Chapter Three: Fateful Encounter

"Ok, here they are," Mark said as the images finally came up on his computer screen at the beach house. Steve had wisely reversed the charges, knowing that it would be cheaper than paying the long distance calling fees that would appear on his hospital bill.

"Well, what do you think?" Steve asked, and Mark felt his chest tighten at the nervous tone of his son's voice. Steve could cope with gunshot wounds, beatings, and other insults to the body; injuries came with the territory when one was a cop. But ever since his mother's death, Steve had found it difficult to confront illness, especially his own, and, as he had so recently proven, would, if he were allowed, ignore, rationalize, and explain away any symptoms until he keeled over and could no longer deny that he was sick.

Mark took a deep breath, knowing that his advice would not be well received, and said, "I think you should have the surgery immediately."

"Da-ad!" Steve cringed as he heard the adolescent whine coming from his own mouth, and not wanting to sound even more childish, he fell silent until he could trust his voice again. "Can't I just cancel the trip, get on the next flight home, and let you and Jesse take care of me?"

"Really now, Steve . . ." Mark began kindly, but he was cut off.

"I know, I know," Steve interrupted, "that was a stupid question. It's just . . . ." He rolled his eyes as if searching the room for the right words, and his glance fell on Cheryl. Instantly, he knew that he could never say what he was really feeling with her in the room, so he pressed his lips into a hard line instead.

Cheryl, somehow sensing that her presence had become a roadblock, put a gentle hand on her partner's shoulder and said, "I'm gonna have a cup of coffee. You talk as long as you like. I'll be back before they take you up."

Steve nodded and tried to give her a grateful smile, but it just wasn't in him.

"Son? Are you still there? Steve?" Mark's voice wasn't very loud in the phone, but the worried tone broke through, and Steve replied.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm here," he said softly.

"I've looked through everything now, and it all confirms what I suspected when I first saw the images, Son," Mark began, knowing from Steve's subdued tone that he needed some time to collect himself. "You're feverish, and your white count is up, which means you have the beginnings of an infection."

"Yeah, Doctor Shauhnuk told me that already."

"Waiting is only going to increase the risk, Son," Mark explained gently. "If we had caught it earlier, we might have been able to break up the gall stones with sonic waves or gotten you on some medication, but like the majority of people, you didn't have any symptoms until it was too late for non-surgical intervention. The sooner you act on this, the better, and at this point your only viable option is surgery."

"I know . . . it's just . . . I'm just . . . "

Mark let the silence hang a little while, but when Steve didn't feel compelled to fill it, he finally said, "You'll feel better if you say it, Son."

Steve sighed. "I'm just scared," he practically whispered into the phone.

"Well, your body isn't functioning as it is supposed to," Mark told him reassuringly. "That is a scary thing. The surgery will fix that."

"I know," Steve said resignedly, "but . . . Dad, what will it be like when this is over? Will I have to stop being a cop?"

"No, Steve, the gall bladder isn't a necessary organ. It just stores bile, the enzyme that starts the process of digesting fat."

Mark could have kicked himself; Steve was soon going to be missing an organ after all. Naturally, he would be worried about how that would affect his career. "As soon as it is out, the pain will be gone. The nausea should disappear when the anesthetic wears off. After that, results can vary. The pain and nausea shouldn't come back, but some people have other problems with fatty foods."

"Other problems?"

Mark sighed, wishing he could avoid answering, knowing it would be one more thing to worry Steve, even though it was nothing he would need to worry about for at least a few weeks.

Finally, he said bluntly, "They could go right through you and come out in a rather loud and disgusting manner." Wanting to qualify his statement, he added, "Then again, there are people who go right back to eating what they used to, never giving it a second thought, and never having a problem again. It's a very individual thing, but it's nothing that can't be avoided. You would just have to change your diet a bit."

"I see," was Steve's quiet reply.

"Son, you're going to be fine," Mark said into the growing silence.

"I know," Steve agreed reluctantly. "I just wish you were here."

