The Doctor's Deadly Affair

by Stephanie Doyle

  “I wasn’t running away from you, I was running away from…” All the things she didn’t want to know.

  It was after six o’clock and the sun was starting to set on the city. A Sunday night, the streets were nearly empty. Camille could see across the street to where Wyatt had parked and she desperately wanted to go there. Get in and drive away and never look back.

  “Don’t you see, it makes even more sense now.”

  “Stop talking as if I understand what you mean. None of this is logical!”

  Wyatt held her arms and waited for her to meet his eyes. “He’s in love with you. Or the closest thing he can come to it. Infatuation, obsession.”

  “What? That’s beyond crazy.”

  “No, only crazy in your mind because you can’t imagine how anyone could be. That’s going to be a problem, Camille. One you need to get over.”

  “Logan is a narcissistic, egocentric, arrogant ass. He loves his penis and himself in that order.”

  “I agree you might take a distant third, but it’s there. That’s why the video of you in surgery. You weren’t alone, Camille. You were with him. As a team. That meant something to him.”

  “He can’t be.”

  “Why?”

  There was a bite in his words and she instinctively wanted to retreat, but his grip on her shoulders wouldn’t allow her.

  “Why can’t he love you? You’re beautiful—”

  “I’m not. I’m plain—”

  “You’re beautiful and smart and talented,” he said, talking over her. “You don’t play games with people because you don’t know how. You care about the people you operate on rather than treating them like slabs of meat. You have everything in you to give, everything that has been storing up inside of you for years because you thought you weren’t worthy or you were too scared to give it to anyone. Logan saw that. I see that.”

  The words were being fired at her but she didn’t hear them. Or wouldn’t hear them. She wasn’t sure.

  Wyatt shook his head and then looked into her eyes. “I love you, Camille. God, I do. I think I have for so long.”

  “No.” She couldn’t handle love. She could barely handle sex. She broke away from him and found herself once again looking to his Jeep. Looking for escape. She stepped onto the road and saw no traffic. It wasn’t until she was halfway across the street that she heard it…the roar of a car getting closer.

  Turning to her left, she saw a dark car with tinted windows, windows like the car that had nearly run her off the road. It was barreling down on her fast. Instinct had her turning and jumping out of the way.

  The car missed her by no more than inches. She felt the heat of the engine as it sped by.

  “Camille!”

  Wyatt sprinted to reach her. He grabbed her hand and hauled her off the pavement. Her hands were scraped and she’d banged her knee, but none of the pain compared to the fear as she saw the car make a U-turn in the middle of the road.

  It was coming back for them.

  Wyatt tried pulling her toward the building but the driver didn’t seem to have a problem crossing onto the wrong side of the road. The car cut them off from the building door, the engine roaring as it turned to come after them again.

  “Run!”

  Wyatt grabbed Camille’s wrist and dragged her along with him down the street in the opposite direction. She couldn’t fathom what this person was attempting to do. Scare her, hit her or toy with her. She ran as fast as she could to keep up with Wyatt, who was turning the corner of the city block.

  A mailbox bolted to the sidewalk slowed the menacing black car as it made the sharp turn. For a heartbeat they were out of sight around the corner of the building.

  “Is there a side door?” she puffed out.

  “No.”

  Across the street shops were closed with gated windows and barred doors. No place to find shelter. Behind them the roar of the engine grew louder. They couldn’t outrun it and there was no place to hide.

  “There! There might be…” Wyatt pointed, but didn’t wait for Camille to see where he was pointing. Instead he yanked her hand, running with her down the block until it opened into a smaller alley between two buildings. She didn’t know what he was thinking. The alley wasn’t so small that the car wouldn’t be able to follow them. She could see it ran all the way through to the next block, cut off only by a Dumpster situated halfway down. She and Wyatt hurried along either side looking for a door to one of the buildings. The first one Wyatt reached was locked.

  She started to run past him, searching for another side door. The sound of the engine rumbling into the alley sent another bolt of panic straight into her heart. It revved once, then again, almost like the person was playing a game with them.

  She watched it, walking backwards and stumbling, but unable to take her eyes off the threatening machine. It was as if the car itself was stalking her, not the driver behind the wheel. Beyond the tinted windshield, Camille could see nothing.

  “Who are you?” she screamed as the engine roared again. And then because she couldn’t help it she whispered, “Delia?”

  The sound of squealing tires reached her before she could register that the car was moving again.

  “Camille!”

  She turned her head at the sound of his voice. Wyatt grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. Then he lifted her and she realized his intent.

  The Dumpster.

  She fell into the garbage with a plop then moved to give Wyatt room. He jumped in behind her and reached for her, wrapping her in his arms.

  “Hold on.”

  Camille wasn’t sure what he wanted her to hold on to as she was the one being held. But then she felt the impact of metal on metal and knew the car had crashed into them. She felt the impact throughout her body, but the Dumpster maintained its integrity. They spun around and then stopped.

  “Whoever it is will have to get out of the car to come get us,” Wyatt whispered in her hair.

  “What if they’re armed?”

