by Beth K. Vogt
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Kendall, you need to get out front.” Evie’s words were high. Tight. “Now.”
Kendall turned, slipping her arm through the sleeve of her white lab coat. “Is my first patient here already? I’m not late. Even doctors deserve to eat lunch every once in a while.” She patted her pocket to ensure her stethoscope was there.
“He’s here, but he’s going to have to wait.” Evie stepped into the office, shutting the door behind her.
“Why are you telling me to hurry up, then coming in here and shutting the door? Let’s go.” Kendall sidestepped the receptionist, but Evie blocked her from exiting.
“The police are here.”
“What?”
“The police. And a dog. A drug-sniffing dog, Kendall.”
Kendall yanked the door open, moving down the hallway. “What did they say?”
“They have a search warrant.”
Kendall stopped, pressing her hands over her face. Inhaled. Exhaled. “Dear God, help me know what to do.”
“They have a warrant, Kendall. They can search the place whether you want them to or not.”
Right. She knew that. She couldn’t bar the door to the back exam room area and tell them to leave.
She stood halfway to the front desk, trying to process what to do next. “How many patients are in the waiting room?”
“Three—four maybe.” Evie waited for instructions, ignoring the ringing of the telephone.
“Let me think . . . let me think . . . Have Renee start calling patients and canceling appointments for the rest of the afternoon. Move them to tomorrow.” We will be open tomorrow, right? She could only deal with what was happening right now. “I’ll go talk to the police. You deal with the patients. It’s apparent I won’t be seeing anyone today.” Why hadn’t she taken the time to track down a lawyer? But she’d never imagined the police searching her office. “After the patients leave, try to reach Sonia. Her sister, Myrna, is a lawyer. Maybe she can give me some advice.”
“Got it.”
As her receptionist moved away, Kendall reached out and grasped her arm. “Wait, Evie.”
“What else?”
Kendall held out her hand. “Pray with me? Please?”
She saw the woman hesitate. Knew she’d made her uncomfortable. “You don’t have to say anything. I-I just need a hand to hold on to, you know? A friend . . .”
“Sure. I can do that part. Be your friend. You pray. I’ll hold your hand.”
Kendall grabbed Evie’s hand. On second thought, she clasped both of the woman’s hands. “Dear God, help. Please. I know you haven’t lost track of me today . . . you promise to never leave me or forsake me . . . but, God—” Kendall sucked in a deep breath. “—there are police waiting to search my practice. Please protect me. Us. The patients. Please. Amen.”
She squeezed Evie’s hands. “Thanks. Okay—here we go.”
When she walked into the waiting area, the sight of two uniformed officers—a man and a woman—still surprised her. The man stood back, maintaining a firm grip on a leash attached to a German shepherd. A big dog that looked as if it was the one in charge.
“Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Haynes. What can I do for you, Officers?” Kendall decided it was best to keep some distance between her and the dog, so she didn’t offer to shake hands.
“I’m Officer Walters. We have a warrant to search your office, Dr. Haynes.” The woman, who was as all-business as the officer she’d talked to at the hospital, held out a document.
Kendall took it, unfolded the paper, and skimmed over it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Evie talking with the patients sitting in the waiting room. “Could we discuss this in my office?”
“That’s fine. But you do understand that we have a warrant—”
“My office is right back here.” Kendall opened the door, hoping to forestall that announcement a third time. “Would you like something to drink?”
Or a bowl of water for your dog?
The officers followed her into the break room. “We’re here on business, ma’am. The sooner we conduct our search, the sooner we leave.”
“If I read this correctly, you’re searching for illegal drugs?”
“Yes—we’re trying to discover what may have caused Nicholas Wells’s illness and subsequent hospitalization last weekend. The report showed traces of cocaine and a significant amount of digitalis. The district attorney decided this was enough to launch an investigation.”
“But I didn’t—”
“You’ve not been named as a suspect at this time, Dr. Haynes. We’re only here to conduct a search. Not discuss the case.”
And it probably looked as if she was stalling. Guilty. Did they think her staff was hiding the evidence?
“Fine. I have nothing to hide.”
Did all the criminals say that?
Kendall opened the break room door. “Go right ahead—wait. I had one patient in an exam room. Let me make certain he’s gone.”
A quick check proved that the medical assistants had dealt with the patients already there—assuring them that they would be called later tonight about follow-up appointments—and were calling the others due at the office later today. She could always have her nurse practitioner see anyone who couldn’t wait later this evening. Evie was printing up a CLOSED FOR AN EMERGENCY sign to post on the front doors. When Evie came running back down the hall, Kendall braced for more bad news. But what could be worse than having a large dog sniffing through her exam rooms while another officer rummaged through her prescription medicine cabinet?
Evie stopped in front of her, trying to catch her breath. “Reporter.”
“What?”
“There’s a reporter from one of the news stations out front. I saw him getting out of his truck. He has a camera crew and everything.”
“You’re joking. Please, be joking.” Kendall slumped against the wall.
“What do I do?”
