Charli unlocked the door and waved him in.
“Well, why on earth not come on in? Arm hurting? Stomach cramps? Coughing? Or maybe a sore throat? I think I got more sleep during residency than I have the past month.”
Neil stood just inside the door, his back ramrod straight, his arms by his side. “I saw you leave. And when you didn’t come back...”
She averted her eyes to the floor. The poor philodendron plant in the corner drooped as badly as she felt.
How much had Neil seen? How much had he understood of what he’d seen?
“Welcome to my world. Doctors’ hours, you know.”
Neil crossed through the vestibule to a chair and sat down. “I don’t want to keep you long, because you look dead on your feet. So we can make this quick. But I’m not leaving until I know what Lige wanted tonight.”
Charli pushed the inner door back open. “You might as well have saved yourself the trouble. Because I’m sorry, but no can do. Patient confidentiality.”
“Those guys should have been at the E.R. There’s no reason you had to treat them here in your office. If it’s an emergency, people go to the emergency room.”
Neil had a keen grasp of the obvious, she had to give him that.
“Guess Lige wanted the best,” Charli ground out bitterly.
“No. Lige wanted something else. Secrecy. Charli...” Neil leaned forward with an imploring expression on his face. His eyes were dark and serious. “Charli, why go to this trouble for him? You didn’t want to. I saw that tonight.”
“You saw a lot tonight, didn’t you.” It was a statement, not a question. Charli felt the restraint on her temper loosen. She made an effort to pull it back, hold her tongue from saying anything that could cut.
“I saw enough. He was... I’ve never seen him like that, Charli. You can’t let him bully you. You have to stand up to him. Does he expect you to provide concierge medical service for him 24/7? In exchange for him naming the hospital after your dad? Or...is it something more?” Neil’s tone was laden with judgment.
What did he know? Then her fear gave way to anger. She didn’t have time for this—not when she had to clean up her mother’s mess. “This is the last conversation I want to have at almost three in the morning. It is what it is. I’m a doctor. Those guys were sick. They came to me for help. I helped them. End of story.”
“Yeah, but in the morning they could have gone to the community clinic.”
Yeah. Because I gave the clinic the money I could have used to bail my mom out of debt. She twisted her attention back to evading Neil’s questions and logic.
“In the morning,” Charli said, “those two guys would have needed a hospital. So I saved the taxpayers some money on indigent care. That a crime?” Charli folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the door to keep it propped open. “Out, Bailey. I need sleep in the worst way.”
“It’s not simply that you’re the new man on the totem pole, is it, Charli?” Neil’s voice was heavy with sorrow. “He’s got something on you, doesn’t he? It has to do with that donation, doesn’t it?”
Charli winced, remembering in Technicolor detail Christmases past, when her father and her mother would have raging fights over debt—lots and lots of debt that her mom had racked up in a seriously short period of time.
If I could wring my mother’s neck right now, I would.
She tried to cover it as best she could. “You obviously don’t know much about the politics of small-town medicine if you go all conspiracy theorist on me after just one night call. This is my life, Neil. This is what I do. Tell me you haven’t gotten up at two in the morning to go cover...I don’t know. A fire, maybe. Or a break-in.”
Neil shrugged. She could see the tug of emotions on his face. He wanted to believe her. And that broke her heart.
He wanted to, but his next words told her he didn’t.
“Sure. And tonight, if you’d gotten a call from the E.R. about those guys, it would be a good comparison. What you did tonight was the same as if I’d agreed to go do a feature story on Darius’s fishing lures at 9:00 p.m. It doesn’t make sense...unless...unless...”
Charli’s pulse jumped the way it always did when she was faced with something unpleasant and inevitable at the same time. The pieces were all there. And Neil was smart. Give him time and he’d put them together in the right way.
“Did you know Lige was bringing them?” he asked. “Is that why you hauled off so quick tonight?”
She yanked at her ponytail in frustration. It hurt too much to think of how happy she’d been with Neil mere hours before. Charli could have had that chance if her father, her mother, hadn’t blown things for her with their bad decisions.
Correction: if she hadn’t blown things. She should have gone to the police immediately when she’d found those patient notes, told them about the money. But now she no longer had the money, and she had no firm proof that Lige was involved. It would all come down on her dad—which would leave her mom to face questions from the IRS and the police, at exactly the moment her mother was already stressed to the point she was burning up credit cards.
Charli squared her shoulders. This was her burden, and Neil couldn’t help her, might not want to help even if he somehow could. “I hauled off, as you so elegantly put it, because I’d seen Santa and I had been on my feet all day. And I’m still on my feet.”
But he wasn’t paying attention to her answer. Instead, he frowned in concentration, his lips moving silently as though he were retelling himself a story that didn’t make sense. “You didn’t know, did you? You left...because I guess you didn’t want to be with me. Because something scared you. And then Lige showed up—” Neil broke off. “Just tell me what it is. What’s wrong? Maybe together we can fix this.”
The fetters on her frustration snapped loose. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? The fact that everybody keeps asking me what’s wrong! Oh, and why can’t I be more like my dad? And, oh, by the way, nobody told me I’d be running my own office and cleaning up after my mother and trying to keep my dad’s patients—all while I’m still dealing with losing my dad! And then—” The anger blazed out and to her horror turned into tears.
