“Maybe he should have just moved ahead to retire from medicine and write fiction like he’d wanted to do. …But the powers that be at JCAHO and his friend, Peter Larsen, had twisted his arm a bit to persuade him it was a good idea to accept this one final survey assignment.”
“Jonathan was a social liberal, but a fiscal conservative. …Tall, trim, and hazel-eyed, he wore his usual conservative three-button single-breasted suit with a blue oxford shirt, button down collar, and a rep-striped tie in a slender four-in-hand knot.”
The novel’s plot thickens and Jonathan foresees trouble. “As the night wore on, dreams crept into Jonathan’s sleep. Frightening dreams. Dreams of danger. Dreams of racing down a freeway, driving fast in an unfamiliar car. A two-tone gray sports car, convertible top open. Darkness. Faster. Something, or somebody chasing him. More speed seemed the only way to safety—faster and faster. Then, in the dream, the sports car spun out of control and Jonathan crashed."
"He couldn’t move—couldn’t climb out from under the steering wheel, could not release the seat belt. Injured, he dreamed, but alive. The freeway was deserted, no other cars around. Suddenly, in the dream, hands were all over him. They pulled at his arms and legs, tried to get him out of the car.”