"So do I, Son, and with any luck, I will be, by the time you wake up."

"Really?"

"Really." Mark had to smile at Steve's relieved tone. Sometimes he was concerned that his son was too dependent on him, but at times like this, knowing that just the thought of his presence could bring Steve some comfort gave him tremendous satisfaction. "Now, do you think you can go through with this, or do you need to talk some more?"

"Can't I just wait until you get here?" Steve knew he was being childish, but he had to ask anyway. Besides, he already knew what the answer would be.

"Oh, Steve," Mark said sympathetically, "by then the morphine and Compazine will have worn off and you'll be sick and hurting again. Just let them take care of you, and by the time I get there, you will be feeling a little better."

After a tremendous sigh, Steve said, "Ok."

Mark nearly chuckled at the reluctantly resigned tone and he could almost see Steve rolling his eyes as he spoke. Try as he might to maintain his dignity and maturity, whenever he was sick or recuperating from an injury, Steve reverted to his teenage self. "Now, why don't you just relax for a little while and put Cheryl on, then she can get Doctor Shauhnuk to bring you the release papers."

"I would but she left a couple of minutes ago to get some coffee," Steve began, "but here she is now," he continued on immediately as she stepped around the curtain. He couldn't help but notice that she wasn't carrying a coffee cup. He raised his brows and she shrugged, knowing she'd been caught and held out her hand for the telephone.

"Hi again, Mark."

"Thanks for looking out for him, Cheryl," Mark said immediately. "I knew he looked a little off when the two of you left yesterday morning, but I had no idea this would happen. I'm really grateful to you."

Cheryl chuckled slightly. "All part of the service," she assured him.

"I know, and I appreciate it. He's lucky to have you there."

"Just remember to tell him that when you get here, would you?"

"I'll do that," Mark replied. "Let me say goodbye to him, ok?"

Taking the phone back from his partner, Steve said, "You know, I really don't like it when people discuss me as if I am not in the room."

"Well, it has happened before and it will probably happen again, so I guess you will just have to learn to deal with it," Mark told him. "I'll see you soon. I've already booked a flight online while we have been talking and I need to go pack now. I love you, Son."

There was a slight hesitation, and Mark knew his son was uncomfortable speaking about his emotions in front of Cheryl, but then he heard an intake of breath, and with surprising intensity, Steve replied, "I love you, too, Dad. You know that, right?"

Surprised that there could be any doubt, Mark responded immediately, "Of course I do, Steve!" Not sure whether to say more on the subject, he quickly decided to give some encouraging advice instead. "Now you just relax, sign the release forms, and let the people there take care of you. You'll be feeling better before you know it."

"Ok, Dad, and thanks. See you soon."

"Bye, Son."

For a moment, Mark stared at the phone, wondering about his son's strange question, but then, deciding that the prospect of immediate surgery, even one as routine as a cholecystectomy would put anyone in an odd frame of mind, he hung up and went to his bedroom to pack.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

As he looked down at his next patient sent up from the emergency room, Wil Erickson had to take a deep breath to steady his suddenly jangled nerves. When he had taken the job as a general surgeon at Desert Springs Hospital, he had never in his wildest dreams imagined that he would simply luck into this opportunity for revenge. He couldn't quite stifle a chuckle as he realized that fortune alone had brought Steve Sloan to him in Las Vegas, of all places.

"Doctor?" his scrub nurse said questioningly.

"It's nothing, Maxine," he said as she helped him don his gloves, "just a random thought." With that, he stepped toward his patient, and for the next two hours, not a word was spoken outside of what was necessary to complete the procedure.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

It was nearly nine o'clock when Mark walked up to the administrative desk outside the relatives' waiting room and smiled affably when the nurse, whose name badge said Kellie, looked up at him. "Could you please tell me what room my son is in? It seems the last record the admitting desk has of him was when he was sent up for surgery. His name is Steve Sloan."

The woman nodded, smiled back, and tapped at her keyboard for a moment, then frowning, she said, "He is still in surgery, sir. If you want to have a seat in the waiting room, someone will come get you when the procedure is finished."

