The Color of Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

she might be. “I’m a senior agent at the agency. I was
with her when—”
    “I’m afraid my sister’s condition is private.
I’m sure whatever needs to be done at the…business…can wait.”
    With that, he spun around and left her
standing in the middle of the hallway with her hand outstretched. In another
few seconds he’d rounded the corner and she heard the ding of an elevator. What
a cold, unfeeling man. How could he be Henrietta’s brother? As soon as she
thought it, she reminded herself he was probably just stressed and preoccupied.
    She knew all too well hospitals were horrible
places. Impersonal, usually ugly, and filled with too many people who were too
busy to stop and recognize the despair and anguish in the faces of so many.
Lonely places where those left behind drowned in sorrow while others looked
away. She shuddered and returned to the waiting area. She’d had years of
practice waiting in places like this—waiting for word of her parents, waiting
to hear from Pam’s doctors. Martin Winfield, she knew his name as she’d been
introduced to him on several occasions when she’d accompanied Henrietta to the
corporate board meetings, reminded her of some of those bureaucrats who ran the
very places where empathy and support should come first, but had been forgotten
in the race to survive in an ever more competitive world. Even some of the
health-care staff had forgotten their mission—to heal and comfort. Henrietta’s
brother reminded her of why it was so important that she keep Pam where she was
now, in a warm, personal environment where she felt safe and everyone knew her
name.
    Emily sighed. She was tired and being
unfair—she didn’t know Martin Winfield, and he had no reason to acknowledge
her. How could he remember her as he’d barely glanced in her direction the few
times they’d been in the same space. She certainly wasn’t being fair to the
many dedicated doctors and nurses and other caring professionals who worked so
hard to help.
    Sitting out here for hours made her think too
much of Pam, and she couldn’t think about her right now. She couldn’t think
about her uncertain visa status or what might happen to her job if, heaven
forbid, something serious kept Henrietta from returning to work. All she could
do was send all her energy and thoughts to Henrietta and believe she would be
fine. She leaned back and closed her eyes, willing the panic to recede. The
nightmare gripped her, refusing to let her breathe. She couldn’t imagine a day
without Henrietta, whose strength was the guiding force at the agency and whose
friendship the foundation on which Emily had built her future. She’d lost so
much already—she couldn’t bear to endure more.
    “Here, take this,” a deep voice said, and
Emily’s eyes snapped open.
    A brunette about her age, her pale stark
features undoubtedly beautiful when not smudged with fatigue, stood in front of
her holding out a snowy white handkerchief. Startled, Emily jerked upright and
only then recognized the tears wetting her face. Heat flooded her cheeks and
she hastily brushed at the moisture on her skin. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
    “Why?” The woman took her hand and gently
folded the soft linen into it. “Here. Go ahead. Use this.”
    Emily wiped her face, almost embarrassed to
soil the pristine square. When her vision cleared, she focused on the stranger.
Her breath caught. “Oh. It’s you.”
    “We’ve met, haven’t we. I’m the one who’s
sorry.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose for an instant. Shadows pocketed
her midnight blue eyes. Her coal-black hair, the same color as Henrietta’s, was
disheveled, her white shirt and dark suit hopelessly wrinkled. The topcoat she
carried over one arm looked as sleek and soft as cashmere, which it probably
was. “I’m Derian Winfield.”
    “Yes, of course.” Emily stood up and swayed,
tiny sparks of light dancing in the dark clouds dimming her vision.
    Derian grasped her elbow. “Hey. Take