The Doctor's Deadly Affair

by Stephanie Doyle

  “You have no call to be worried. We’re not even seeing each other.”

  “But we want to be.”

  “You want to be,” she corrected. But she knew she was lying. Sitting this close to him, smelling a hint of the soap he used, made her remember what it felt like to lie next to him. To have him inside her body.

  “You want to be, too, but you’re afraid. So afraid you thought you might try dating someone else to get the hang of it so you can be easier with me. I don’t know whether to kiss you for that or be mad at you.”

  If she had her choice, she would have preferred the kissing. She liked the kissing. She missed the kissing. But if she told him that, then he would do it. He would kiss her and then he would want more of her and then the panic would come back. The fear that she wasn’t capable of being in a relationship.

  What if they were together for a time, happy for a while? What if he ended it? Could she see herself as someone who would scratch his car and break his possessions? No, she was far too practical for that. Still, she had a slightly better insight into why someone would go to such extremes. Losing Wyatt, if she ever had him, would hurt. Would really hurt.

  Avoiding any more talk of kissing, Camille changed the subject. “Do you know the latest rumor is that not only am I responsible for getting Dade to leave, people think it was because I was stalking him?”

  “Stalking him?”

  “Yes. His car was keyed and the windshield was smashed and people think I did it. Which is ridiculous because I never saw him that way, but even more so because I would never risk my hands on something like breaking glass.”

  “Of course not.” Wyatt smiled.

  “Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why someone did the same to my car. Maybe it wasn’t anger directed at me, but somebody thought they were avenging Dr. Dade. It’s all so childish.”

  Wyatt frowned. “What do you mean someone did the same to your car?”

  “A couple of days ago. I was leaving the hospital with Ruby and my car was keyed, the windshield broken. I wanted to think it was a vandal, but Ruby made it pretty clear how unpopular I was around here.”

  Wyatt was about to say something, but Camille could feel someone rushing toward them. Anytime a person ran in a hospital, it wasn’t a good thing. She jumped out of her seat ready to act but stopped when she saw Jeff.

  His face was concerned. “Dr. Larson, you need to report to ICU. Stat. It’s Janet Hamilton.”

  “Why? What’s happened?” Camille was already jogging after him and she could feel Wyatt close behind her. “A bleed?”

  “No,” Jeff said over his shoulder as they reached the elevators. He hit the up button, his face tight. “It wasn’t a bleed.”

  “Then what happened?” Camille shrieked, her impatience at the very limit.

  “It was her heart. It stopped.”

  Chapter 9

  After an hour and forty-two minutes of attempted resuscitation, including paddles and reopening Janet Hamilton’s chest to manually stimulate the heart into beating, time of death was called at 1:22 a.m. Camille was the doctor on record.

  All she wanted to do was go home and hide under the bedcovers for the next few days but that wasn’t going to be an option.

  Delia was waiting for her.

  With arms crossed over her chest, she tapped her foot on the floor, making a clicking sound that immediately bothered Camille.

  “What the hell happened?” Delia asked as soon as Camille was close enough.

  “A patient died,” Camille answered dully. She looked around for Wyatt, wondering if he’d decided to call it a night and leave. It was well past the time his shift had ended.

  Still, she thought he might have been here. Waiting. She might have even thought about letting him give her a hug. She liked being hugged, she realized.

  “Damn it, Camille! Give me answers.”

  “I don’t have any,” Camille snapped. “I know I didn’t cause her death, but I don’t know why she died.”

  “This is like the others? Should I have been listening to you all along? Should I have brought in outside help?”

  Camille could hear the despair in the woman’s voice, wondering if she’d compromised the lives of patients for the sake of a grant.

  “Wyatt didn’t find anything. There was nothing to find.”

  Delia shook her head. “Okay, well, three patients in one month is not an accident or a coincidence. Either you’re doing something wrong—”

  “I’m not.”

  Delia shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t have the people from the Heart Health Foundation questioning what’s going on in my hospital. And I’m not putting our grant at risk for one surgeon’s mistakes. I’m going to call the board, let them know what’s happening and ask for suggestions. If we’re culpable in these deaths, then we’re going to have to accept that.”

  “You mean if I’m culpable, don’t you?”

  Delia’s jaw tightened. “I’ll call the board first thing in the morning. You and your surgical team will be ready. We’re going to review every cut and every stitch. Understood?”

  Camille laughed harshly. “Oh, I see. Now you want to find out what happened. What happened to keeping it quiet? What happened to that ton of bricks?”

  “They tumbled down around you, Camille. There is no keeping this quiet. Not anymore. You might want to try and get a few hours of sleep. You’re going to need to be sharp.”

  Camille watched the woman walk off, the click, click of her heels sounding like little daggers. Daggers Delia was no doubt going to plant in her back.

  Not having the energy to make her way home, and knowing how long tomorrow would be, Camille found the nearest on-call room and an empty cot.

  She was exhausted. She was numb. She didn’t sleep for two minutes together.

  “Where the hell have you been!”