Then Neil’s arms were around her, clumsy because of the hard cast, and she allowed herself to lean into him and the comfort that he offered her. This was what life was supposed to feel like, his arms around her, a balm, protection and strength. She could almost believe he could save her from anything.
“It’s okay, Charli. We can get through this.”
The spell was broken. Neil could rescue her from anything—anything but herself. Charli jerked back.
There could be no “we” with her and Neil. There was only her, and she was all alone in this. She had to be alone in this. She wouldn’t get him involved in the mess she’d created.
She would, with enough sleep and enough mental space, figure out how to neutralize Lige Whitaker. She would get her mother help. She would come up with a way to deal with the fallout from the donation.
But it was her problem. The last thing she wanted Neil to see was the hash she’d made out of all this. Right now, his nearness, his gentleness, made it hard to withstand the temptation to confess all.
If she could just fix this—if she could just deal with Lige’s threat, Neil would never have to know and maybe she’d have a chance with him.
What was she saying? Did she even believe such nonsense? Any sort of a relationship needed to be grounded in trust—she knew that from her own parents’ marriage. But if she told Neil the truth...he probably wouldn’t have her, anyway.
She rubbed her fingers against her forehead. “Neil. Please go. Okay? Please?”
He backed away as though she’d slapped him. Raising his hands, he said, “Sure. Fine. I was just offering to help.”
“I think I can ma
nage on my own.”
A pulse worked in Neil’s temple. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “You know where I am if you change your mind.”
With that, he pushed open the door and left, a cold breeze whistling around her in his wake.
CHAPTER TWENTY
NEIL SAT IN HIS CAR, watching for Charli to emerge from the hospital. He felt a bit like a stalker, but Charli was in trouble.
Trouble with Lige Whitaker.
And it had something to do with that donation. Neil knew it to the marrow of his bones.
His cell phone buzzed, and he put it to his ear without letting his eyes stray from the hospital doors. “Neil Bailey.”
“Hey. Got your message,” Brian told him. Neil could hear what sounded like coffee burbling in a coffeemaker, and then Brian pouring a cup. Neil would kill for some java right about now. “What’s up, Bailey?”
“Those video cameras. What sort of range did they have?”
“To the clinic? You still hot on the trail after the Secret Santa?”
Brian’s words surprised him enough to pull his focus from his surveillance.
“You mean you aren’t?”
“Case is still officially open, but we’ve got word from the top not to prioritize it. Got a political corruption case in another county, and the boss is catching heat from the Macon Telegraph. See how you media guys just make us go around chasing our tails?”
“So...your talk with Charli...”
“You done got bit by the love bug, have you?” Brian laughed. “It’s all ‘Chaaaarli’ when you say her name.”
“I might have,” Neil admitted. He didn’t know what scared him more: the fact that he was falling for a woman he couldn’t trust, or the fact that he was practically stalking the woman he wanted desperately to be in a relationship with.
Something about Neil’s frank confession must have given Brian pause. The GBI agent cleared his throat. “I don’t want to tell you what to do. You know her better than I do, obviously. But she was lying her— She was lying, Neil. All throughout that interview. Why she would do it, I don’t know. And you know something, don’t you? You saw something on that video that makes you think she’s involved. Me? Before I got any cozier with her, I’d be asking her if she donated the money, and if she did, where all that cash came from.”
Some nurses in candy-colored scrubs got out of their cars, stood for a moment at the employee entrance of the hospital and, laughing, headed in for their shifts. Neil wriggled to find a more comfortable spot in his Corolla. He was hungry and thirsty and sleepy. A cop he would not make. “What do you mean I saw something?”
“Man, you’re as lousy a liar as she is. Look...” In the background, Neil heard doors opening and shutting, what sounded like bacon frying in a pan. It took Brian a few seconds to decide he was going to spill what was on his mind. “She’s hiding something. It may not be a crime. It might not put her in jail. But...it would sure make me think twice if I were looking to take her out on a date.”
Just then Charli came out the door. She was wearing a lab coat, slacks and a sweater, sensible shoes. She didn’t cross over to her office, but got into her car and backed out.
“Thanks, Brian. I owe you.”
“I’d say it was my pleasure...but it’s not. I hate to be a dream crusher, Neil. Just be careful with her, okay?”
“Sure. Careful’s my middle name,” Neil said, eyeing Charli as she turned south onto the highway. “Gotta go, Brian.” He hung up before Brian could finish his goodbye and waited for Charli to get a little ahead of him before he followed her.
What are you doing, Bailey? She obviously doesn’t want you nosing into her business. And you’re nuts if you think you can have a relationship with a woman who has secrets stacked up like cordwood.
A yawn cut short his mental argument. He slid the driver’s side window down to let in some air. The chill morning breeze made him more alert, but it did nothing to settle the confusion crowding his brain.
Neil was certain Charli would spot him in her rearview mirror. The morning commute in Brevis, after all, mostly consisted of school buses and a tractor or two, with a lot of farmers in their pickups heading out to Ida’s for a sausage biscuit.