With a sudden sense of dread pervading him, Mark told her, "That can't be right. I talked with him from LA three hours ago. He was going to be brought right up for an emergency cholecystectomy. That shouldn't have taken more than an hour."

When the young woman gave him a dubious look, he said, "I'm a doctor myself. It's my job to know these things."

With a nod she asked, "Would you like me to place a call to the OR and find out what is taking so long?"

"Please do," Mark said, trying to hide his sudden, desperate worry. He paced uneasily as she moved to the other end of the desk and picked up a telephone. As she conversed in low tones with the person at the other end of the line, Mark contemplated all the things that could go wrong during a routine procedure and each imagined scenario was worse than the one before. By the time Kellie hung up the phone and came back to him, he was ready to go into the OR and see to his son himself.

"Well," he said impatiently as she came back to his end of the desk, "what's wrong? Why is it taking so long?"

Kellie gave him a gentle, sympathetic smile and said, "I'm to tell you not to worry. Your son has some adhesions from a previous abdominal procedure that are making for some slow going. Doctor Erickson has opted to stay with the laparoscopic procedure, but it will take somewhat longer than usual."

Mark felt his head swim, and he grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself. "Of course, I should have realized that. Thank you."

He stood there another moment, breathing deeply until he had gathered himself, and then with a slightly shaky smile, nodded goodbye to Kellie and went into the waiting room across the hall.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

Wil smiled to himself as he removed his surgical gloves, gown, cap, and mask before going out to speak with his patient's father. Knowing that Mark Sloan would insist on personally investigating if anything happened to his son in the OR, Wil had managed to resist the urge to exact his revenge during the surgery. In the coming days, there would be other opportunities to make the father and son suffer, and unlike a mishap in the OR, they would not be likely to bring suspicion on him.

Wil paused for a minute in front of the mirror the surgeons used to make sure they weren't too badly blood-spattered before speaking with worried relatives and grinned with satisfaction. The middle-aged surgeon with the strong jaw line, close-trimmed beard, golden tan, and thick head of graying brown hair was a far cry from the man the Sloans had put in jail ten years before. His new look had cost him thousands of dollars, and required several cosmetic surgeries and countless hours at the gym. His new credentials and the false references to back them up had cost even more. His new voice had come only after months of practice, but even that was now as natural to him as his own heartbeat. Mark Sloan would never recognize him. He eagerly went out into the hall and down to the waiting room.

"Steve Sloan?" Wil called, and looked around as if he didn't know his patient's father on sight.

"That's my son," Mark replied, and he and Cheryl, who had been in the waiting room when he arrived, moved over toward the surgeon.

"Wil Erickson, I operated on Steve," the doctor introduced himself as the older, silver-haired man came over and shook his hand, and he watched carefully to see if there was any reaction to indicate that his nemesis recognized him on some level. He remembered the woman cop from LA, but didn't think there was any way she would see through his disguise. His only concern was getting by Mark Sloan. The man was prone to unexpected insights that spelled doom for anyone he went after, and if there were even a hint of familiarity, Wil would have to make himself scarce.

"Please, Doctor Erickson, I'm a doctor, too, how is he? Were there any complications? Just tell me."

Wil nodded in acknowledgement and, knowing that Detective Sloan's partner would follow none of it, gave a very dry account of what had transpired in the OR.

"We made our incisions, filled the abdomen with CO2, and used the laparoscope to visualize the gallbladder," Wil explained. "He had some adhesions from previous surgery, but a cholangiogram showed no indication of Mirizzi's syndrome, so I decided to continue with the laparoscopic procedure. Except for having to take special care going through and around the scar tissue, it was a textbook case. He'll be just fine, and you can see him as soon as he is in a room."

Mark breathed a deep sigh, almost deflating himself with relief. "I don't suppose I could see him right now, could I? I mean while he's in recovery, as sort of a professional courtesy?"

