Don't let it suffer. You don't need it.

All the animals in the bas.e.m.e.nt had been brought in by local kennels; Leah had a standing arrangement that once an animal had an incurable disease, she'd take them from the kennel and make their last days comfortable. If the animal was young enough, she'd Cure it and then find a home for it. Otherwise, she'd keep it around as long as possible, in case a situation arose like this evening.

But she'd never let an animal suffer needlessly.

Crying even harder than before, she prepared a second syringe.

Tal Nova took Leonard Marsh's private elevator up from the garage so no one would see him. Later, he'd use the computer in his office to erase himself from the security tapes. The healed dog cowered at the end of its leash, staying as far from Tal as possible.

Maybe he remembers what I did to him. I know I'd never forget someone who gave me that kind of beating.

In Tal's pocket were two flash drives, one of them containing the video Del McCormick had taken. Before paying him, he'd made sure Del had deleted the file from the pad.

The elevator took him right to Marsh's office, where Marsh was waiting for him.

"Show me what you've got," he said to Tal.

Tal nodded and put the first drive into the computer. "This is the dog before Del brought it to DeGarmo's clinic," Tal narrated. On the extra-wide screen, the dog's brutal injuries looked even more grotesque than they had in real life. The camera zoomed in on each leg, showing in graphic detail the jagged bones protruding through the skin and fur.

"Jesus Christ," whispered Marsh. In the light of the computer monitor, his skin looked greener and paler than it had in the afternoon.

Tal removed the memory stick and put in the second one containing the video shot by Del McCormick. The two men watched in silence as Leah DeGarmo, her face taut with shock and horror, rushed the dog away and shut the door.

When the view switched to the room where the dog was walking on unmarked, perfectly healed legs, Marsh gasped and leaned forward, but didn't say anything.

The video ended with Del following the now-happy dog's progress out to the car.

Marsh slapped a hand on his desk as Tal removed the drive from the video player.

"G.o.ddammit! Why didn't he stay in the room with her?"

Tal placed the two memory sticks on the desk. "She wouldn't let him. My guess is she's done this before and doesn't want anyone else to know what she can do. If Del had insisted on staying, she probably would have operated on the dog the normal way, maybe even let it die, rather than expose herself."

"But this doesn't prove anything." Marsh's voice was angry and bitter. "That could have been another dog."

"That's why I brought the dog back," Tal said. "You can see for yourself." He lifted the dog onto a chair and took a pair of heavy metal-cutting scissors from his pocket. Holding the dog still with one ma.s.sive hand, he snipped the casts away from both legs.

"See? She shaved the legs so if the bandages slipped a little it would look like she'd treated the wounds. That's why she told Del that by the time the fur grew back, the dog's legs would be better."

"I still don't have actual proof of her doing the healing," Marsh insisted.

Tal settled himself into his usual chair across from his boss and popped a stick of gum in his mouth. The sharp bite of the cinnamon burned away the stale taste of too much coffee.

"Pardon me for saying so, but you don't need it."

"What?"

"You're not trying to convince anyone else. This isn't a story for the newspapers or a way to get funding for research. It's just for you. We know she can do it, so why not just bring her in?"

Marsh stared at him with wide eyes, and for a moment Tal thought the old man might be getting ready to launch into one of his increasingly frequent tirades. Then his pale lips widened into a smile and he started laughing.

"And that's why I hired you. You have a knack for seeing right to the heart of something and not worrying about the extraneous details. So, how do you propose we get her here?"

"We just grab her. Nice and simple."

"No, no. Nothing illegal. I want her to help me of her own free will. Otherwise, there's no guarantee it will work."

Tal rubbed his hand across his smooth-shaven scalp, a habit he had whenever he was concentrating. "There's always money."

"Perfect! I'm sure running that clinic is expensive. Tell her I've got a business proposition for her, that I'd like to donate some money to fund an expansion or purchase new equipment. A philanthropic gesture. Arrange a time for her to come here and meet with me. Then, once she's here, we lay out the specifics of the deal."

Tal stood up. "I'll take care of it right away."

"Excellent." Marsh picked up the chips and stared at them as if he could see the video on the opalescent plastic. "These are the only copies?"

"Of course."

"Good. And there's one more thing," he added as Tal started for the exit.

"Yes?"

"The dog." He waved a hand at the mutt, which was now curled up on the floor. "Have one of our labs do a complete autopsy on it. Before I let this woman touch me, I want to make sure there's nothing...different...about that animal."

With a brief nod, Tal grabbed the dog's leash and led it out of the office.

At his own desk, Tal arranged to personally bring the dog to one of Marsh Enterprises' pharmaceutical research centers in New Jersey, one that already performed extensive animal testing.

Only after he was home for the night and locked in a room he knew was completely secure did he remove his own copy of the video from a secret pocket in his jacket and watch it on a laptop that wasn't connected to the Internet.

Like Marsh said, I have a knack for seeing to the heart of the matter.

Chapter Nine.

Emilio Suarez waited until the lights went off in Tal Nova's brownstone before starting his truck and driving down the block. He pulled into the next empty spot he found-no easy task on Riverside Drive-and turned on the overhead light.

He'd had a busy night so far, and it wasn't over. He'd been watching the DeGarmo broad like Tal ordered, and he'd made careful notes about who visited the office.

So he'd had a perfect view of the guy who'd brought in the dog after regular visiting hours. The guy'd been carrying the howling mutt in his arms when he entered the clinic, and two hours later it had come out walking on its own, even if it was bandaged. Knowing what the lady vet could do with her hands, he thought it might be a good idea to follow the dog owner and maybe s.n.a.t.c.h the dog for Tal Nova. It could be the proof he needed to show the vet could really heal things.

