I should have made a notation that I have brought Trapper up to contemporary times. I understand the confusion someone might have with modern technology if they visualize the story set in the 1980's.

Chapter 7

"I don't know why you're so concerned," Melanie McIntyre said to her ex-husband as they walked down the hospital corridor. "The social workers handle those things."

"I just think that if she could stay with you for a few days that it would be better. You have room at the condo." Trapper was surprised at his hostility but he felt he had paid for the condo and to ask for Melanie to let the woman stay for a few weeks wasn't asking much. After all, Melanie had received their large, impressive house in the divorce settlement and then, saying that the place was too big with the children gone, she sold it and bought her fifth-story condo with a view of the bay; there had even been money left over. He had also furnished the condo since he had paid alimony for the first five years after the divorce and Melanie redecorated the whole place around the antiques that her mother had given to her. The condo was a showplace-that was for certain.

"I also have all that expensive jewelry you've bought me over the years; I'll have to store everything in the drop safe and hide the Chinese collectibles at my mother's. I don't want a stranger in my house."

"She's not going to steal from you. You always think the worst, don't you? And you haven't even met her yet. You might like her." Melanie cocked one eyebrow. "Just meet her with an open mind." Trapper guided Melanie down the hall by her elbow. "This is it—354."

Earlier that morning, even before he left his townhouse for the hospital, Trapper had called his ex-wife, Melanie, about finding a place for the woman to stay until she recovered physically; Farragut had said that she shouldn't be alone or in a confusing place and Trapper had thought of Melanie as the last resort for help.

"So since you volunteer at the Woman's Center, I thought maybe you could find a place for her."

"I volunteer three hours a week answering phones—that's it. I refer the callers to whomever is best. The calls are about unwanted pregnancies, being beaten by the men in their lives and then there are the women who want to divorce and don't know how to start it rolling; I'm really good at that one. I also put them in contact with safe houses or such if their lives are in danger. I can't set your patient up in a hotel!"

"I didn't ask you to. But she's in a delicate condition…"

"She's pregnant?"

"No, I didn't mean that. It's that she has lost any memory of who she is, where she's lived—all that. She needs stability. Just stop by and meet her. You might like her but even if you don't take to one another, maybe meeting her will help you think of a suitable place that she can stay."

"Will you take me out to lunch afterwards? At Rosselli's?"

"I try to avoid garlic working hours—my bedside manner always suffers after Italian. How about if I take you to Antoine's?"

"Better than nothing but no heavy sauces for me. I'll be there a little before noon. I'll meet you in your office."

"All right. I'll be expecting you."

"And, Trapper, don't tell me something came up and you'll give me a raincheck for lunch."

"I won't. I promise you lunch. See you at noon."

"Okay. Ciao."

Trapper knocked on the partially open door before he pushed it open and stepped in. the woman was sitting cross-legged on the bed dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. A pair of flat, brown, leather sandals sat on the floor beside the bed. Her hair was wet.

"Good morning, doctor," the woman said, smiling. "I'm supposed to be…" She stopped talking when she saw Melanie and looked questioningly at Trapper.

"Oh, this is…" Trapper put out a hand to indicate Melanie but she stepped forward.

"I'm Melanie McIntyre, Trapper's wife." She put out her hand.

"Ex-wife," Trapper corrected. The woman still said nothing but put out her hand, shook, and forced a "Nice to meet you."

"I see they managed to get some clothes for you," Trapper said. "I'm glad."

"Yes," she looked down at herself. "Not particularly fashionable but they're clean and came from the hospital's thrift shop—or so they said. The sandals…a nurse donated them to me; she said they were too narrow for her."

"Well, at least you're ready to go when they release you," Trapper said. There was an awkward pause. Trapper noticed that Melanie had a sly smile on her face and she looked over at Trapper.