Wil knew the old man would hate pleading like that, even for his son, and it delighted him to hear it. Still, he couldn't resist torturing him a bit more.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Sloan, even as a professional courtesy it would be against hospital policy. I'll make sure someone comes to get you as soon as your son is in a room, though."

Disappointed, Mark nodded slightly and said, "Yes, all right. Well, thank you, Doctor Erickson, I'll see you later, I hope."

"I'll certainly stop by before he is discharged."

"Yes, of course you will," Mark agreed. "What was I thinking?"

As Steve's surgeon disappeared down the hall, Cheryl put an arm around Mark's shoulders and guided him back to a seat. "Come on, Mark, you can translate what he said into English for me while we wait."

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

When Steve finally came to properly after his operation, he looked immediately to his right and smiled to find that he hadn't been hallucinating his father's presence after all. As he'd been drifting toward consciousness, he'd vaguely recollected coming round a couple times only to be told to go back to sleep, and while he appreciated Cheryl's continuing presence, he felt hugely relieved to know now that his dad was, and had been, there for him. After a couple of deep breaths, he said softly, "Hey."

Mark started slightly as the croaky voice drew him out of his reverie, and then he moved immediately to his son's side. "Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?"

Steve swallowed, and then made a face as he realized he could still feel the ghost of the respirator tube that had been down his throat during the surgery. He licked parched lips with a dry tongue, and discovering that it did no good, he finally replied, "Thirsty. Can I have a drink of water?"

"I think so," Mark told him. "Let me check your chart."

Moving to the foot of the bed, Mark read Doctor Erickson's orders for his son. He noted the kind, frequency, and quantity of pain medication and antibiotics that had been prescribed, the concentration of the IV drip that was working its way into his veins, and the directions for checking and maintaining the surgical wounds and the drainage tube that Steve had not discovered yet.

As she read not-too-discretely over Mark's shoulder, Cheryl was surprised that she could actually read the surgeon's signature. She grunted and grinned to herself, "Huh, Wilfred. No wonder he prefers Wil."

Mark looked at her askance, and she shrugged. "I would have thought it was a woman's name."

"Not as bad as Winnie," Steve said hoarsely.

"Winnie? As in the Pooh?" Cheryl laughed. "Steve what are you talking about?"

"Kathryn's new man," he replied. "It's short for, get this, Wincel."

Cheryl frowned slightly and then nodded knowingly. "I see why he prefers Winnie."

"Me, too," Steve agreed with a small smile, grateful to her for not dwelling on his latest lost love.

Ignoring their conversation and turning to his son again, Mark said, "I think you should be able to have a drink by now. The chart doesn't say you can't." He went to the bedside stand and picked up the cup and the straw that were there for Steve's use, filled the cup at the sink, and held the straw to Steve's lips. "Just take it easy for now. Small sips."

Having soothed his dry mouth for the moment, Steve fiddled with the buttons on the bedrail until he found the one that raised him to a sitting position, then looked over to Cheryl and asked, "What time is it?"

"Almost noon," she replied.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Steve!" Mark snapped, shocked by his son's rudeness.

Steve looked sheepish, and Cheryl chuckled. "It's all right, Doctor Sloan. Your son and I have had this conversation once already today. He's concerned that he has ruined this trip for me and wants me to go back to the conference so I don't waste any more of my time or the department's money on him."

She moved over to Steve and placed a hand on his shoulder. Smiling down at him, she said, "You get some rest. I'll see if I can buy a deck of cards in the hotel gift shop and maybe I can get Ron and Kathryn to come visit this evening and we'll play some poker."

He gave her a sleepy, lopsided grin and, remembering how badly he had beaten her, Jesse, and anyone else who'd been foolish enough to play against him the time he'd been in the hospital with an injured knee, he said, "Save your money for the casino, but I would appreciate the company any time you care to stop by. It will give Dad a break."

Cheryl nodded. "I'll see you this evening, then. Doctor Sloan, give me a call at the hotel if there is anything you need. I'll check my messages before I come over."

