I let out a sigh and then proceeded to punch a speed dial number before tucking the device up to my ear. The phone at the other end rang twice then was picked up by a hospital operator.

“Doctor Helen Storm, please,” I asked.

“Whom should I say is calling?”

“Rowan Gant.”

“Hold please.”

The strains of some unidentifiable instrumental piece flowed into my ear for the better part of three minutes before the line clicked and a fresh voice came on.

“Good morning, Rowan,” Helen said. “I was expecting you to call much earlier.”

Ben’s sister was sometimes harder to talk to than he was. Not because she would become as undone as he, but rather the opposite. Being a psychiatrist, she had far more effective ways to let you know you had screwed up. However, I assumed she wouldn’t have any reason to do so in this case. On top of that, I wasn’t calling her about me; I was calling about my wife. Felicity was currently under her care, for several reasons; not the least of which was that she was the only one I trusted where that was concerned.

“I was unforeseeably detained,” I replied.

“I know. Benjamin called me earlier.”

“Lovely,” I mumbled. Obviously my assumption had been wrong. “So, I guess he’s ready to kill me by now.”

“He certainly is not happy. However, for the most part he is understandably concerned about you and what you are getting yourself involved in,” she continued. “As am I.”

“What’s new about that, Helen? You’ve been concerned about me since the day we met. I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon.”

“I suppose you are correct about that, Rowan,” she replied. “However, there are those times when I am even more concerned than usual. Such as now, for instance.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”

“I sincerely doubt that you are.”

“Is that my friend or my analyst saying that?”