The Maybach had barely come to a stop, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust, when Doreen Pulitzer opened the passenger door and climbed in. Her left hand pressed against Ferguson Kennedy's wrist, which was resting on the steering wheel. "I'm fine," she said.Ferguson Kennedy turned his palm over, interlocking his fingers with hers, his gaze sweeping over her like a laser scanner, eager to find out what was wrong.Doreen Pulitzer laughed. "Really, I'm fine. Just a bit of low blood sugar. Don't believe me? Ask Dr. Feng."The window on the driver's side was open, and Dr. Feng stood outside. Suddenly being called out, he felt a jolt, as if a nerve had been scalded by boiling water.Ferguson Kennedy glanced at him sideways.Dr. Feng, heart pounding, dared not meet his eyes. His gaze slid past Ferguson Kennedy's ear and landed on Doreen Pulitzer's clear, pleading eyes.Oddly, Doreen Pulitzer's eyes were cold, yet filled with a deep plea and sorrow. Dr. Feng's scalp tingled, and without
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