"Oh, I'm sure your company will be appreciated," Mark said to Cheryl, "but I won't need any relief, and if you wouldn't mind going into Steve's room and finding him a set of comfortable, loose-fitting clothes, that would be great. He'll probably be checking out tomorrow."

"What?" The question came in unison from both the patient and the departing visitor.

Mark grinned at Cheryl's surprise and chuckled at his son. "Why, Steve, any other time, you would be raring to go as soon as possible. Why so reluctant this one occasion when you are supposed to recover quickly?"

"But, Dad," Steve said in shock, "they took parts out. How can I go home so soon after that?"

"The biggest inconvenience of gall bladder removal used to be the surgical wounds, Steve," Mark explained. "Before the advent of the laparoscopic procedure abdominal muscles had to be cut and recovery took at least six weeks. With the scope, that isn't a problem anymore, and as long as there are no complications, patients can leave the hospital after twenty-four hours. Your drainage tube will be removed by the end of the week, and, barring any complications, you'll be back at your desk in two weeks, and back to your regular duties in about a month."

"That's amazing," Cheryl said.

"Drainage tube?" Steve echoed as he lifted his blankets. He spied the tube of bright red fluid snaking its way out from under his hospital gown and gently prodded his abdomen through the thin material. When he realized that the tube was protruding through a hole in his side, he blanched several shades paler and sank weakly back against his pillows.

Cheryl looked concerned, but Mark smiled innocently and shrugged, so she said her goodbyes, gave her partner a peck on the cheek and left.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

"Have you tried talking to his school custodian?" Mark asked as Ron anted up for another hand of five-card draw. As usual, Steve was beating him badly. Steve was also beating Kathryn and Cheryl, and Mark had been the only one with sense enough not to join in. His son had an undeniable knack for reading people's tells, the little signals they unwillingly gave away that showed what kind of hand they were holding, and Mark was content to sit in the chair in the corner and look through the file Ron had brought by to show him.

Ron frowned, whether at his cards or at Mark's suggestion, it was hard to tell. "What would the janitor know?" he asked as he tossed a quarter into the pot for his first bet.

Though he would never admit it to his superiors, the intense FBI agent valued the insights he could get from the old doctor, despite the fact that he was only a civilian consultant to a local police force. He occasionally consulted Mark by sending his files through e-mail, and since circumstances had brought them together in Vegas, he was more than happy to hand over the file in person for an hour or two.

Mark hid a grin, the low bet was one of Ron's tells. The only time he would ever just see the previous bet this late in the game was when was holding something good. If his hand had only been playable, instead of excellent, he would have at least doubled the bet; and if it was lousy, he would have folded. He wanted to make the other players think his hand was lousy so they would be overconfident and bet big, trying to force him to fold. His plan was to make them put in as much money as he could and then walk away with the pot. Mark suspected he was holding three of a kind.

"A kid like this," Mark indicated the folder as if there was any doubt who he was talking about, "he doesn't graduate high school unless someone takes an interest in him. Given his discipline record and grades, it clearly wasn't one of the faculty or the administration, so it must have been a member of the support staff, a custodian, groundskeeper, computer maintenance person, someone like that."

"Come on, Wagner, talk or play," Steve goaded him. "How many cards?"

Ron tossed down two cards and asked for two more. Mark hid another grin. Ron almost certainly was holding three of a kind.

"Are you sure about that?" Steve asked, taunting him. The last time he had taken two cards, the two Steve had dealt him would have gone with the two he had thrown away to give him two pair, and he had been left wondering why he hadn't thrown out two other cards in his hand when he had been holding nothing of value anyway.

"Yes, I'm sure," Ron growled. Then he looked at the cards Steve had given him, folded them together, and turned to look at Mark while he waited for Cheryl, Kathryn, and Steve to get the cards they wanted.

"You really think there was someone at that school he could trust?" Ron asked.

"I'm sure of it," Mark said. "No one at home cared about him, he didn't have any friends that we know of, and none of his teachers had a good thing to say about him. Someone else there must have gotten through to him, or he never would have stayed."