  The next morning Wyatt was pacing outside one of the hospital’s main conference rooms. A panel of surgeons was gathering together to debrief Camille regarding last night’s fatality. Camille had managed to take a shower and put on a new set of scrubs. She preferred the comfort of them and she was going to need every advantage to face what was to come. What she wasn’t prepared to face was a shouting Wyatt.

  “Here,” she answered.

  “I ran into Delia after she saw you last night. She said she sent you home. I went there after being pissed off that you didn’t wait for me only to find you not there. I came back and searched this whole damn hospital for you last night.”

  He’d been worried. He’d looked for her. Her fuzzy brain processed those facts. “I took my scolding from Delia like a good little girl and found an empty cot to try and get some sleep.” Tried and failed.

  “I thought I checked every on-call room.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. Are you all right?”

  No, she wasn’t.

  “I’m fine.” His scowl told her she wasn’t a very good liar.

  “Camille…” He reached for her, but she stepped back.

  “No, I can’t handle you being nice to me right now. Let’s do this and get it over with. We can talk later if you want.”

  “I will want. But okay. Not now. I can see you’re barely keeping it together and you need to.”

  She was barely keeping it together, but she hated to know she appeared that way. She needed to project an air of calm confidence. She’d been through these types of panels before. She’d sat on the other side of them. Questioning everything from the size of the scalpel to the type of sutures used. Her professional judgment would be scrutinized and tossed around for debate.

  Yes, this was going to be the longest day of her life.

  The door opened and Delia poked her head out. “Camille, we’re ready for you.”

  Camille nodded and took a step forward, but stopped when Wyatt matched her step for step.

  He tilted his head after reading her expression. “You didn’t think you were doing this by yourself,
did you?”

  She had. The way she’d faced most things throughout her life.

  Wyatt grabbed her hand and squeezed. “This time we do it together.”

  It was the most supported she’d ever felt. Since her grandfather had attended her medical school graduation.

  Only it didn’t last long.

  After hours of grilling Camille felt as if she was under attack by some perverse god who believed she used her gift to take lives instead of healing them. Delia and the other surgeons had systematically questioned the anesthesiologist, the intern—who was as white as a sheet and could do nothing but babble incoherently—and the resident who gave a blow-by-blow of the surgery.

  Jeff and Marie both said they saw nothing unusual. However, they both prefaced their comments with the point that neither were surgeons and wouldn’t know if something minor had gone wrong or not.

  A great support team.

  Hour after hour each one was excused until it was only Camille. The panel decided to take a break. Her interrogators apparently needed to stretch their legs, use the facilities and get something fresh to drink.

  Camille saw no reason to move from her side of the table. She was a surgeon who could go hours without eating, drinking, sitting or urinating.

  These other doctors and administration staff could not.

  “Dr. Holladay.” Delia addressed him from across the length of the conference table as people moved about the room. It was the natural order in these types of debriefings that the panel occupied one side of the table while the accused sat on the other.

  Not that this was supposed to be a true accusation.

  “Yes, Delia?” Wyatt hadn’t gotten up to stretch either. He didn’t get a soda or fidget in his chair. He simply continued to sit next to her.

  “I really see no reason for you to be here. Surely Dr. Larson can speak on her own behalf.”

  “I think you know I have a special interest in this matter.” He turned and wiggled his eyebrows at Camille. He was trying to ease her mood, but she was too strung out for it to work.

  “Plus,” he added. “I’m a former surgeon and I have reviewed the first two cases in detail.”

  “I understand you used to be a fine thoracic surgeon. However, the board has asked me to call in somebody else a little more qualified to review these surgeries. An independent eye if you will. He’s been gracious enough to come in for this part of the debriefing.”

  Camille’s throat tightened. Someone qualified to review her surgery. Someone the board recommended and Delia knew. There was only one possibility and the thought made her sick to her stomach.

  Even as the name coalesced in her mind, she could hear a tapping on the door behind her. Ruby, her fake tan practically neon orange in the fluorescent light, peeked in and announced their mystery guest.

  “Delia, it’s Dr. Dade. He’s here. Are you ready for him?”

  After a tight nod from Delia, Ruby retreated. The door swung open and Dr. Dade entered the conference room like a man on a rescue mission. He wore khakis, a red polo and a conservative sport coat. He could have come from the club or a long day at the hospital.

  Or more likely someone’s bed.

  His hair was brown and mussed in a way that Camille thought too young for him. He was physically fit with biceps so massive he often had to cut the scrubs he wore so he could flex them. A walking sexual animal with no thought to anything other than his own pleasure.

  He shook hands with the other doctors, then went to greet Delia. His boyish smile, tilted head and outstretched arms seemed to be asking Delia for forgiveness.

  Hey, I know I screwed you and dumped you. Probably tried to choke you at some point, too. Then left without a word. But we’re all good now, right?

  Camille could almost hear him saying the words in that oh, so casual way he had. Like nothing he said, as long as he said it with a smile, could be bad. Delia offered him her hand and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

  No hard feelings apparently.

  Then Dade whispered something in her ear and Camille could see the woman flush in reaction. Pulling away from him she stumbled slightly as she made her way to her chair.

