"I'll be the soul of discretion," he promised, "if you'll have dinner with me this evening." He was smiling, but that steely undertone made her think that he was seriously blackmailing her.

"And if I couldn't wouldn't?" she asked, blue eyes wide as she peered into his metallic gray orbs.

"Let's not even discuss that possibility," he said. "Shall I pick you up at seven? And where do I call for you?" His relaxed confidence was disconcerting, and beneath it she detected the same tone of command. It disarmed her.

"Castle Arms Apartments. It's 2A," she said, then got to her feet, trying to keep her hands in front of her pinkly damp uniform. Harshman stood up and moved to stand between her and the exit.

"I'll stay in front of you until we get where there's less traffic," he offered. She moved along closely behind him until they were in a hall intersection.

"Thank you very much, Doctor," she said.

"You needn't thank me," he replied. "You're paying me for services rendered, you know." When her eyes widened at this, he hurried to clarify his statement. "The pleasure of your lovely company tonight… remember?" His smile melted any misgivings she had begun to feel as she wondered what kind of payment he had intended to exact.

"That's right. I hadn't forgotten, really. Just a little confused after my silly accident. Seven o'clock, then."

"Seven," he repeated, then turned and moved down the hall toward the elevators. Pal gazed after him over her shoulder as she moved in the opposite direction. When she almost collided with a cart from the diet kitchen, she pulled her mind back to her duties, and rushed to get her uniform changed before she reported to surgery.

Luckily, Thaddeus Grafton had a minor emergency with an outpatient and was several minutes late, so he didn't discover Pal's tardiness. She had just finished getting into sterile garb and was adjusting her mask as he came plunging through the door of the scrub-room.