Turning, Tara breathed in the scent of fresh soap and leather. His hair was still damp, the curly ends brushing the collar of his jacket. “Yes. Thank you.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and her stomach did a little flip. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.” The huskiness in his voice raised pinpricks of awareness on her arms.
She nodded, not trusting her own voice.
He wavered a moment longer as if he might say more, then slipped away.
“Your beau?”
Startled by her patient’s question, Tara spun back toward the bed, and the blood pressure cuff she’d stopped pumping halfway inflated. She deflated the cuff to start again. “No, just a friend. Sorry for the interruption.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled. “A friend? That’s not what he thinks.”
Tara’s heartbeat hopscotched around her chest. Dare she believe it might be true?
She’d been so affected by his appearance, she’d forgotten to tell him what she’d overheard Whittaker say this morning.
A couple of hours later, Dr. Whittaker slapped a printout onto her desk. “Why didn’t you tell me Melanie Rivers was the reason you came to get McCrae yesterday?”
Tara’s stomach tightened. “I was in a hurry.”
“I bet. And afraid of being reprimanded for contaminating another IV.”
“What are you talking about?”
He speared his finger into the printout—Melanie Rivers’s lab report. She had elevated levels of both staph and strep in her bloodstream. The same bacterial combination found in Ellen’s bloodstream after her death.
“You’re blaming me for this?” Tara’s voice rose.
Dr. Whittaker looked pointedly at the sweater she’d thrown on over her scrubs. “Isn’t that the same sweater I see you wearing when you pick your daughter up from daycare?” He twanged the sleeves. “Infection, Miss Peterson... Do I have to remind you what will happen if the press gets wind of a story like this? The fallout would be disastrous.”
Tara forced herself to take a full breath. This couldn’t be what it looked like. Whittaker would not want word of this to get out. A good thing, too, because it looked like he’d set her up as a scapegoat.
* * *
Zach’s pulse rocketed at the beep of the two-way radio he shared with Tara. He excused himself from the nurse he’d been instructing on the new computer system and checked the radio’s GPS. It showed Tara in almost the same position as his, but at a lower elevation—the daycare. She’d made arrangements for her sister to bring Suzie there this morning.
He sprinted to the back exit and barreled down the stairs to the main level. He hit the hallway at the same moment Tara stepped out of the daycare with Suzie perched on her hip.
“Dak!” Suzie squealed.
Hauling in a breath, he closed the distance between them. Both Tara and Suzie looked fine. So why had she beeped him? “You okay?”
“Yes, we’re just waiting for our ride.” Her head tilted and her smile lost some of its wattage. “Why?” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Is something wrong?”
He jiggled Suzie’s foot and grinned. “Not if you’re okay. Suzie must have sat on the radio in your pocket.”
She boosted Suzie a little higher on her hip. “Oops. Sorry about that.”
“I’m not complaining. Just glad you’re okay.” The sound of another email alert on his cell phone boosted his mood even higher. After learning that Melanie hadn’t been admitted to the hospital, he’d decided that tracking her down at home might raise too many suspicions. So he’d set up an email address under the alias Lucy Baker and struck up a conversation on the blog he’d found last night. Figuring most guys were more willing to help a woman than a man, he’d asked where she might get the treatment he was taking, and listed the email address to win the blogger’s trust and to encourage a private, detailed response.
He glanced at the message. Yes!
Through a flurry of emails, he’d finally gotten the guy—Samuel Adams—to trust Lucy. Now he’d agreed to a meeting.
“Excuse me a second,” Zach said to Tara, and keyed in Lucy’s agreement. Now all he and Rick had to do was find a female officer to pose as Lucy Baker—their dying cancer patient.
Tara nudged him away from the front of the daycare center. “There is one thing I need to tell you. I overheard Whittaker tell Alice that he needed to find another way to convince me to mind my own business.”
“When?” Zach bit out the word.
“First thing this morning. Then later he insinuated that I was to blame for Melanie’s infection.”