"I understand your interest now," Melanie said in a low voice to Trapper. She stepped closer to the woman. "Trapper told me that you have memory loss…"

"Trapper?" The woman looked at Trapper; he was obviously uncomfortable. He had often wished that he had never been saddled with that name but it had been his since he was a senior in college after an incident on a train returning from an away game; he and a sorority girl had a tryst in the train bathroom as the train had rocked along. He always regretted it but he had been so aroused by Princeton's win and the fact the he had been the key to the win with his arm, that the girl, obviously impressed by his performance on the field, had sat on his lap on the train and whispered that she wondered how he would perform in private.

That had been all he b needed but when they were caught coming out, their clothes rumpled, the girl had said that he had trapped her in the narrow room but that nothing had happened. Of course, none of his teammates believed her—and they called him Trapper John from then on. It had stuck even through medical school and beyond. Melanie had found out the first time she met his friends and so she took to calling him that as well.

"It's an unfortunate nickname given to me by my teammates at Princeton. It's just…"

Melanie laughed. "Don't ask how he got it—he won't tell you! Far too embarrassing!"

"Then I won't ask," the woman said. She had yet to smile since her first sight of Trapper coming into her room.

Melanie suddenly became sober; she didn't like this woman; Trapper was obviously intrigued by her and that alone made Melanie want to refuse her any help. Let her go to a homeless shelter, become a ward of the state. The woman was very pretty and that was enough for Melanie to resent her. Not that Melanie felt she wasn't pretty—she knew she was, but she still felt she had a claim on Trapper. He had always, always told her she was lovely and she treasured that. But this woman, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, was very pretty. Some might even say she was beautiful—it was hard to tell with her face so bruised and her lip still swollen. And by watching Trapper's reaction to the woman, Melanie could see that he was interested in this patient and not in a professional way; it was the way his face changed, the way his expression softened and even the tone of his voice changed—it became more intimate Standing in the same room with them was almost embarrassing to Melanie, almost as if she had walked in on them in the middle of the sex act.

Trapper waited but Melanie said nothing more. "I asked my ex to come here because I think she may be able to find you a place to stay. I've suggested that you stay…"

"I don't think that I'll be able to help her after all," Melanie said, turning to leave.

"Wait, you have connections—you can refer her to different agencies or even…"

Melanie just turned and with a forced smile on her face, said, "Goodbye. Good luck," walking out.

"Excuse me," Trapper said, leaving the woman sitting and took off after Melanie, She was only a few feet ahead of him and walking briskly. He grabbed her by the arm and she spun around in a fury.

"What the hell was that about?" Trapper asked.

"I am not going to abet you in your sex life!"

"What?" Trapper looked about. They weren't close enough to the nurses' station for anyone to hear what they were saying but Trapper didn't want to take a chance and become fodder for hospital gossip—especially not where the woman was concerned. He had tried so hard to remain neutral but he was having more and more difficulty. "Come with me." He took Melanie by the arm and escorted her around the corner to an empty room used for conferencing. It was where the shift change met to be notified of any special circumstances but right now, it was empty.

"Now," he said, "what are you talking about?"

"You think I can't tell? You haven't been that…excited since before we slept together. Are you crawling on top of her in your spare time, Trapper? Or is it all oral? Is that how she bruised her lip? You can be forceful, you know."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you saying you don't think she's pretty?"

"I never really…" Trapper sighed; he couldn't lie credibly. "Okay, I think she's pretty and I do like her and want to make sure she's taken care of but…."

"It's more than that though. I'm not blind! The sparks were flying back there. Made me feel a little jealous."

Trapper sighed and made an effort to control his pulse. He braced himself. "I met her in Vegas about a year ago…"

"And you've forgotten her name so quickly? Are you becoming senile?"

"No, I never knew her name. It was just a…weekend. There. Now you know."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Yes."

"Does she know?"

"No, and I see no reason to tell her. Melanie, if you would just let her stay with you for a few days then…"

"No. You find somewhere else for her to go. What about your place." Melanie wanted to get back at Trapper. He had practically flaunted this woman in front of her—a woman younger and perhaps even prettier. "That way you only need to roll over and there she is. Maybe if you fuck her again she'll remember you." Melanie almost added, "I've never been able to forget our nights together" but she was angry and jealous; she certainly didn't want to give Trapper a compliment.