So it was something of a shock to find out the guy was delivering the friggin' mutt right to Nova himself.

That's when Emilio decided to follow Tal. A little bit of information about what was going on could end up bringing him a lot of money, either by blackmailing the big man and his billionaire boss or by bringing it to the other party he knew would have an interest in DeGarmo and her powers.

A very different sort of interest.

Tal had driven back into Manhattan, taking the dog to the Marsh Enterprises building on the West Side. An hour later he'd come back out and headed down to Jersey, finally stopping at one of Marsh's pharmaceutical plants just outside of Newark. He'd gone inside, dragging the dog with him, and then come out alone.

That's one dog that'll never chase another ball, Emilio thought with a grin as he followed Tal back to the city. But they're looking in the wrong place. G.o.d don't leave clues.

That was something his grandmother had said once when he'd asked her how she could believe in the faith healers on TV.

"Abuela, those people, they look cured, but afterwards no doctors can prove there was ever anything wrong wit' them in the first place. Maybe it's all fake."

"Don't be estupido, Emilio. The sanadors don't use no medicinas, no fancy 'quipment. They don't need 'em. And G.o.d don't leave clues."

Of course, back then he hadn't believed in the sanadors, the healers. He'd thought his abuela was just throwing away her ten dollars a week.

But now that he knew at least one really existed, it made sense that she'd leave no clues. What was there to leave? She didn't use no chemicals, no st.i.tches. Just the power of her hands.

The power of G.o.d.

He wrote the words in his notepad.

The real question was, did G.o.d's power reside in the lady, or in the lady's hands?

And if it was in the hands, did they need to be attached to the lady?

Chapter Ten.

"I hope you like Italian," John said as he opened the car door for her. "Leone's isn't much to look at from the outside, but they have the best food in town."

"Right now I'm so hungry I could eat a horse," Leah responded as she climbed into the long, black Cadillac Seville. She had to wait until John got behind the wheel before he answered.

"A horse? That's pretty rude, coming from a vet."

She smiled. "Fine. A pound of pasta, then. Just stick some food in me." As if to emphasize her statement, her stomach gave a loud rumble.

"Whoa!" John laughed and started the engine. "I'd better hurry and get you there before I start looking like an appetizer."

She patted her stomach and gave her lips an exaggerated lick, hiding her embarra.s.sment at her body's loud complaints. As usual, she'd gotten busy at work and hadn't had time for lunch. All she'd eaten the entire day was a couple of HERSHEY'S KISSES she'd grabbed from the stash Chast.i.ty kept in the reception area.

"Don't mention appetizers," she said as her stomach gave another groan.

"Maybe I should turn on my siren," he teased.

"Maybe you should."

He laughed again and reached for the dashboard. For a terrifying moment she thought he'd taken her seriously, but he only flicked on the radio. Mellow blues filled the cavernous interior of the car.

"This isn't what I pictured you driving," she said.

"Because it doesn't look like a cop's car, or because you know what small-town cops earn?"

"Neither. I had you pegged as more of a BMW or Volvo kind of guy."

"Please don't say I look like some kind of metros.e.xual." He raised one eyebrow, taking the sting out of his words.

"No! But you've got sort of a conservative look, like you'd be more at home selling insurance than stopping a robbery."

John shrugged as he guided the car into the parking lot. "You're not far off," he admitted. "I worked for the county as a tax auditor for two years before entering the academy. Working in an office was just too boring. But the goal is the same-do my time and get out young so I can enjoy my retirement, maybe get myself a little winter home somewhere."

"That sounds nice."

He nodded. "Yeah. And if it wasn't for you and your magic touch, my early retirement would've been a hole in the ground."

"John, we said-"

"I know. No talking about it. And I won't. I just wanted to say thank you one last time. There. Now we can move on to something else."

True to his word, he changed subjects and chatted about the different states he'd considered retiring to. Leah's nervousness about the evening faded away as his voice relaxed her into believing he really didn't have ulterior motives, like blackmailing her to keep her secret.

The inside of Leone's wasn't anything like she'd expected. The decor was simple yet elegant, far different than the plain wood shingles and small neon sign outside. Photographs of Italy were arranged in purposely random fashion on the walls. Between the pictures, providing most of the light in the room, were large electric candles sitting in wrought-iron sconces. The flatware on the tables was an eclectic mix of colors and shapes, as if the owner had shuffled three or four different sets together.

"Hi, there," the short, perky waitress greeted them as she placed menus on the table. "My name's Angie. Can I get you a drink?"

"Leah?" John asked.

"Um, I guess a gla.s.s of red wine would be good."

"Bring us a bottle of the house Chianti," John said to the waitress. "And some bruschetta while we're deciding."

"Sure thing." Angie hustled off.

"So what's good here?" Leah flipped open her menu. The variety of choices stunned her; the pasta list alone took up a full page. And then there were the veal, chicken, beef and seafood selections.

"I can't believe you've lived in town all your life and you've never eaten here," John said. "The place is practically an inst.i.tution."

Leah shrugged. "I don't get out much. I'm too busy during the day, and by the time work is over I'm usually too exhausted to do more than go home, water the plants and collapse on the couch with a gla.s.s of wine, a medical journal and a warm blanket. Some nights I don't even make it to bed; I just fall asleep on the couch."

John put down his menu and looked at her. His dark eyes met her gaze and she found she couldn't turn away. "What about weekends? Don't you have any hobbies or friends to go out with?"

She recognized the subtle undertones of the question: Are you seeing anyone?