Ron nodded thoughtfully at the suggestion. "I guess I'm up for a new round of interviews when I get back. I just can't believe no one noticed he was serial killer material. Did you read his discipline record?"

Mark nodded. "I am sure someone must have considered it, but they never took the thought too seriously because no one wants to believe that kind of evil lurks in the world."

"If they only knew," Ron muttered.

"But they don't want to, that's why they have you," Mark reminded him.

"Your turn, Ron," Steve said, and Ron sighed as he turned back to the game.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

Wil Erickson watched as the hand ended with a showdown between the two men after the women folded. He'd been able to observe unnoticed from the hall for several minutes as he'd written notes and signed charts. He chuckled quietly as his patient made a big show of fiddling with his money, counting out what would be a rather large bet, thinking about it some more, and folding. He knew Sloan was just playing with his opponent, messing with his mind, because he had never known the detective to be indecisive. Right or wrong, and he was usually right, Steve Sloan always made a decision and took action.

Wil entered the room and nodded to Mark and Cheryl as the large African-American man was collecting his paltry winnings and grumbling all the while. "You folded! Why did you fold? I can't believe you decided to fold! I had you! How did you know to fold?"

"If I told you that, it would spoil all the fun," Steve said with a grin.

"Well, Mr. Sloan," Wil interrupted, "I see that you are feeling better."

"I'm sorry," Steve frowned at the newcomer, "I don't remember meeting you."

"I'm not surprised. You were unconscious at the time." Wil stuck out his hand and as Steve shook it, he introduced himself. "I'm Wil Erickson, the surgeon who removed your gall bladder."

"Oh, hey, I sure do appreciate it," Steve said gratefully. "I can't believe how much better I am feeling already. How soon can I get out of here?"

"Steve," Kathryn gasped in shock, and Wil chuckled.

"Dad said I would be released tomorrow," Steve informed her defiantly.

"He's probably right," Wil said. "As a matter of fact, if you can eat a proper breakfast and it gives you no trouble, there's no reason you can't be eating lunch in your hotel."

"Wow, I had no idea you could recover that fast from something like this," Ron said. "So how long until he can go back to work?"

"Oh, that depends on his work," Wil said, remembering that no one had yet mentioned that his patient was a cop. "If it's a sedentary job, he could be back at his desk in a week or two."

Turning to Steve he then said, "But I got the impression from your physical condition that your job is anything but sedentary, Mr. Sloan. Am I right?"

Steve nodded, "I'm a cop."

"Well, then, you can still be back at your desk soon, but it will be at least six weeks before you'll be out catching bad guys," Wil told him. Looking around the room, he said to the others, "If you would excuse us for a moment, I need to check his incisions."

Ron, Cheryl, and Kathryn stepped out immediately, but Mark was a little hesitant to go. Steve gave him an encouraging smile and said, "Go on, Dad, and stretch your legs. You've been here all day, and there's really no need. I'm feeling fine."

"If you're sure, Son."

Steve nodded, "I am, but I'm glad you've been here, too."

Satisfied that his son was happy to let the surgeon look him over and confident that he was in good hands, Mark smiled and said, "Well, that being the case, I think I'll go to the cafeteria and have a bite to eat. I'll be back in, say, half an hour?"

Steve nodded and Wil said, "That will be fine."

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

Ron had accompanied Mark to the cafeteria while Cheryl and Kathryn went off to the ladies' room intending to join them in a few minutes. While Cheryl washed her hands, Kathryn checked her make up, and the two women studied each other surreptitiously with sideways glances while they were facing the mirror. Finally, Kathryn started laughing.

Cheryl gave her a bemused smile and asked, "What's so funny?"

"Us, you and me. Why do I get the feeling that we are each wondering what the other means to Steve Sloan?"

Cheryl shrugged, "Probably because we are."

Kathryn turned to face the other woman, and folding her arms asked, "Well?"

"Oh, no," Cheryl said, "You brought it up. You tell me first."