“Melanie has an infection?”
Tara ducked her head, probably realizing she’d inadvertently breached confidential information.
“What kind of infection, Tara? I need to know.”
She glanced around nervously. “Staph and strep, just like Ellen.”
Staph and strep, the two main bacterial strains in Coley’s Fluids. That clinched his theory. He clearly should have paid more attention when Gray had reported Ellen’s autopsy results.
Before he could ask for more details of Whittaker’s threat, the man sidled up to them and tickled Suzie’s chin. “Hi, there. Good to see you feeling better.”
Suzie tucked her head against Tara’s shoulder.
“You playing shy?” Whittaker sported a playful frown. “Kids never like the doc.”
Zach fought the urge to show him that kids weren’t the only ones. The man oozed charm like a tube that didn’t know when to stop.
“Dak not a cop,” Suzie exclaimed.
Zach forced out a laugh, but Tara’s face blanched.
“That’s right,” Dr. Whittaker agreed, “doctors aren’t police officers.” To Tara he added, “You’ve got a bright one here.”
Tara’s cheeks went from white to pink. “Thank you.”
Dr. Whittaker continued down the hall a few yards and then stopped to chat with a couple of nurses.
Spotting Kelly at the door and not wanting to press Tara for details on Whittaker when the man was within earshot, Zach said, “Can we talk later?”
“Yes, come for dinner.”
The rush of words seemed to surprise Tara as much as they surprised him. He’d been to her house almost every evening since starting this case, but she’d never offered him a home-cooked meal. “I’d like that very much. Around six?”
“Yes.” The breathless catch to her voice made his heart hitch.
“Bye, Dak,” Suzie squealed.
Whittaker glanced over his shoulder with a wide smile. “Bye, Suz—” His gaze shifted to Zach, and the instant cock of Whittaker’s head said he realized his mistake. Would he realize Suzie’s earlier “Dak not a cop” comment hadn’t referred to him, either?
Zach’s mind reeled through potential explanations. They were on the verge of uncovering a link between the hospital and illegal Coley’s Fluids treatments. The last thing they needed was his cover blown.
Tara’s sudden intake of breath didn’t help matters.
Whittaker’s smile lost its brightness, but he hesitated only a moment before turning away.
“Whew,” Tara mouthed, except Zach wasn’t so sure they’d dodged the bullet. Suzie had inadvertently tipped his hand, which meant if Whittaker had a guilty conscience, he’d be watching both of them more closely than ever.
SIXTEEN
“Me stir, Mommy,” Suzie begged as she plowed a kitchen chair toward the counter.
Tara tied a waist-style apron around her little girl’s shoulders, and the frill still reached the seat of the chair. Tara showed her how to hug the bowl of cake batter with her arm to keep it steady and then handed her the whisk.
“Like this?”
Tara swept a curl out of Suzie’s eye. “Yes, hon
ey, you’re doing a good job.” Seeing her daughter’s enthusiasm, she chided herself for usually waiting until Suzie’s nap time to bake. Although she suspected Suzie’s enthusiasm had more to do with Zach coming than baking, unlike Kelly, who’d been unusually quiet since learning of their plans.
Tara brushed the fine dusting of flour off Grandmother’s recipe card, wishing she could shrug off Kelly’s unspoken censure as easily. “You’re going to love this cake, sweetie. My grandma and I used to make it when I was little. It was my favorite.”
“Dak gonna love, too.” Suzie scooped a hunk of batter onto her finger and licked it. “Mmm, yummy.”
Tara tickled Suzie’s belly. “Hey, you’ve got to stop taste testing or you’ll be too full for dinner.”
Giggling, Suzie hunkered down, guarding her belly from Tara’s tickly fingers.
Soon the aroma of baking cake filled the house. They shooed Kelly and her laptop to the living room and set the table with their best linen tablecloth, good flatware and fancy crystal tumblers.
“Look, Mommy.” Suzie pointed to the rainbows splashed on the tablecloth from the sunshine touching the glass.
