Alex Cross, Run

It was Josh Bergman. Of course. So much for keeping their distance from each other.

“Josh,” he answered. “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”

“Hello, Dr. Creem, it’s Joshua Bergman. How are you today?”

Bergman’s voice was stiff, and ridiculously bright at the other end of the line.

“Ah,” Creem said. “I take it you’re not alone?”

“Good, good. Glad to hear it. Listen, I have a young lady here in my office. I’m considering signing her at the agency, but I’d like her to have a quick consult with you first,” Bergman said. “If you’re up for it, of course. I know it’s a bit late.”

Creem gri

Referrals were nothing new between his office and Josh’s. Bergman had sent over a good million and a half in business in the past few years, including a handful of “prospects” who had found their way into Creem’s bed.

But that was then. This was now. And everything had changed in the meantime.

Josh wasn’t just upping his own game anymore, was he? Now he was trying to up Creem’s as well. Either that, or he was eager to move things along and get the ball back into his own court. It didn’t really matter which. The point was—Bergman knew exactly what Creem liked.

“This is a surprise,” Creem said. “I assume she’s the right type?”

“Yes, yes, lots of potential,” Bergman said breezily. “Almost perfect, in fact. But that’s where you come in, isn’t it, doctor? How about if we swing by your home office around eight o’clock?”

And there it was. The tour de salaud. Josh’s dirty little twist.

“I see,” Creem said. “You want to be here when it happens. What is that, your commission?”

Bergman laughed. “This is why I like working with you, Elijah. You know me so well.” He seemed to put his hand over the phone then, and addressed the girl. “Dr. Creem says he can’t wait to meet you, sweetie.”

It was a brilliant performance, really. There were few people as well trusted in the modeling world as gay men—and who else but Josh Bergman could play sister-friend with these Twiggies in one breath and offer them up for sport in the next?

Creem looked at his watch. It was just after seven.

“Make it eight thirty,” he said. “And don’t park in the street. I’ll leave the garage open. And, Josh?”

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to bring her here, you’re going to have to get rid of her. I’m not taking that on,” Creem said. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Bergman said. “Nice chatting, doctor. We’ll see you soon.”

CHAPTER

27

AT EIGHT THIRTY EXACTLY, THE ELECTRIC CHIME OUTSIDE DR. CREEM’S LOWER-level waiting room rang. Bergman was almost always hyper-punctual, and tonight was no exception. When Creem opened the door, Bergman was standing there with a statuesque blond beauty on his arm.

He wore a simple two-button blazer over a white shirt, open at the collar. His “uniform,” he called it. The young woman wore an LBD—the sort of little black dress that said, I’m a serious model, but I’m not opposed to giving a hand job or two on my way to the top.

“Was I right, or was I right?” Josh said.

“You were right,” Creem said, gesturing them both inside. “You’re a lovely girl, Miss…?”

“Larissa Swenson, Dr. Elijah Creem,” Bergman said, making the introductions, even as his eyes darted around the room. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink down here, Elijah?”

“Thank you so much for seeing me,” the girl said. Her hand was warm in his, her skin perfectly soft. “Mr. Bergman tells me you’re the best there is.”

“Mr. Bergman is a smart man,” Creem said, his eyes locked on hers. “Joshua, try the console in the media room down the hall.”

He’d already forgotten the girl’s name, but she was, in fact, perfect. He could feel that creeping sense of adrenaline up his spine, and in the tension of his jaw. It was the feeling of coming back to life, he now knew. He’d felt the same way on the night of Darcy Vickers.

“My receptionist is off this week,” he told the girl. “We’ll worry about paperwork later, if it’s all the same.”

“Fine, fine,” Bergman answered for her, coming back into the room with three glasses clutched in one hand and a cut crystal decanter in the other. “Larissa? Elijah? A little drink?”

“No, thank you,” the girl answered politely.

“Maybe afterward,” Creem said.

“Suit yourself.” Bergman poured himself a two-finger shot and turned toward the examination room door. “In here, I assume?” He wasn’t even trying to contain his excitement anymore. It was a little fu

“Are you…both coming in?” the girl asked. She seemed suddenly wary, but Creem gave her his best professional smile. Worked every time.

“It’s really in your own best interest,” he said. “Josh will be handling the cost of any procedures, as I’m sure he told you. But if you’d rather decline the consult, now would be a good time to say so.”

“No,” the girl said quickly. “It’s fine.” She sounded as if she were convincing herself as much as anything. Talk about blind ambition!

“You’re sure?” Creem asked, more for fun than anything. He knew he had her now.

Within a few minutes, all three of them were inside the examination room. Creem stood waiting with a clipboard in hand, as the girl stepped out from the changing cubicle in a thin blue hospital gown, while Josh watched expectantly from the rolling chair in the corner.

“So,” Creem said, looking down at the blank intake form in front of him. “What are we thinking about here?”

“Breast augmentation, for sure,” Bergman piped up. “We want to be able to book Larissa for print, runway, editorial—all of it. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

“Sure,” the girl answered, with another determined smile.

Creem set the clipboard down behind her and took the stainless-steel pointer out of his pocket.

“All right, stand up nice and tall for me, with your hands on your hips,” he said. He untied the gown in front and stepped back to take a look, playing out the charade to its fullest.

“Nice symmetry. Good elasticity of the skin,” he said. “All I’d really need to do is make a small incision, right along here.”

He used the pointer to indicate a line under the girl’s breast to illustrate. Not for the girl, though. For Bergman. Josh had been nice enough to arrange this little home delivery. Might as well give him a good show.

“That’s where I’d like to cut. Do you see?” Creem said.

“I see,” Bergman said. The girl only nodded.

“But let’s not limit ourselves,” Creem went on. “Should I keep going?”

“Definitely,” Bergman said, pouring himself another drink. “Tell me what you’re thinking about, Elijah.”

Creem stood to the side and used the pointer again, pressing the tip of it into the girl’s well-toned obliques.

“Let’s say we wanted to go for a little tummy tuck, while we were at it,” he said. “In that case, I might try coming in right here, or maybe even here….” Now he plied the lower abdominals under her navel. There was more resistance there, but that meant more payoff—more purchase for his blade when it went in.

“Something like that?” Creem said, ostensibly for the girl, but again it was Bergman who answered.

“Yes,” he said, his voice a little smaller than before. “Something like that.”

“And how about the thighs?” Creem went on, turning his attention south. “It wouldn’t be much to take those down a little.” He drew another line, along the psoas, and came to a stop just over the femoral artery. His favorite. “That’s where I’d like to cut. Right there.”

“Mm-hm,” Bergman said. The girl blinked a few times. She seemed confused by now, which was fine.

“I’m just going to make some notes,” Creem said, and indicated the gown again. “You can close up there, Justine.”