the filthy hair were wild with distress. “I tried carrying her here, but—”

“Where is she?” Reece interrupted, tossing the poinsettia toward the nearby counter. It missed and landed on the floor, spilling dirt and breaking stems, but no one noticed.

“Out there.” He pointed a filthy finger. “She’s in bad shape, Doc.”

That was, Reece discovered, an understatement. Her face was bruised and battered, her eyes were swollen shut, she was stripped nearly naked, allowing him to see the bite marks on her breasts and the vaginal bleeding. She was also unconscious.

“Jesus Christ.” He knelt down and felt her thready pulse.

“Christ has nothing to do with this, Doc. Whoever did this to Saint Molly was a devil.”

Reece couldn’t argue with that. As he scooped her from the pile of trash, he understood the impetus behind crimes of passion. He was not, by nature, a violent man. But he could easily kill with his bare hands whoever had done this to Molly.

Thomas followed him to the hospital door. “Is she going to die?”

Reece looked at the distress on the man’s haggard face, and for the first time since Molly had introduced them, felt a kinship with this man whose life had gone so tragically wrong.

“Not on my watch,” Reece promised. The doors hissed open and he carried her into the light. And to safety.

* * *

A few miles away, a young woman cursed beneath her breath as she viewed the flashing lights in her rearview mirror.

“Terrific,” Tessa Davis thought as she pulled her Mustang convertible over at the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine.

The days when movie stars, bathed in the dazzling glow of klieg lights, arrived in limousines to attend premieres at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre were long past. And the fabled glitter surrounding the walk of fame had given way to junky tourist traps. Even so, as she’d driven into the city last week, Tessa had gazed in awe at the Hollywood sign gleaming like a beacon in the rising sun and imagined she could breathe in the scent of glamour and success.

Unfortunately, she was finding out what generations of beautiful women before her had discovered the hard way: success was not instantaneous. As she watched the cop climb off his motorcycle and come walking toward her, Tessa could envision additional hard-earned savings flying away.

She rolled down her window and flashed her most dazzling smile. The one that never failed to bring boys to their knees.

“Is something wrong, Officer?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

“I don’t suppose you happened to notice that red light you just went through.”

“Was it red?” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I was certain it was still yellow.”

“It was red.” He pulled off his black leather gloves. “May I see your driver’s license?”

Damn. He appeared immune to feminine charms. Sighing, Tessa took her billfold out of her purse and held it toward him.

“If you wouldn’t mind taking it out of the folder, ma’am,” he said politely.

Of all the cops in the city, she had to get Mr. Play-by-the-Book. Hadn’t anyone told him this was supposed to be the season of goodwill?

“I really am sorry.” She tried again as he perused the license.

“You’re from Oregon?” He looked up from the photo to her face.

“Portland.”

“And now you’ve come to Hollywood to be a movie star.”

He didn’t have to make it sound so impossible. When Tessa chose not to answer what she took to be a sarcastic question, he glanced across the street, where two women clad in fishnet stockings and short shorts leaned against a storefront.

“You know, this isn’t the safest neighborhood anymore,” he warned her. “Not even in the daytime.”

“Now you sound like my dad.”

“He didn’t want you to come to Lotusland,” the cop guessed.

“That’s putting it mildly.” Tessa sighed, thinking how General Marshall Patton Davis had her life all mapped out for her.

“Let me guess.” He folded his arms across the front of his leather jacket and rocked back on the heels of his boots. “You were supposed to get your teaching degree from the local college.”

“Actually, I was majoring in fine arts at the University of Portland.”

“Close enough.” His smile revealed appealing dimples. “Then, after graduation, you’d settle down with the boy next door—”

“The air force aviator next door.”

“Ah.” He grinned at that. A broad flash of white that held considerable charm. “So you were destined to be Mrs. Top Gun.”

“Mrs. Tom Kelly.” Despite the circumstances, Tessa was beginning to enjoy herself.

He gave her a quick, unthreatening perusal. “I can’t see you spending your life playing the role of a loyal, supportive military wife while your husband played war games with his macho pals.”

“Neither could I. Which is why I’m here.” It might not have been a bad life, being married to Tommy and having his babies. If she hadn’t had other plans.

Big plans. Like becoming a famous actress. And someday earning her own star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame.

“And now you’re going to be the next Demi Moore.”

Tessa lifted her chin. “The first Tessa Starr.” Tessa Davis, she’d decided long ago, was too boring for the woman she intended to be.

He laughed at that. A rich, bold sound that slipped beneath her skin and warmed her in a way that Tommy never had. “You’ve definitely got the right attitude. And the looks. If you’ve got even a smidgen of talent—”

“I have a lot of talent.”

“Sounds like you’re on your way. So, have you found a place to stay yet?”

“I’ve rented a room in West Hollywood.” At first she’d been a bit taken aback by the red-haired transvestite dressed in a marabou-trimmed dressing gown who owned the house, but the room in the funky bungalow was the most affordable she’d been able to find that didn’t remind her of the Bates Motel.

“Sounds like you did okay,” he said when she told him about her landlord and gave him her address. “But I think I’ll run the guy through the computer, just to make sure he doesn’t have a record.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s perfectly safe.”

“Probably is. But I’d never forgive myself if he turns out to be a serial killer and I end up investigating the disappearance of the first Tessa Starr. Protect And Serve, that’s our motto.” He dimpled again in a way that made her feel warm all the way to her toes. “So, do you have any plans for Christmas dinner?”

“I saw a sign in the window at Denny’s advertising the turkey special.” She refrained from admitting she’d been there applying for a job after discovering that waitress positions at all the trendy eateries were filled by equally gorgeous women who’d gotten to Los Angeles before her.

“Denny’s?” He shook his head. “That’s no way to spend your first Christmas in Tinseltown. How would you like to have dinner with me?”

“With you?” As a policeman, he was undoubtedly safe. But Tessa didn’t think it wise to allow herself to be picked up by the first handsome stranger she met.

“I should have mentioned that I’m eating at my brother’s house. My mother will be there. She can properly introduce us.”

Even her overprotective air force general father couldn’t complain about that, Tessa decided. “If you’re sure your brother won’t mind last-minute company.”

He laughed. “Miles always throws a bash on Christmas Day. So many people show up, you could probably invite the entire Dodgers team—and their families—and he wouldn’t notice. Although,” he said on afterthought, “I doubt if anyone would miss your appearance.”

The masculine appreciation in his friendly blue eyes was all it took to overcome Tessa’s last lingering concern. “It sounds wonderful.”

“Terrific. Why don’t you go home and change into something a bit more festive while I finish up my shift. Then I’ll pick you up about two this afternoon.”

Although Tessa hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to herself, the idea of spending her first holiday alone had been more than a little depressing.

There was just one more little thing. “What about my ticket?”

He shrugged. “It’s Christmas. I suppose I can let you get away with a warning.” His eyes sparkled with laughter. “This time.”

As she watched him walk back toward his motorcycle, Tessa took this serendipitous meeting as a sign that her dreams really would come true.

It was only after the cycle had roared away that Tessa realized she’d never thought to ask his name.

* * *

She was flying. From her bird’s-eye vantage point, high in the stunningly clear sky, Molly could see the vast cobalt expanse of the Pacific Ocean, edged by ribbons of sparkling, diamond-bright sand. The tide was ebbing, leaving pastel pink and ivory shells in its frothy wake. She soared higher, taking in the lush green hills, the unmistakable Los Angeles skyline, the crescent-shaped bay off Catalina Island. The sun was a gleaming ball, sinking toward the water, casting a ruby-and-copper glow over the landscape, giving it an otherworldly appearance.