Avoidance sounded wonderful. Run out the back entrance and go lock herself in her loft. She had enough food to last her a few days. And she could walk Sully in the middle of the night . . .
“Kendall?” Evie watched her.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I have no idea.”
She met the reporter as he came up the front walk to her office. Wind gusted around them, tugging at the man’s windbreaker and red power tie. Kendall did a double take. Was he wearing . . . makeup?
“May I help you? Maybe find you an important story to cover?” Kendall would not allow the guy in her building to film the search. That’s all she needed splashed all over the evening news.
“I’m looking for Dr. Kendall Haynes.”
“I’m Dr. Haynes.”
The man gave a snort of laughter. “Really? You look like you could be a medical student.”
“I would invite you in and show you my medical school diploma, but I’m rather busy right now. Will you excuse me?” She opened the door to slip back inside.
“Ah, ah, ah, Dr. Haynes. I wanted to ask you a few questions.” The man stepped in front of her, motioning the cameraman to move around.
Kendall crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she had on a pair of her heels, so she could stand a little taller during this face-off.
“Dr. Haynes, would you like to tell us how your patient is doing—the one who was hospitalized this past weekend because he took an illegal drug?”
“I don’t discuss my patients. With anyone.”
“But it is true that one of your patients was admitted to the hospital last Saturday because he’d taken some sort of illegal drug that he’d been given here?”
That wasn’t a question. That was a statement—presuming her guilty.
“No comment.”
“I couldn’t help noticing the police car.” Again, he motioned for the cameraman to pan the parking lot. “What are they searching for?”
“No comment.�
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“What’s your relationship with Dr. Heath Parker, Dr. Haynes? An anonymous source said you and he were involved—until he broke it off. Is this your attempt to get back at him? Ruin his reputation?”
Kendall resisted the urge to knock the microphone out of the reporter’s hand. “This non-interview is over. Good afternoon.”
“But Dr. Haynes—”
Kendall enjoyed how the sound of the man’s voice disappeared when she stepped back into the safety of the building. Then she remembered that a trained drug enforcement dog was sniffing around her office. Who was worse? The reporter or the dog?
Griffin sat beside Ian’s hospital bed, thankful his brother slept. Now Ian lay curled up on his side, protected by the raised metal railings. His long hair was matted with sweat, and a nasal cannula fitted into his nostrils so that he still received oxygen. The kid had passed a rough night, between the breathing treatments, the chest X-rays—and Griffin reading him the riot act.
Maybe he should have saved that part for today.
But what was he supposed to do when Ian’s friend, Tara, showed up at the ER to check on him? And then confessed that a group of teens had been smoking hookahs in her basement? Did his brother have no sense at all? Hookahs—with a chaser of nicotine for added fun.
Doug stopped by earlier that morning and prayed with him. Told him to not be so hard on himself.
Roger that.
Ian almost died on his watch—again.
Griffin pushed back, positioning the lounge chair so that it stretched out. The bedside monitor continued to emit a low beeping sound as it tracked Ian’s pulse. He tugged the chain out from beneath his shirt, fisting his father’s wedding band. If his parents were here . . . well, if his parents were here, Ian wouldn’t be. And he wouldn’t be in the hospital. He’d still be happy. Still have his family.
God, what were you thinking? Ian needed Mom and Dad. The kid’s only sixteen . . . every boy needs his parents when he’s sixteen.
But not at thirty-eight?
Griffin froze.
Where had that thought come from?
And no, he didn’t need his parents like Ian still did . . . but he missed them . . . he wished he could call his father, ask for advice, hear him say, “You’ll figure this out, son. I’m proud of you.”
His father wouldn’t be proud of him for some of the things he’d done.
But his dad loved him anyway.
And that was the more important thing. If he had to pick between his father being proud of him or loving him . . . he would choose his father’s love. Because pride was based on performance. And love, well, love wasn’t. Not from his dad anyway.
Here’s the thing, Griffin. You’re my son. Nothing can change that. I love you because you’re mine. You don’t have to do anything or be anyone to earn my love. It’s yours.
The door to Ian’s room opened, dissipating the sound of Griffin’s father’s voice.
Or was that God’s voice?
As Griffin sat up, Kendall Haynes paused in the doorway.
“Kendall—”
“Griffin. Hi.” She eased the door shut, muffling the clatter of a meal cart going by. She walked over to Ian, who continued to sleep. “I came to check on Ian.”
“How did you know he was here?” Griffin walked to the foot of Ian’s bed, watching as Kendall assessed his brother without waking him.
“I was checking on another patient. Someone asked if I was here to check on Ian Walker.” Kendall walked around the foot of the bed, coming to stand next to Griffin, close enough for him to see the dark circles shadowing her eyes. “I told them no, because as far as I knew, your brother wasn’t in the hospital.”
“Can we talk about this out in the hallway?”
“Sure.”
He followed Kendall back out of Ian’s room, surprised at the immediate onslaught of noise. The shrill ring of a phone at the nurses’ station. A muted conversation between a physician and a man and a woman standing outside the room just down from Ian’s. The metallic sound of wheels rolling along the floor.