  “If you’ve got a gun, I’m not sure why you would use a car to try and kill someone. Much less efficient.”

  But the point was moot as the sound of the car driving away and out of the alley was unmistakable.

  Wyatt made as if to stand and check out the scene, but Camille grabbed his arm. “No. Wait! Wait until it’s really gone.”

  He resisted her tug and stood anyway, lifting himself over the metal side. “It’s really gone. Come on, we’re reporting this to the police.”

  She nodded. The police. They would ask for the make and the model of the vehicle but all she would be able to tell them was black. Black car and tinted windows. Hopefully, Wyatt would be able to tell them more.

  Camille tried to push off whatever was underneath her to get the momentum to stand. And that’s when she saw it. An empty honey jar. A trash bag spilling open with crumpled napkins falling out of the bag’s mouth. A lid. Cans. Lots of cans. A wilted head of lettuce. A large wad of tissues…

  She was in trash. She was lying in someone else’s trash. And it was so dirty….

  She screamed then. Loud and long. She didn’t stop screaming even when Wyatt pulled her out of the garbage.

  She screamed until she couldn’t think or see or hear.

  And she didn’t think she would ever stop.

  Chapter 14

  Eventually, the screaming did stop once they crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge into New Jersey. But what followed was worse.

  “Talk to me, Camille.”

  Instead she rocked in the passenger seat, her eyes forward, her mind completely shut down. Wyatt had seen patients in mental facilities in better condition. She was nearly catatonic.

  Getting her out of the garbage and into his Jeep had been one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life. Forget having almost been run down by a psychopath with a thing for Chevys. The screaming drove a knife through his heart. No words had helped. He’d been unable to reach through the phobia and the gut-wrenchi
ng disgust he knew she was feeling.

  Medical pioneer or not, her grandfather was a complete asshole for doing this to her.

  Now Wyatt felt as though she was slipping away from him, as though he was losing her to the fear.

  “You need to stay with me. Okay. I don’t want to have to take you to see Dr. Rosen.”

  He knew that might jar her. She hated that everyone knew she’d seen a psychiatrist. But Physicians’ Memorial wasn’t a place where you could hide that detail, despite the laws designed to protect people from exposure. He remembered thinking at the time that Rosen wasn’t going to help her. It would have required her to open up and trust the man. Wyatt was coming to understand how difficult that was for her.

  “That’s the last thing you want,” he continued, feeling as though he was alone in the conversation. “He’ll want to analyze you. Figure out your childhood trauma. Tell you to blame your mother. Or, in your case, your grandfather. But there is nothing wrong with you, Camille. Nothing wrong.”

  He saw her flinch at that. The rocking stopped abruptly.

  “Everything is wrong with me,” she said in a tight whisper.

  He was so happy she was communicating, he didn’t want her to stop. Even if what she said made him want to shout at her. “No, you’re scared of things. Lots of people are scared of things. I was scared of chest cutters. You’re scared of trash. There is nothing wrong with that, Camille. Nothing.”

  “I’m contaminated,” she sobbed. “The germs—”

  “Don’t think about it. Think about the shower. Okay. We’re only a few minutes away now. Think about hot water. Soap. Suds. Think about how good that’s going to feel. Only that.”

  Wyatt waited for her response, hoping she was still with him. Then it came. A soft okay that barely made it past her lips.

  From then on he became a man with a mission. NASCAR driver Jimmie Johnson had nothing on him when it came to speed and control. He had no thought other than to get her home and in the shower. A small part of his brain said he should have called the sheriff on his cell. But he knew if he did, the sheriff would have met them at his place. There would be questions to answer, descriptions of the vehicle to give as well as a timeline of the event. He needed to get Camille clean before any of that could happen. And he wanted to make sure she was back from the dark place she was in right now before anyone saw her.

  When all of this was over she would go back to being a surgeon and her reputation would once again need to be spotless. Nobody needed to know that she couldn’t handle a trip into a Dumpster. Even a rumor that she had insecurities or periods of instability could hurt her. He wouldn’t allow that.

  The police would wait. The car was gone. And he couldn’t see what difference an hour or two would make. In this moment, Camille came first.

  Finally he pulled up to his town house. He barely had the key out of the ignition before he was jumping out of his seat and racing over to the passenger’s side.

  Her hands were unsteady and she was fumbling to get the door open. He did it for her and she nearly fell on top of him.

  “Get away from me.” She tried to push him back but she could barely stand, her muscles locked in place from how tightly she’d been holding herself. She moved stiffly and slowly.

  “Get over it.” He picked her up in his arms and raced to his door. Setting her down, he unlocked the door. Aphrodite greeted them, but quickly sensed her presence wasn’t needed and she scurried off to hide.

  “Shower, now.”

  Camille started to move but it was as if she’d aged a hundred years in the last hour and each step was an effort. He watched her literally push one foot in front of the other. Wyatt grabbed a trash bag out of the closet and then scooped her up around her waist to move her more quickly down the hallway.

  “No, don’t touch me. I’m covered in filth.”