  Glancing over at Wyatt, who was watching the reunion, Camille could see he was as annoyed by Dade’s presence as she was.

  “Camille, you obviously know Dr. Dade,” Delia said as she made her way around the table. The others in the room once again began to take their seats.

  Dade took the open seat on Camille’s left. She did not think for a moment that this implied he was somehow on her side.

  “Of course,” she muttered.

  Wyatt leaned over Camille with a serious expression as if he needed to communicate vital information to Logan.

  “Hey, Dr. Jerkoff, still going commando under your scrubs?” he whispered sarcastically.

  “Why, if it isn’t Dr. I-used-to-be-a-surgeon. Commando is the only way I fly,” Dade replied with a smirk. “Besides, the nurses like it when I get excited when a surgery is going well.”

  Camille shuddered. She’d been in surgery with Logan when he’d chosen not to wear anything under his scrubs. A heart transplant that had been very successful and evidently exciting for him. The nurses had giggled through the whole incident. She’d had to hold back from gagging.

  What was it about her that made her so much different than other women when it came to this man? It was as if he was wearing a disguise that nobody else could see through but her. She wanted to shout to the world that there wasn’t anything substantial underneath the costume but it felt like barking at the moon.

  “Delia, what do you think this is going to prove?” Camille asked.

  “Dr. Dade has been generous enough to offer a full review of each of your last three fatal surgeries,” she said tightly. The other doctors around the table stopped mumbling to each other to listen to the exchange. For a moment Camille could feel their pity.

  “I’ve already had Dr. Holladay review the last two surgeries. At my suggestion over your objection.”

  Glancing briefly to her right and left, Delia shrugged. “I had no reason to believe you had become negligent then.”

  Camille took the blow in the chest. She sucked in some air. “I see. But you do now.”

  Delia linked her fingers together and placed them carefully on the table. “I’m not doubting your abilities as a surgeon. I know the work you’ve done for us in the past has been exemplary. What I’m questioning is what’s happening to you now.”

  “You’re suggesting I’ve lost the ability to operate and that’s why those people died?” It was unthinkable. Her gift hadn’t changed in the course of four weeks. Hers wasn’t the hand that killed those people.

  It couldn’t have been.

  Rather than answer, Delia countered. “Why did you suggest Dr. Holladay review the cases in the first place? What did you think was happening in your O.R., Dr. Larson?”

  Camille opened her mouth and shut it. Why had she gone to Wyatt? Not because of a mistake she made. “I was looking for a true cause of death based on some outside circumstances. Those operations were a success.”

  “Right up until the patients died, you mean,” Dade chimed in.

  “Exactly,” Delia agreed. “Look, Camille, I understand you are a good surgeon.…”

  That brought Camille to her feet. A rush of pride and fury and fear was swirling inside her. She wasn’t sure how to get the words out, but she did. “I am not a good surgeon. I am a great one. And you know it. It was on my talent that this hospital was even considered for that grant.”

  Delia closed her eyes and when she opened them they were hard and cold. “Maybe that was true a month ago but something has obviously happened. Until we find out what, you need to reassign your surgical schedule. Not that I imagine you will have many patients left willing to be operated on by you when they hear the news. You are hereby suspended until Dr. Dade can review your work.”

  It was hard to hear anything over the ringing in her
ears. Camille was fairly certain she heard the word suspended and nothing after that. She fell into her chair, her arms hanging between her knees and she wondered if she was going to pass out. She knew the simplest way to prevent that was to lower her head below her heart but she wasn’t sure she had much objection to fainting.

  Oblivion had to be better than this.

  “Delia, I think you’re making the right call.”

  Camille’s head snapped in Wyatt’s direction. The right call? He was agreeing with Delia. The fuzzy numbness was quickly replaced by sharp, agonizing pain.

  “Thank you, Dr. Holladay. I don’t need your permission or approval but your consensus might help Camille accept the situation.”

  No, Camille thought. That wasn’t ever going to happen. She wanted to ask him why. But she didn’t have the strength for even that much. She’d heard the term world collapsing before. She always thought it a silly use of hyperbole. Right now it seemed very literal.

  “I think you misunderstand me. I believe keeping Camille out of the O.R. is the best course of action not because I think she somehow contributed to the deaths of those patients. But because I think someone is deliberately targeting her.”

  Wyatt felt the room’s attention shift to him. Delia’s mouth was slightly open, Dade was smirking at him and Camille looked shell-shocked. He hadn’t intended to pull a Perry Mason moment, but seeing the devastation in Camille’s eyes when she thought he was betraying her forced him to speak up and clarify.

  “What are you insinuating, Wyatt?” Delia asked, her tone disbelieving.

  “A month ago Dr. Dade left this hospital in dramatic fashion. This caused a great deal of anger to be directed, or should I say misdirected at Camille. Since then, three of her patients have mysteriously died. I studied the two first cases inside and out. I wasn’t given permission to exhume the bodies, but now that we potentially have a criminal case that decision might be reversed. Days ago Camille’s car was vandalized. Then she was nearly in a car accident where the other driver left the scene. Are you sensing a pattern?”