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“My dear, you don’t seem to have understood what I said.” Dalrymple leaned forward for emphasis. “The man is a …”

Christine cut her off with a raised hand and a finger to her lips. She stared toward the side of the house. Dalrymple looked at her quizzically, then followed the line of her sight to the spot.

“I heard something,” Christine whispered. “Out there by the window.”

Dalrymple cocked her head to one side and listened. “Nothing,” she said softly.

Christine wasn’t convinced. She tiptoed to the side of the window and peered out at the night. The driveway and as much of the street as she could see were quiet. She stood there pressed against the wall for several minutes. Still nothing. Finally, with a shrug, she pulled the blinds and returned to the couch. “There was a noise out there,” she said. “Some kind of a thunk.”

“Probably a cat,” Dalrymple said.

“Probably.” There was little certainty in her voice. Dalrymple sipped patiently at her tea, waiting for Christine’s concentration to return enough to continue their discussion.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Christine said at last.

Dalrymple smiled. “I understand what you’re going through, dear,” she said. “We all do, even though a situation such as yours has never before arisen and probably never will again. Ours is not an easy task. Everywhere along the way there are choices to make, and few if any of them are painless.” There was an edge in her voice that Christine found unsettling.

“Just what are you suggesting I do?” she asked.

“Why nothing, dear,” Dalrymple said. “Nothing at all.”

Christine stared at her with disbelief. “Miss Dalrymple, I can’t let that man suffer for something I’ve done. I could never live with myself.”

Dalrymple looked back impassively and shook her head. “I’m afraid, Christine, that many more would suffer if you made any attempt to clear him.”

Foreboding tightened in Christine’s gut. “Wh … what do you mean?”

“Peg—the woman you spoke to—is Peggy Donner. Almost forty years ago, she founded The Sisterhood of Life. She has dedicated her entire life to its growth.”

“And?”

“Christine, she will not allow you or any other sister to be hurt for doing what is right. She fears that your exposure will sooner or later lead to the exposure of the entire movement.”

“But that’s not true!” Christine cried. “I would never disclose anything about …”

“Please. What matters is not what you think would happen, but what Peggy thinks would happen. You see, before she would risk having the public learn of us through a sordid police investigation and sensationalist press, she will move to inform them herself.” Dalrymple’s expression was grave. “She has our tapes, Christ-tine. All of them. If you move to go to the police, she has promised the board of directors that she will make them public in her own fashion. For several years now she has wanted to do so anyway. Only pressure from the rest of us has kept her in check. We did not feel it was time.”

The throbbing in Christine’s head began anew. “This … this can’t be happening,” she murmured. “It just can’t.”

“But it is, Christine. And the careers of all those in The Sisterhood hang by the thread that you hold. I’m not at all happy with the situation, despite my personal dislike for degenerate physicians such as Dr. Shelton. However, you must believe me, as one who has known Peggy for many years. She will do it.”

Christine could only shake her head.

“We would like you to take a vacation from the hospital,” Dalrymple continued softly. “I’ll have no trouble granting you a leave for, say, three or four weeks. When you return, a shift supervisor’s slot will be waiting for you. Perhaps Greece? The islands are beautiful this time of year. A month in the sun for you and the whole matter will have blown over.”

“I … I don’t think I could do that.”

“For all our sakes, Christine, you must. Please believe me, Peggy’s threat is not an idle one. With our number and the positive image she would project, she feels certain that The Sisterhood can