Tara couldn’t imagine a more perfect day.
The conversation she’d overheard between Alice and Dr. Whittaker infiltrated her thoughts, but she shut it down. She wasn’t going to let anything spoil their special night with Zach.
She pressed her palm to her fluttery tummy. He wasn’t at all like Earl. He accepted her for who she was. Yet, he wasn’t afraid to challenge her about her tendency to wallow in the past. And when he held her in his arms, he made her feel unbelievably precious.
Still... After weeks of trying to convince herself she’d be crazy to start another relationship, she couldn’t believe that she’d actually invited him to dinner.
Suzie set down the last fork. “Can I wear my pink dress?”
“Sure you can.”
As soon as Tara finished helping Suzie put on her favorite dress, white tights and shiny black shoes, Suzie twirled around the house. “Dak come soon?”
Kelly stepped inside from her hourly patrol of the yard. “He’ll be a while yet.”
“Why don’t you color him a picture while I put the potatoes on?” Tara suggested.
Suzie pulled out her coloring book and crayons and turned to a picture of Sleeping Beauty’s handsome prince. “Dis one?”
“Sure, sweetie. Any one you like.”
Suzie scrunched a chubby yellow crayon into her fist, wedged her tongue at the corner of her lips and set to work on the prince’s hair—blond like Zach’s. Tara smiled at her daughter’s earnestness. The fear that, mere days ago, would’ve engulfed her at the thought of Suzie growing too attached to Zach, hovered only dimly in the corner of her mind.
Deep down she knew that Zach wouldn’t hurt them.
* * *
After stopping at his apartment to change into fresh clothes, Zach headed for the florist shop next door. He hoped it wasn’t wishful thinking that had him reading more into Tara’s dinner invitation than just an opportunity to discuss the case, because the vulnerability he’d seen swimming in Tara’s liquid-brown eyes had turned him inside out.
The bell over the door jingled as he entered the shop, and a brightly dressed woman bustled out from behind the counter. She looked his mom’s age, but her caftan, with its splashes of purple, orange and yellow flowers bore no resemblance to the matronly clothes his mother favored.
She opened her arms wide. “Welcome. How may I help you?”
He pointed to a cheery bouquet of mixed flowers in the cooler next to the counter. “I’ll take one of those.”
Her smile fell. “Someone is sick?”
Heat crept to his cheeks. He’d taken a similar bouquet to Ginny and she hadn’t hinted that he’d made some floral faux pas, but from the arch of the florist’s brow, apparently he had. “No, they’re for a friend.”
The twinkle returned to the woman’s eyes. “May I suggest roses then?”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to scare her.”
Laughter spilled from the woman’s mouth. “They needn’t be red. White roses are a symbol of caring, light pink of admiration, and my favorite—” She showed him lilac-colored rosebuds. “These tell her you’re enchanted.”
Oh, boy. His gazed flicked from one array of flowers to the next. “I had no idea people read so much into a simple bouquet.” He scraped his hand over his chin. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
The woman opened the cooler and lifted out the original bouquet he’d requested. “Tell me what attracted you to this one.”
“The sunflowers,” he said easily. They reminded him of Tara’s sunny disposition and captivating brown eyes.
The florist’s beaming smile returned. “Sunflowers symbolize adoration.”
“Hmm, I like that.”
She plucked the sunflowers from the bouquet and combined them with some reddish-purple zinnias.
Glancing at the clock, Zach decided not to ask what zinnias meant. Somehow he didn’t think this woman would steer him wrong. Standing at Tara’s doorstep fifteen minutes later, he wiped his damp palms on his pant legs and prayed the flowers weren’t too much.
The curtains at the window slanted open and Suzie’s nose pressed to the glass. “Dak here,” she squealed and a moment later, the door burst open.
The delight on Tara’s face when he handed her the bouquet sent a jolt of pleasure rumbling through his chest. She welcomed him inside, and between the sweet aroma of home cooking, and the feel of Suzie’s tiny hand in his, cozy family images filled his senses.