“Did it occur to you that I might want to know about Ian?” Kendall faced him, not wasting any time before launching an attack.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t call because—?”
“Because the ER nurse said they’d call if you needed to be contacted.”
“Thanks for that, Griffin.” Kendall looked away, a sigh escaping through her pursed lips. “You couldn’t have shoved me out of your life and slammed the door in my face any more effectively than that.”
“Listen, I—”
“No, you listen. If you don’t want to be friends, then . . . fine.” There was the slightest pause, almost undetectable. “But I am still Ian’s doctor until he leaves and I will always be his friend. Have you ever had a friend in the hospital? Wouldn’t you want a call?”
His apology died in his throat.
She exhaled on a soft shudder, her fingers twisting her short hair into disarray. “I’ll just go look at Ian’s chart. Ask the nurses how he’s doing. Let him know I stopped by, please.”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“No. He’s exhausted after the night he had. I’ll call him later, once he’s home. I’ve got his cell number.”
He wanted to say something. Find a reason to keep her here. But she was here only as Ian’s doctor. And Ian’s friend. Nothing more. “Thank you for checking in on Ian.”
“You’re welcome.”
He waited for her to toss out another comment. Something to keep the conversation going. But Kendall took a few steps backward, then turned and made her way to the nurses’ station.
He cleared his throat, as if to test it. Should he call her back?
No.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She was not up for this.
Evie looked at Javan through the rearview mirror. He sat in his car seat, staring out the window as if the cars lining the parking lot were the most interesting sight in his six-year-old world. She should have left him home with Logan, deadline or no deadline.
“Come on, Evie. I need to make this conference call. Take Javan with you to the grocery store.”
“He’ll throw a fit.”
“No, he won’t. Help me out here, babe.”
“I’ll do it—but I know he’ll hate every minute he’s with me.”
And so far, her prediction was coming true. Well, no tantrum yet. Instead, Javan ignored her. Bottom lip pushed out. Eyes focused on his tennis shoes. Shoving her hands away when she tried to buckle him into his car seat.
This would be a fun, fun trip to the grocery store.
As they entered the store, Evie muscled a cart from the long row waiting by the front doors. Did some employee jam carts together and then time customers to see how long it took them to get a cart separated from the gridlock?
“Come on, Javan. Time to get in.”
“No. I wanna walk.” Javan marched off, his stout legs stomping out the rhythm of his resentment.
Great. They’d be here forever. “Mamá wants you to ride in the cart, okay? You can watch my purse.”
Javan never even looked back.
Score: Javan 1. Her 0.
Evie pushed the cart, catching up with Javan before he bypassed the produce section.
“We’re going to get some fruit first, Javan. Turn right, niñito.” She held her breath, letting it out in a relieved exhale when the little boy obeyed her. She double-stepped to keep up with him. “You want some apples?”
“Red ones.”
“Red ones it is, then. Want to put them in the bag?” Evie pulled a plastic bag off the rack. “How about six? Can you count six?”
“Sure.”
One by one, Javan dropped six apples into the bag. They moved from there to choose a bunch of bananas and some oranges.
“I wanna get cereal now.”
“Cereal is all the way at the back of the store. I still need to get some salad stuff. We’l
l get that later.”
“But I’m all out of Kix.”
“I promise, we’ll get some. It’s on the list.” Evie tapped her forehead and then moved the cart toward the bins of lettuce. “Come on this way with Mamá.”
She gathered the different items for a green salad: romaine lettuce, red and yellow peppers, cucumber, red onion. Spying a container of sunflower seeds, she moved farther along to get that, too. What had she forgotten? Mushrooms. Logan always liked mushrooms in a salad. She turned back around . . . and realized Javan wasn’t standing nearby.
“Javan?” She looked toward the grocery cart. Maybe he was in front of—no. From left to right, she scanned the produce section of the store. Where was he? “Javan?”
She took a few steps to the right. Stopped. Which way should she go. Right? Left? Stay here? Surely Javan couldn’t have gone far.
“Javan?” This time she raised her voice a bit, in case he’d wandered an aisle over. A woman with short-cropped gray hair over by the pineapples made eye contact with her. “I’m looking for my son. He’s six. Have you seen a little boy with curly black hair?”
The woman shook her head, her mouth curving in a sympathetic smile as she moved closer. “What is he wearing?”
What was Javan wearing? Evie closed her eyes. Tried to remember. “Jeans. A . . . an Iron Man shirt. My husband loves Iron Man. Tennis shoes—with Velcro. His name is Javan.”
Why was she standing here talking to this woman? She had to find her son. She dashed over to the next aisle of the produce section. “Javan! Come here right now!”
Nothing. What should she do? Get a manager? Keep looking?
A touch on her shoulder caused Evie to whirl around.
“Ma’am, do you need some help?” A man wearing a black shirt and blue work apron stood next to the woman Evie talked to moments earlier.
“I’ve lost my son.”
How could she have lost Javan?
“What’s his name?”
“Javan.” Evie described what the little boy was wearing. Again.
“Why don’t you come to the front and we’ll make an announcement—”