  He didn’t bother to argue, simply stepped into the bathroom and immediately turned on the water in the shower. Blasting it to hot, steam filled the room. He wanted her to see that. He wanted her to know how hot that water was going to be so that it would kill every germ she could imagine.

  He raised her hands above her head and pulled off her T-shirt. Like a little girl, she stood still and didn’t fight him. Then came her bra, her jeans, panties, socks and sneakers. All of it went into the trash bag. He did the same, dumping his clothes into the bag with no thought of trying to salvage them. She needed to see that they would be destroyed. Not washed and dried, but completely gone.

  Leaning into the stall, he turned down the heat until it was still scorching hot, but bearable to the touch.

  “In you go.” With a push he sent her into the walk-in shower and positioned her directly under the spray. But it wasn’t until he put the bar of soap in her hands, that she came out of her immobile state.

  As if he’d flipped on some switch in her, she went to work scrubbing. Arms, legs, hands, feet. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. As hard as she was scrubbing, she could have taken a couple of layers off her skin. But he had to let her do it. She had to know for herself that she was once again clean.

  Wyatt stepped into the shower with her and waited until she slowed down, grateful for a large hot water tank.

  “You done?”

  She was scrubbing her hands again with the soap, rinsing them only to scrub and rinse them again. And again. And again.

  “That’s it, Camille. They’re clean.”

  She popped her head up at him and he could see that she just realized she was in the shower with him.

  “I need to get clean, too,” he said brushing his finger along her steamy red cheek.

  He could see the effort she made and knew she was struggling against some inner instinct, but eventually she handed over the bar of soap.

  She was going to be all right. In that moment he was sure of it. She was stronger than her fears.

  Wyatt scrubbed himself as thoroughly if not as violently. The whole time Camille watched him, not in any sexual way, but more clinically. As if she was inspecting his approach to cleanliness and assuring herself that he hadn’t missed any spots. By the time he set the bar of soap in the dish the water was starting to cool down.

  He nudged her out of the stall and found a towel in his cabinet for her. Wrapping her in it, he pushed her to sit on the lid of the toilet while he grabbed another towel for himself.

  Dry, he kneeled in front of her. She pulled the edges of the towel closer. Her hair was wet and loose around her shoulders, her face was the color of a strawberry, and her shoulders were up around her ears. She looked like she was five years old. It would have been adorable if it hadn’t been instigated by such awful circumstances.

  “You feel better?”

  She nodded.

  He wanted her to speak. He wanted her to say something that assured him she was better. “You going to be all right?”

  Again, a nod. He needed to ask something that wasn’t a yes or no question.

  “I’m going to make us some dinner. What do you want to eat?”

  Her eyes drifted off, and for a second she shuddered. “Not spaghetti.”

  He laughed, remembering the stuff had been sticking to their clothes. Yeah, his girl really was going to be okay. “You got it. No spaghetti.”

  She reached a hand out from the towel encompassing her and touched the side of his cheek. Other than when they had made love her touches were so rare. So precious. He froze, not wanting to give her any reason to break the contact.

  “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “You know I don’t.”

  Camille smiled then. “Maybe that’s because you’re crazy.”

  Wyatt considered that. “Not impossible.”

  “You saved us.”

  He couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching. He knew she felt the muscle tense, but she didn’t take her hand away. The thought of what could have happened to her made the anger return in a large wave. When he found the person responsible for this, he was going to
kill him. Hippocratic Oath be damned.

  But still she was touching him. Her hand drifting from his face to his shoulder. “I feel like my world has been turned upside down in the course of a few days.”

  “It has. But not everything has been awful. You’re here with me.”

  “I’m here with you,” she whispered. “Please make me forget for a little while. I don’t want to think about anything. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t…”

  “What do you want?”

  Her eyes, so vulnerable, met his directly. “You.”

  His heart thudded in his chest and he wondered if he was ever going to understand what it was about Camille Larson that made it beat this way. Then again, he didn’t have to question it if he didn’t want to. He could feel it. And that was enough.

  Standing in front of her, he flicked the towel off his waist. He was growing hard in front of her eyes and experienced an erotic bolt of pleasure as she watched it happen. Her hand reached for him and he closed his eyes and concentrated on how good it felt.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s go to bed.”

  He removed her hand with a silent promise to himself that as soon as they were lying down again he would let her have her way with him. The towel fell from her shoulders as she stood. In a rush of masculine satisfaction at having his woman with him, naked, he lifted her off her feet and into his arms.

  She buried her face against his neck as he carried her to his bedroom and he could feel her sucking at the skin there, her teeth nipping at his earlobe.

  “I feel different,” she said between love bites. “I feel all this crazy energy. I feel like I could…devour you.”

  The physician in him knew that she’d experienced a shock. That what she was feeling was, in fact, an increase in her adrenaline levels. The man, however, wanted to be devoured.

  He knew that often sex could be about power. Camille had lost all of hers. By being suspended, her home broken into, her life being videotaped by an obsessed doctor. Now it was time to give her some of her power back.

  Setting her on her feet beside the bed, Wyatt stripped off the covers. Then he lay down on his back, his hands beneath his head, his sex pointing straight up as a testament to his feelings on being consumed.