Kathryn shrugged. "Steve and I met at a conference in Orlando a few years ago. We saw more of each other than we did of any of the presentations. We saw each other again when Mark got sucked into a kidnapping case, and we've been meeting up at these conventions ever since."

"And you're more than just friends, I take it," Cheryl pressed. She was curious about the woman who seemed so fond of her partner but who had dumped him, apparently just the previous evening. More importantly, she wanted to find out if there was any chance she would try to maintain her relationship with Steve now that she had found Winnie.

"We were," Kathryn said, "until recently. I see him so rarely, and we were hardly exclusive. When I met someone else, I thought it was only fair to tell Steve. I knew he wouldn't want to be the 'other' man in my life, but he's still a friend."

Cheryl nodded, satisfied for now that the woman wouldn't play games with her partner. Not even Steve knew that Jesse had filled her in on the whole story about Steve and Kathryn when he found out they were going to be seeing her at the convention. Though the young doctor had enjoyed relating his friend's embarrassing story, he had been more concerned that Cheryl watch out for him and make sure Kathryn didn't play him for a fool once more.

Cheryl had indulgently agreed to look after her partner, but she was also glad she had the information about the attractive FBI agent. Until now, Kathryn hadn't seemed to spare a thought for her new man. She hadn't mentioned Winnie once, even at the conference when Steve wasn't there, and she had spent that first night flirting with Steve through dinner, leading him to believe that there was more in store when they got upstairs. Then she had dumped him. For a guy named Winnie. Cheryl suddenly wasn't sure anymore that she trusted the other woman.

"So, what about you?" Kathryn asked, apparently oblivious to Cheryl's thoughts.

"We're partners and good friends," Cheryl said. "He watches my back, I watch his, and God help the one who tries to hurt either of us."

"And if you didn't work together?" Kathryn suggested.

"But we do, so I haven't given the alternative any thought," Cheryl said.

"It looks to me like you're interested in someone else, anyway."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Cheryl asked, annoyed by the other woman's prying and with herself for answering.

"You and Agent Wagner really seem to have hit it off," Kathryn observed.

"Well, he's interesting," Cheryl admitted, "but he also has a history with a friend of mine, and even if I were the type of person to have a fling, it wouldn't be worth risking her friendship to have one with him."

"You mean Doctor Bentley, don't you?" Kathryn asked.

"Yeah, I mean Amanda." Her deduction didn't surprise Cheryl. Kathryn must have met Steve's friends when they worked together in LA, and she would have known that he only had a few who were close enough for him to know about their romantic relationships. Amanda would have been the most likely candidate to have an affair with Agent Wagner.

"Well, it's not like he married her, so he must be fair game now," Kathryn said.

"First of all," Cheryl began getting more irritated by the moment, "I don't like to think of a man as something to be hunted down and caught. Also, while he and Amanda may not be involved at the moment, I have no idea about his feelings for her, or hers for him, and even if I were interested in an on-again off-again romance with a man who lives three thousand miles away, I wouldn't do anything until I found out. Finally, I don't think marriage vows are the only way to measure one person's commitment to another; as I am sure you know, in some cases, they really mean nothing at all."

She gave Kathryn a pointed look as she finished, and watched as the woman's complexion changed through various shades of colors that weren't in the rainbow. First came the deep red blush of shame, then the livid white anger at being judged by another, and when she became a sickly green as she realized that someone had shared her history with a stranger without her knowledge, Cheryl knew she could make herself clear to the other woman.

"Steve didn't tell me what you did to him the first time the two of you met, someone who cares about him did," she began. "As far as I am concerned, you and he are adults and you can do what you want. He has obviously forgiven you, so much the better, but if you hurt him, if you toy with him or use him like you did before, I will hurt you. I meant what I said when I told you we are partners and friends, and I do watch his back."

Kathryn splashed some cool water on her face, patted it dry with a paper towel, tucked her hair behind her ears, and took a deep breath. Then she turned and faced Cheryl. "I'm glad he has someone to look out for him," she said. "But you don't need to protect him from me."

