"Well, whether we like it or not, I kind of think the shape of medical practice in the future is going to be decided at these hearings. So I'd like to be an aide on that committee. In fact, I had an interview at Senator Marsden's office yesterday mornmg.

Duncan froze and stared at her, and found Gin staring right back.

Gin's insides were wound into a Gordian knot. She'd waited until he'd almost closed the incision before mentioning this.

Why did I tell him? she wondered. I may nor even get the job.

Duncan said nothing as he finished closing the incision, leaving not a single stitch on the surface. Only a hair-thin line remained along the underside of the chin.

Gin had seen him do this a hundred times at least7 but still it awed her.

When he was done he looked up at her again.

"You what? "

"I, I had an interview with, "

"You are incomprehensible. You have a brilliant mind? an excellent medical education? and you want to be a Hill rat? "

"Only part-time. I just, " " How can you even think of cooperating with that committee? " '"Doesn't someone have to make sure the rer their facts straight? " O "Facts? Since when is Congress interested in facts? " He stepped back from the table and began ripping off his gloves. "I thought I was working with a doctor, not a Hill-rat wannabe." That hurt, stung like a slap in the face.

"Duncan, " '"You can't have it both ways, Gin. When you decide which one you want to be, let me know. ' He tossed his gloves on the floor and stormed out.

Gin had feared he might be a little upset, but she hadn't expected anything like this. She stood in the suddenly silent OR, with Marie and Joanna avoiding eye contact. She wondered what would have happened if she'd mentioned her appointment with Congressman Allard tomorrow morning. As it was she felt as if the floor had opened beneath her.

RECOVERY WITH THE MORNING'S TRUNCATED SURGERY SCHEDULE finished, the halls were quiet. Too quiet. Gin's stomach was still tight as she completed her dictation on Thursday's scheduled procedures.

Why did you open your big mouth?

Because he had to know sooner or later. . . especially when she began asking for extra time off.

But you may never get the job.

Right. Too right.

She finished the last H and P, logged off her terminal, and sat there.

Now what?

She had to face him. Had to clear the air. Had to find out where she stood. Was she still welcome here as a pre-op evaluator and surgical assistant? or was she to be cast into the outer darkness?

Only one way to find out.

She gathered her courage and hurried upstairs to the main floor. From there a short walk down the hall.

Duncan's slim, pretty, blond receptionist-secretary guarded the door to his office.

"Hi, Barbara. Is he in? ' She smiled up at Gin. "Just missed him.

Said he was going to look in on the senator, then, " ", head for the golf course, " Gin said. That was Duncan's routine.

"He may still be here. If you hurry, "

"Thanks, Barb." She hurried toward the V.I.P recovery room. Along the way she saw Sharon Collins, the recovery RN, standing in the hall and talking to Joanna. She slowed as she passed.

"Excuse me, Sharon. Aren't you, ? ' "Doing recovery on the V.I.P? " She was short, dark, and built like a Ninja turtle, but one sharp nurse.

"Yeah. Dr. D.

told me to take a break while he double-checked his needlework. I'm just about to head back."

"Good. Maybe I can catch him."

"You sure you want to? " Joanna said.

Gin flashed her a smile. "No." She scooted around the corner to the V.I.P recovery room, a plain, unmarked door, and knocked gently.

When there was no answer she tried again.

"Duncan?

She pushed the door open.

Noon brightness filtered through the full-length beige drapes across the picture window. Carpeting instead of linoleum, mahogany instead of Formica. A veneer of luxury for the sort who craved it, but very functional beneath.

In the bed, Senator Vincent snored softly, sleeping off the general anesthetic. But no Duncan.

Damn. She'd missed him. He couldn't have got that far.

She was half turned to leave when she saw Senator Vincent move his leg.

An unfolding length of sheet revealed a spot of red on the white over his thigh. She leaned closer.

Blood.

Just a tiny spot. No more than a drop. But there shouldn't have been any blood down by his leg. On his pillow, maybe, but not there.

She lifted the sheet and looked at the senator's leg. A small, semicircular puncture wound, less than a quarter inch in length on the outer aspect of the thigh, slightly toward the rear.

She probed the area around it and the senator moved again. Within the bandages his lids struggled open. His glazed eyes stared at her, then closed again.

"Shot, " he mumbled.

"What? " "Gave me shot."

"Who gave you a shot? " "Docker Lafram." He opened his eyes again and smiled. "Summin special.

Only choice patients." The senator smacked his lips and closed his eyes. He began to snore.

Gin stood over him. A shot? Since when did Duncan give injections?

Never. It was unheard of.

Vincent had to be wrong . . . and yet there definitely was a puncture wound in his thigh.

She adjusted the covers back over him.

Weird. Very weird.

A noise behind her made her turn. Collins was slipping through the door. She glanced around. "He's gone? " "Gone when I got here. Did Dr. Lathram say anything about giving the senator an injection? " Collins checked the order sheet. "No. Just the usual, Tylenol, two P-O every four hours P-R-N."

"No, I mean himself, giving the senator an injection himself."

Collins's wide face broke into a grin. "Dr. D. ? Giving meds personally? No way. That's what us RNs are for. Where'd you get an idea like that?

" "There's a puncture on his thigh and he said something about Dr. Lathram giving him a shot." Collins stepped over to the bed and examined his thigh.

"Hmmm. Where'd that come from? Looks more like a tiny cut than a needle mark."

"He said, " Collins gave Senator Vincent's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Senator? Are you awake? " He snorted and his eyes fluttered but didn't open.

"Okay, Mom, " he said.

Collins grinned again. "You see? I'd sooner believe the Man in the Moon gave him an injection than Dr. D. And besides, where's the syringe?

Where's the injection vial? " She had a point.

"You're right." Gin turned and headed for the door. "I'm out of here.

See you Thursday." It was strange, it didn't add up, but Gin pushed it out of her mind.

She had other things to think about. Like her appointment with Congressman Allard tomorrow morning. Another of Duncan's patients, by the way. She'd assisted on his abdominal liposuction a while back.

And if he didn't work out, she could come back to Senator Vincent.

She hadn't realized it when she signed on here, but here was one of the perks of working with Duncan, If they had juice and they wanted cosmetic surgery, Duncan Lathram was the man to see.

DUNCAN DUNCAN Lathram, MD, STOOD AMONG THE EARLY morning regulars at the self-serve coffee counter at the rear of the 7-Eleven on F Street offFifth. Not exactly his purlieu. He felt a little out of place in his pale blue oxford shirt, blue blazer, and tan slacks, but no one seemed to pay him much mind.

He considered the array of partially filled glass urns before him.

They leave the pots on the heaters, he thought. Barbaric.

Grimacing, he reached for a medium-sized cup, foam, no less, emblazoned with the red-and-green corporate logo, and poured himself a cup of the loi-disant coffee.

He could tell from the color, he was sure he could read the morning paper through it, that they were stretching the grounds by adding too much water. The aroma, make that smell--this acrid effluvium did not deserve three syllables , testified that it had been sitting on the burner far too long.