“Dr. Ranjeet Bedi.”

Layla turned and the surgeon smiled. “Sam and I worked together at St. Vincent’s. He was my most promising resident. And Nisha, of course, was once my wife.” He tipped his head to the side, studying Layla intently. “And you are . . .”

“None of your fucking business.” Sam shoved Layla behind him.

Seemingly unflustered, Ranjeet sighed. “Still so hostile. No wonder poor Nisha hasn’t recovered. You’re feeding her delusions. It was an accident. Plain and simple. It’s nobody’s fault. Let her move on, Sam. And you need to move on, too.”

Slimy, fork-tongued, slithering snake. If Sam hadn’t trusted his sister implicitly, even he might have been fooled by Ranjeet’s smooth, friendly manner, his distress when she was brought to the ER, his horror when she was told she might never walk again. The surgeon hadn’t cracked once. From the moment he ran into the ER to the day he signed the divorce papers, he’d played everything from the concerned husband to the innocent victim, conning hospital staff, social workers, police, insurers, and lawyers.

Sam’s hand curled into a fist. This was his chance to dispense a visceral, immediate form of justice. No more making requests for hospital files or begging security staff to let him see the surveillance tapes. No more fruitless meetings with police and insurance investigators. Ranjeet would suffer the way Nisha had suffered. He would feel her pain.

He moved to strike only to find Layla in his way.

“Don’t do it.” She placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back. “I don’t know him, Sam. And I don’t know what happened. But if you hit him, what happens then? This isn’t Evan. He’s clearly not a friend who you can make up with over a couple of drinks. You might wind up with a criminal record. You could even spend time in jail. Your business could suffer. And what about Nisha? Who’s going to look after her then?”

Rage surged through his veins, sweeping away all rational thought. “Get out of my way. You’ve done enough. This is why Nisha never went out. This is exactly what she was afraid would happen. You should have left her alone. If she’d stayed at home, she would have been safe. If I hadn’t been with you, I would have been here to protect her.” He regretted the words even as they fell from his lips. At the back of his mind he knew they were wrong. This wasn’t Layla’s fault. But Nisha deserved justice, and Layla was standing in his way.

Her face paled but her hands stayed pressed against him. “Sam, please. Don’t do this.”

“What’s going on here?” Nira joined them with Deepa trailing behind her.

Ranjeet pulled a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Dr. Ranjeet Bedi. I called earlier about picking up my sherwani for my wedding. Sam and Nisha are old friends, but it seems they aren’t happy to see me.”

Unbelievable. He was getting married again. Another woman was going to suffer.

“It’s right this way.” Nira led Ranjeet away while Deepa hovered in the aisle, blocking Sam’s pursuit. Layla dropped her hands and turned to Nisha, who hadn’t moved since Sam arrived.

“Are you okay?”

“I just want to go home,” she said quietly.

“Of course. I’ll take you—”

“I want Sam,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I want Sam to take me home.”

Layla’s face softened with understanding. “I’ll get your bags—”

“No.” Nisha wheeled herself toward the door. “I don’t want anything. I should never have come. I’m sorry, Layla. You were very kind to take me shopping, but . . .” Her voice cracked, broke. “Bhaiya! Get me out of here.”

Caught in a maelstrom of emotion, the world closing in around him, Sam pressed the access button and pushed Nisha out into the cold, rainy evening.

It was only as he was driving away that he realized he hadn’t even said good-bye.

• 18 •

HE’S so much like Jonas . . .

Layla studied the bartender who was shaking a martini on the other side of the bar. With his long, shaggy blond hair, wiry frame, and elegant fingers, he could have been Jonas with a bad dye job.

“Can I buy you another drink?”

Already past her limit, Layla shook her head without even looking at the man who had just sat on the stool beside her. She’d turned down several guys in the hour she’d been waiting for Harman to show up for their date, and they just kept coming.

“No, thanks.” She’d taken a cab so she could enjoy a few drinks, but it was the last thing she wanted a stranger to know.

“A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t have to drink alone.” He was a few inches taller than her and solidly built—an athlete of some sort, she figured, definitely someone who stayed in shape. His light brown hair had been shaved close to his head, and he wore a silver medallion over an orange Giants T-shirt.

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Hello, Meeting Someone. I’m Matthias. You look like you need cheering up.”

He was an attractive man. Fit. And obviously interested in getting her into bed. Exactly the kind of guy she would have hooked up with in New York. But she didn’t feel anything when he smiled. Her heart didn’t pound. Her body didn’t heat. Her skin didn’t tingle. And instead of the rush of adrenaline she’d felt when Sam walked into a room, she felt numb.

She’d felt numb for the last four days, but who was counting?

“Just having a bad day.” She didn’t want to encourage him, but he supported her team. How bad could he be?

“I think you’re suffering from a lack of vitamin me,” Matthias said.

She bit back a laugh. “Does that line really work?”

“You’re still here.” He leaned closer, his hand sliding up her leg.

“Take your hand off me.” She braced herself, mentally running through the sequence of moves she was going to use if he didn’t take his hand away. She hadn’t lied to Sam about learning Krav Maga. It had saved her from more than one bad encounter in a bar.

“Come on, sugar. Loosen up. Your date isn’t going to show.”

“You heard her. Hands off. Or do you want me to do it for you, broken finger by broken finger?” Sam came up behind them, the low rumble of his voice making her melt inside.

Layla waved him away. “I can handle him, Sam.”

“I can handle him better.” Sam yanked Matthias off the stool and shoved him aside.

“What the fuck, dude?” Matthias turned on Sam, his hands curling into fists.