Taking her cell phone out of her bag, she headed toward the door and said, "Let Doctor Sloan and Agent Wagner know I have gone outside to call my boyfriend. I'll be back in to say goodnight to Steve before I go."

Cheryl nodded, and watched Kathryn until the door to the ladies' room closed behind her. Then she turned to the mirror, leaned heavily on the counter, stared hard at her own reflection, and wondered aloud, "Girl, what on earth has gotten into you?"

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

"So how's the patient, Doc?" Ron asked as he, Mark, and Cheryl entered the hospital room again.

"Ohhh, I think he'll live," Wil said in a jesting tone. He even allowed himself a smile, knowing that his words would be proven wrong in a few short days and that no one would have any logical reason to suspect him of any wrong doing. A simple staph infection, easily blamed on the hotel cleaning crew was all it would take. Once Steve Sloan was back in his hospital, he could then re-infect him with an antibiotic-resistant strain, and that would be that.

"Where's Kathryn?" Steve asked when he noticed that one of his friends was missing.

"She went outside to call Winnie," Cheryl said, instinctively moving closer to her partner as she spoke. He wasn't exactly sick anymore, but he still looked vulnerable, and she suspected that was part of the reason she had been so hard on Agent Wakeley. "She'll be back before visiting hours are over."

Steve nodded and shuffled the cards. "Well, Doc, it looks like we're a player down. Want to join in on a hand or two?"

Wil shook his head, relishing the invitation even as he turned it down. How easily they had come to trust him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sloan, I have other patients to attend to, but maybe I will stop by after my shift."

"You'll be welcome any time," Steve assured him as he walked out, and Wil waved, acknowledging the comment.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS

"Hey, Pooh," Kathryn said in an uncharacteristically childish voice, "it's me, you can stop screening your calls and pick up." She waited a moment, and heard the machine cut off.

"Hi Kitty-Kat."

"How are you?" Kathryn asked, abandoning the baby talk.

"Fine, thanks, but missing you." Wincel Atherton Eubanks, III, told her. "More to the point, how are you?"

"Ok, but a little poorer than when I arrived."

Winnie tsked and fussed. "I warned you that you couldn't win, the odds always favor the house, but did you listen to me? Oh, noooo. How much did you lose?"

"Relax, Winnie," Kathryn snapped, "it was only about fifteen bucks, and it wasn't to a casino."

"Kathryn, no, please tell me you weren't mugged," her worrywart boyfriend pleaded, anxious for her well-being.

"Winnie, relax will you? It was nothing like that . . . Well if you'd shut up, I could tell you . . . That friend I was telling you about got sick last night . . . No, it's not contagious . . . Yes, I told him about us before it happened . . . Anyway, he had to have emergency surgery . . . He's feeling much better now . . . Yes, I've been to visit him, in fact I'm in the hospital parking lot right now, about to go back up and say good night . . . Relax, Winnie, there were three other people in the room, including his dad. All we did was talk shop and play a few hands of poker. That's how I lost the fifteen bucks . . . Ok, look, either you trust me or you don't, but I am not going to leave without saying goodbye, and when they release my friend from the hospital, I am not going to allow him to sit in the hotel room alone all day . . . Because he's still my friend, Winnie, and friends visit each other when they are recovering from surgery . . . Listen, Wincel, I am here in the parking lot, in the desert heat, talking to you now when I could be in his hospital room hanging out with friends. If that doesn't say love, I don't know what does. You tell me, what should I do to convince you? How can I prove myself to you? . . . Apology accepted . . . Love you too, Winnie Pooh . . . Yes, I'll call you before I go to bed . . . Bye."

Kathryn sighed and stared at her phone for a minute. She supposed she couldn't blame Winnie for not trusting her, but now she wished like hell that she hadn't told him about how she had slept with Steve to make her ex-husband jealous and how their relationship, after a rocky start, had blossomed from there. Honesty was the best policy, but there was something to be said for having a secret or two. She just hoped he wouldn't be like this about every man she had known before she met him.