But either she didn’t recognize his car—not likely—or she had her mind on other things. Charli drove on out of town.
With a sinking heart, he realized she was driving toward Lige Whitaker’s place.
Brevis proper fell away. Neil followed Charli past a handful of houses on larger lots outside of town. Beyond this, the scenery dwindled to nothing but pine trees interspersed with wide fields sprigged with Vidalia onion transplants. Broad County lay at the edge of the official area where the Vidalia onion could be officially grown. And Lige Whitaker? He was the Vidalia onion king of Broad County.
Neil could see many workers bent over almost double as they set Lige’s spring cash crop in the ground. The work was done by hand—painstaking, backbreaking, mind-numbing. One of these poor fellows, on a good day, could plant maybe a half acre of transplants.
Lige was getting a late start with his onions, probably because the weather hadn’t cooperated earlier and the fields had been wet. Maybe that was why he’d barged in on Charli the night before. Was he desperate to get his crop in the ground?
Ahead of Neil, Charli touched the brake and turned without a signal. Perhaps she hadn’t been checking her rearview mirror. That wasn’t like her. She always used her turn signal—even if it was to turn in to her own drive.
Now Neil faced a choice. If he turned and followed Charli down the narrow dirt track that paralleled one of Lige’s fields, she’d surely see him. But if he didn’t, he might as well have not followed her at all.
Well, he’d come this far. He yanked on the steering wheel and felt the car’s front end bounce in the deep ruts of the farm track. On one side, small tree branches in the field’s fencerow nearly scraped the side of his car, while irrigation hoses and rows and rows of transplanted onions boxed him in on the other.
For a couple of minutes, Charli kept motoring on. But as Neil had known it would, his luck ran out. She came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the pig path. There was no cover, no hidey-hole.
He put the car in park and opened the door. What would he say to her?
Charli scrambled out of her car. She twisted to face him as she stood in the V of the open door. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a thin line. “Just what do you think you’re doing, Neil?”
Neil drew in a deep breath. He left his Corolla running and walked over the uneven ground to the back bumper of her car. Anger radiated from her in palpable waves. He could see it in the grip of her fingers on the door and the tightness around her eyes. He ventured no closer.
“Following you.”
“Spying on me, are you?” she asked harshly.
“Making sure you’re okay. What, more house calls for Lige?”
Charli turned her head and focused on something near the fencerow. Neil could see her face had flushed. She looked as though she was about to cry. For a moment, Neil thought he’d broken through to her.
But her back straightened and she lifted her chin. “I need to check on my patients.”
“Wouldn’t need to drive out here if you had ’em in the hospital where they belong.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Who was he to judge whether Charli had shortchanged their medical care? The woman he’d come to know would have insisted they stay in the hospital if they needed it.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair,” Neil said.
“You’re right. It wasn’t.” Her eyes held a wounded, angry light.
“Look, I want to help. I know—” He held up his hand to forestall her protest. “You say you can take care of this on your own. But I’m convinced you n
eed help. I’m on your side, Charli.”
She laughed. The sound was bitter and harsh. “You don’t even know what side that is.”
She had a point there. “Okay. So tell me.”
Charli covered her face with her hands. “You’re not going away, are you?”
“Stuck like glue.” He risked walking closer to her. She dropped her hands to her sides in tight little fists. He could see the uncertainty on her face.
“Okay. But please, Neil, this isn’t for publication, promise me that.”
“I can’t—” When she would have turned and got back in the car, Neil hurriedly said, “Wait! I can promise this—I won’t put anything in the paper unless we’ve talked it through first. I may not agree with you, but you won’t be ambushed. I swear.”
Her shoulders sagged in resignation. “Promise?” When Neil nodded, Charli said, “Well, you’re right. I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I mean...those farm workers last night—yeah, they needed my help. They were genuinely sick.” Charli shook her head. “They’re illegals, but you figured that out.”
“Most of ’em are around here. But why you? Most of the illegals go to the clinic—and if they’re sick enough, they’ll brave the hospital’s E.R.”
Charli turned her palms up in the classic “who knows” gesture. “He doesn’t want to advertise the fact that he has illegals working for him, maybe? I don’t know. He showed up at the house last night, demanding I take care of them.”
He sucked in a breath at her evasiveness. “No, Charli. We made a deal. You would tell me what was going on. Am I going to have to drag it out of you, bit by bit?”
“It’s my mom,” she blurted out. “She’s—she’s got this problem. She’s a compulsive shopper.”
“I don’t understand.” How did Violet figure into all this? What ammunition could a spendthrift woman be for Lige Whitaker? “So she likes to shop?”
“No. It’s not normal shopping, Neil.” Charli looked as miserable as he’d ever seen her, and he’d seen her in plenty of misery since he’d first met her. “She can run up debt—thousands and thousands of dollars of debt—in a heartbeat. And I don’t have that kind of money. My dad arranged it so that she gets her household bills paid and gets an allowance, and there’s nothing left over. She doesn’t have access to the bulk of his life insurance money. Because he knew he couldn’t trust her. So...” She rubbed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is so humiliating.”
Secret Santa Page 18
