″My, aren′t you the little player?″ Evelyn said with a roguish grin.

″No, not at all. This is a totally new feeling for me. I got the sense that Dr. Medina thinks I′m actually beautiful in a… in an ideal way. He actually compared me to the Venus of Urbino.″

″To the what?″

″Titian′s portrait of Venus. It′s called the Venus of Urbino. He said I look like the painting. Did he ever say stuff like that to you?″

″You mean like Venus and Mars? Just kidding, ″ Evelyn said. ″No, he never said I look like a painting,″ Evelyn said. ″The only thing he said before he did my boob job was that my left breast is a little bigger than the right one. He fixed that, though.″

″I′ve never had a guy tell me that I look like an ideal beauty before. And he′s an objective expert on the subject of looks, right? So he should know.″

″Right. But sex isn′t about being objective.″

″I′m not talking about sex. I′m talking about surfaces-pure, unadulterated looks. Why did Medina, a plastic surgeon, compare me to a goddess of beauty? I have to believe he means it.″

Evelyn waggled her fork at me. ″Kate, you simply have to stop being surprised when men tell you you′re gorgeous,″ she said. ″I′ve been telling you that for years. So have lots of people. You just never believe us. The whole thing′s getting to be a little disingenuous. Frankly, I′m annoyed by it.″

″Sorry, but can you blame me?″ I said. ″Jona than left my ego completely shredded. I′m a burned-out shell-I′m a walking straw woman, and he tossed a match on top of me. When I was in Medina′s office and he said what he did to me… I don′t know. It felt like he was rubbing a soothing balm into my soul. It was like he actually thought I was hot. Do you know what I mean?″

″I do know,″ Evelyn said. ″We all need to feel sexy to our guys. It′s a prerequisite. If it weren′t for that, we′d probably be happier being with a gay guy. They usually make better friends.″

″I used to tell myself that it was okay that my relationship with Jonathan was so reserved, because I knew underneath that he loved me. And anyway, I was the one who wouldn′t let him in the shower when he asked to come in. I have to take responsibility for that.″

I felt my chest heave up and down. A sob was trying to punch its way through my wall of self-control.

Evelyn reached for my hand. ″Oh, sweetie,″ she said. ″You′ve been through such a hard time. On the plus side, your depression must be lifting if you′re obsessing about Dr. Medina. Just keep in mind that you′re a woman on the rebound. I don′t want you to set yourself up for more hurt.″

″I′m not going after Medina,″ I said. ″The whole idea is ridiculous. Besides, it would be completely cliché to fall for one′s doctor right after a major breakup.″

I hadn′t fallen for Medina -not yet, anyway. For one thing, it was much too soon in the wake of the total demo-ing of my heart and soul by Jonathan and Gi.

But something about my encounter with the plastic surgeon the previous day had left an impression on my spirit-not to mention on my libido. Medina was definitely a hottie.

Evelyn giggled. ″So what was your final verdict on the thermal-laser wand?″ she asked. ″Did it melt anything? You waist looks a little thinner, I think. Let me see.″

I glanced around us. The only diners nearby were an older couple. They appeared to be completely absorbed by a plate of artisanal-looking bread and cheese.

″The jury′s still out on the thermal-laser wand,″ I said. ″Right now my stomach′s still kind of swollen.″

I lifted my blouse to demo my raw, still-healing midriff. It looked like I′d been hugged by a giant boa constrictor.

″Wow.″ Evelyn peered at my skin. ″He did that with a wand? That′s more bruising than I got with my implants.″

″Aw, jeez. Really?″

The wand had actually been surprisingly painful. Even with the softening effect of a local anesthetic, it had felt like getting zapped by a cattle prod. The first time I′d felt the touch of the wand, I jumped and let out a yelp. Frank had gotten that on tape, of course. It was certain to be the highlight of the marketing promo.

Talk about reporter involvement. If a shot of me squealing like a stuck pig and flopping around on top of a skin doctor′s table didn′t satisfy Beatty, nothing ever would.

Chapter 35

Two hours, two orders of tiramisu, and a shared bottle of Chianti later, Evelyn and I were rehashing the latest developments in Jana′s murder.

It was nearly nine thirty. My news story about Belmont Miller′s allegations-that his sister′s body organs had been stolen-was scheduled to air that night on the eleven o′clock news. I′d spent the entire day fleshing out the story (if you′ll pardon the expression) with records from the firm that Belmont had hired to do the private autopsy on Jana, showing that her heart valve had been removed. I didn′t use the video of her body that the firm had attached to an e-mail. Even if we blacked out her face, the video was far too gruesome. I wouldn′t have used it even if Jana had been a total stranger.

My report had ended with my stand-up, in which I relayed a snippy ″no comment″ I′d gotten from the medical examiner′s office in response to the organ-theft allegations that I was reporting.

As I told Evelyn about my story, her eyes went wide.

″Who would steal a heart valve from a dead person?″ she asked. ″And what would they do with it, anyway?″

″They probably sold it to a medical school someplace in exchange for some quick cash,″ I told her. ″They′re circling the wagons over at the ME′s office, so it′s hard to get access. And the police aren′t talking to me right now at all, because I′m on the bottom of their shit list because of the story we ran about Antoine Hurley. They think I′m a traitor to the prosecution.″

But I knew one guy who could find out what was going on over there.

I needed to put in a call to Fish.

The message light was blinking on the answering machine when I got home that night.

I hesitated before checking the message, wondering whether it might be Jonathan. He seldom called me on the landline, but leaving a message at home is just what I′d expect if he wanted to leave a message without danger of my picking up.

I could already feel the anger prickling in my fingertips as I punched in the numbers to retrieve the message. But the call was from Dr. Medina.

″Hi, Kate. I hope you don′t mind me calling you at home,″ Medina′s message began. ″I just wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed our interview yesterday.″

After a pause, he continued, ″And hey. I was just wondering if you might like to have lunch or dinner with me this weekend, or whenever you′re available. I don′t know if you have a rule against dating the subjects of your stories, but I would really enjoy getting to know you better. I don′t mind admitting that I′d like to see you.″ At the end of the message, he left his private cell number.

I wrote down the doctor′s number. Then I replayed his message five more times, savoring each syllable of it.

I′d like to see you, his message had said.

Oh my God. Dr. Medina wants to go out with me. Medina must be attracted to me. To me.

No palpitating heart of a fifteen-year-old could have been launched farther into orbit by a guy′s unexpected call. If a NASA space technician were to describe my emotions in strictly technical terms, he′d say I was jitterbugging on Jupiter.