"You know I can't have her at my place; it wouldn't be proper."

"You're not her doctor. I remember when you let that homeless kid stay at your place until his parents were found. Just think of this patient as a lost orphan. Maybe that will subdue your hard-on. And as far as lunch—I've lost my appetite!" Melanie started toward the door and Trapper made no motion to stop her. "Ciao!" Melanie waved and then left the room.

"Shit!" Trapper said and shoved one hand in his pants' pocket, his lab coat pushed back. He scratched his head with the other hand. He had to think of something. In a few hours the woman was to be discharged to a halfway house for women who had been in jail or prison. They had various jobs in the area but Trapper couldn't see the woman scrubbing toilets in a hotel or selling fast food via a drive-through window. And the other residents were all on probation—tough cases—but there was a vacancy at the half-way house and they said they would take the woman. But Trapper didn't want her to go. He didn't think she would stand a chance. He still had to keep trying.

Trapper was almost to his office when someone called his name—called him "Trapper." It was Dr. Stratford. He paused until Stratford reached him.

"I need to talk to you. It's about our patient."

"She's not my patient, remember? But come in." Trapper unlocked the door and the two men walked in but instead of taking a seat behind his desk, Trapper sat in one of the two chairs beside each other in front of his desk. Stratford took the other."What is it?"

"She and I looked at the thumb drive together this morning." Trapper leaned forward and Stratford continued. "It had financial information on it."

"She said in Vegas that her husband was a CPA."

"Well, that would make sense. Anyway, she was as puzzled as I was by it. There were no names—nothing—just abbreviations—some type of code or something like that-I didn't recognize any of it and it went on and on—we didn't even get to the end of it. There were dates attached to it, but…a forensic CPA would have to analyze it to make any sense of it. I told her again that she had hidden it and that the thumb drive may be why she had been hurt. It must be important. I asked her if I could call the police and she said she didn't care but the police, they didn't want it. Since as far as they knew, there was no crime connected to it—her fingerprints hadn't caused any hits anywhere in the data files-they had no cause to confiscate it. I felt like a damn fool."

"What did you do with it?"

"I gave it back to her; it's hers after all."

Trapper rubbed his ear in concentration. "She didn't remember anything about it?"

"Not a flicker of recognition." Stratford stood up and Trapper did as well. "Farragut is discharging her this afternoon; she's going to a halfway house so that's good."

"What do you mean, that's good? She doesn't belong in a halfway house with convicts. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with that arrangement?"

"Calm down. This isn't Orange is the New Black or one of those '50's 'women in prison' movies. She's not going to be shanked or raped with a broom handle. It's a halfway house. These are other women who don't have a life as well and are looking to make a new one. I can't think of a better place."

"I can—just about anywhere else but…I asked Melanie to let her stay at her condo and she said no along with a few other choice things. Ernie would let her stay with her except that her boys are at an impressionable age—at least that's her reason—or excuse. And I've asked a few of the nurses but, well, if Gonzo needed a place they'd open up their doors, I'm sure, but not her. I even offered to pay for her keep but no takers."

"Then the halfway house it is."

"Not necessarily. I could let her stay at my place, I have an extra bedroom and in the den is a roll-out couch. That's downstairs and would be a whole flight of stairs away. I'm rarely home anyway and she can stay with me until I can make other arrangements." Trapper waited.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea. I mean you said that you and she…having her under the same roof with you…"

"You think I have no self-control! Give me a break here. I think I know how to keep it in my pants. Besides, it would be just until I can find someplace else."

"Right. That's how I came to own that mutt I do. My daughter said it would be just until she found a place that takes dogs. It's been five years and that mangy dog is still at my house-shedding all over the place and pissing on the rug. Well, it's up to you and her, of course, if she stays with you. And since you're not her doctor there's nothing unprofessional but it may look…" Stratford sighed. "Just be warned. Having her at your disposal might be dangerous."