Kelly angled past him with a chilly “Call me when I need to come back.”
Letting Suzie drag him across the room, Zach scanned the windows, reminding himself of the other reason he was here. While Tara put the flowers in a vase, Suzie proudly showed him the elegantly set table, babbled happily about how she’d helped her mommy bake the cake and then twirled around the living room to show off her pretty dress.
“Could you help Suzie into her booster seat while I bring out the food?” Tara called from the other room.
She carried a platter of chicken to the table, placed a small helping in front of Suzie and disappeared into the kitchen again.
Suzie’s nose wrinkled.
“What kind of face is that?” Zach teased. “Your mom went to a lot of effort to make us a delicious-looking meal.”
“Don’t like,” Suzie grunted, crossing her arms over her chest.
“But little girls don’t get dessert if they don’t eat their supper.”
As Tara returned carrying a pitcher of juice, a giant tear spilled down Suzie’s cheek. “Dak said I can’t have cake.”
“The big meanie.” Tara playfully bumped his shoulder. “I’m sure he was just teasing, honey. You know you’ll get some.”
“But not if she doesn’t eat her supper, right?”
Tara nudged the plate toward her daughter. “It’s chicken. You like chicken.”
This time Suzie’s entire face scrunched along with her nose. “Not red chicken.”
“That’s the sauce. It has ketchup and honey and brown sugar. Mmm.” Tara dipped the edge of Suzie’s spoon into the dish. “Try it. If you still don’t like it, I’ll make you a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich. Deal?”
Suzie nodded, and Tara spooned a smidgen of the chicken sauce into her mouth. Immediately, Suzie made a sour face and reached for her sippy cup. “Don’t like.”
Tara let out a resigned sigh. “Okay, a sandwich it is, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’ll say,” Zach interjected, “that cake sure smells yummy.”
Tara swatted his shoulder. “Stop teasing her.”
“Who’s teasing?”
Tara rolled her eyes an
d hurried back into the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a sandwich for Suzie, to which she added the tiniest spoonful of steamed carrots. “Now, I expect you to eat those vegetables.”
Suzie slanted an apprehensive glance in Zach’s direction.
He actually started to feel guilty for scolding her—until he realized she was doing nothing more than pushing her carrots off the edge of her plate and nudging them underneath as she nibbled at her sandwich.
Reluctant to spoil the mood by making a big deal about Suzie’s picky eating, Zach redirected the conversation to their case. “Are you sure Whittaker meant you when you overheard him talk about making sure someone minded their own business?”
Tara’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth, her knuckles white.
Okay, bad choice of dinner conversation.
Tara lowered her forkful of mashed potatoes to her plate. “He accused me of deliberately infecting Melanie. What do you think?”
Zach gritted his teeth at that news. What else had Tara neglected to tell him?
Suzie’s wide eyes panned from Tara to him.
“Perhaps we should talk about it later.”
Tara’s nod suggested she’d prefer not to talk about it at all.
Zach’s gaze skittered over the sunflowers adorning the center of the table as he dug into his chicken. Talking about Whittaker was not how he’d hoped to end his evening with Tara.
* * *
“‘You turned another page,’” Zach wailed as Tara joined him in the living room.
On the sofa beside him, Suzie giggled and burrowed under his arm. Over Suzie’s head, Tara and Zach shared a smile, a connection so warm and effortless that Tara practically floated across the room.
In true three-year-old fashion, Suzie seemed to have completely forgotten her hurt feelings over Zach’s hard time about her getting cake. But if Tara were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d suggested she do the washing up because she’d needed a little space to examine her own reaction to Zach’s surprising stance.
His reaction had felt too much like a jab at her parenting decisions, but after listening to the two of them reading stories, she conceded that she’d probably been oversensitive. Thanks to Mom’s continuous commentary on how she did things around here, she tended to have a knee-jerk reaction to any opinions expressed on the matter.
Critical Condition Page 17
