by Lori Wilde
Unless…
No. The off-the-wall thought that popped into her head was too preposterous to entertain.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she accused and laid her hands on her hips.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then finally in a low tone, he said, “Patient-doctor confidentiality is a sacred thing.”
“Not if it affects the kind of care we give him,” she said.
His brow knit in a frown. “Follow my orders and he’ll get the right care.”
She didn’t like his answer and she had a strong impulse to report his arrogant attitude. But who would she report him to?
Definitely not Mark.
That left only Butler and Covey, who were Mark’s business partners. And what would she say? Dr. Nash knows something about his patient’s private life that could influence the teenager’s care, but he’s not willing to share? They would back Dante up one hundred percent. Confidential Rejuvenations’s reputation was built on discretion.
“Anything else, Nurse Kingston?”
“No,” she mumbled.
“If that’s all then, I’ve got to talk to his mother.” He straightened and headed toward the E.D. waiting room.
Elle went back to examination room three to help Jenny and Heather get the Russell kid ready to transport up to the ICU. Once the nurses wheeled him toward the elevator, Elle remained behind to tidy up the room and make sure nothing had been forgotten.
She picked up supplies that had been taken from the cabinet but not used. There was an extra vial of Desocan. She unlocked the drug cabinet to return it to the shelf, but what she saw stopped her in her tracks.
There was ten times the amount of Desocan a hospital like Confidential Rejuvenations would use in a year. She counted the stock once, twice, three times and came up with the same number all three times. Seventy-three vials, plus the one in her hand.
For the remainder of the day, one disturbing question kept circling her brain. Why had the enigmatic Dr. Nash ordered such a large stash of Desocan?
It was as if he were expecting an epidemic.
THE MINUTE DANTE walked into the emergency room and had seen Travis Russell laid out on the stretcher, he’d known the teenager was having an adverse reaction to Rapture. But he’d had to keep quiet in case anyone in that room was involved in the manufacturing and/or distribution of the deadly designer drug.
And that included Elle.
After having assessed Travis from head to toe and written admission orders for the boy’s care in the ICU, he returned to his office and paced from one wall to the other. His actions were being watched. Of that he had no doubts.
Elle already suspected him, or so he feared. She called him out on the use of Desocan. The medication was used for only one thing, and that was to counteract the detrimental affects of designer drugs. By saving Travis’s life, and asking the pharmacy to stock the emergency room with Desocan, had he blown his cover?
This wasn’t the first time the altruistic physician in him had warred with the justice-seeking FBI agent. His two careers were frequently at odds. In his heart, he was first and foremost a compassionate healer.
But in his head, in the dark places of his mind, he was a crusading enforcer, sworn to uphold the law.
He had to talk to his boss, Carl Briggins, and share his thoughts, but he couldn’t do it here. Dante had no idea if his office was bugged. He didn’t think Mark suspected him of anything, but he couldn’t be too cautious.
“Hailey,” he said to the receptionist as he went past the front desk. “I’m going out to my car for something. Could you give me a few minutes before my next appointment?”
“Sure, Dr. D.” Hailey smiled brilliantly. The office staff had taken to calling him Dr. D. He didn’t really like it. The moniker was too damned intimate. He wasn’t comfortable with intimate.
Dante slipped out the side door, cell phone in hand, and hit speed dial the minute he was inside the Porsche. After asking Briggins’s secretary to route him through, Dante waited for his superior officer to come on the line. He admired the older man who’d taught him the nitty-gritty of police work, but Dante had ethical problems with the deception involved in undercover assignments.
“Whatcha got for me, Nash?” Briggins asked when he came on the line.
“Sir, I’m afraid you were wrong.”
“Whadaya mean? Are you calling me to tell me there’s no illegal designer-street-drug ring operating out of Confidential Rejuvenations?”
How Dante wished he could answer no. Instead he said, “You were right about that. There is something fishy going on around here.”
Carl Briggins’s triumphant grunt said what his words did not—I knew it.
“But you were wrong about me,” Dante explained, restlessly drumming his fingers on the dashboard.
“Come again?”
“I’m not the man for this job.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not. I hate this secretive crap. I want to catch Gambezi, but not this way.”
“What happened? You lose a patient?”
“Almost,” Dante admitted.
“Shake it off.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Shake it off. Yeah, you’re feeling like a ratfink bastard spying on your old pal Lawson, but so what? If this guy is involved in what we think he’s involved in, it’s your duty to catch him.”
“Agreed, but…”
“It’s your first undercover assignment,” Briggins soothed. “A case of the jitters is perfectly understandable. You won’t buckle, Nash. I have complete faith in you.”
“It’s not that, sir.”
“What is it?”
Dante hesitated.
“Uh-oh,” Briggins said. “Silence isn’t good. Talk to me, Nash.”
“I think I’m in danger of blowing my cover.”
“Are you falling for a woman?” Briggins asked.
“No,” Dante said, but he felt as if he was lying. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Is she a suspect?”
“No.”
“Wrong answer. Everyone is a suspect until proven clean. Your automatic inclination was to protect her. Not good.”
“I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“What’s her name?”
“Elle Kingston,” he admitted. “She’s Lawson’s ex-wife.”
“You sure you’re not falling for her?”
“Absolutely not. But I think she might be on to me.”
“What makes you believe that?”
Briefly, Dante told him what had transpired in the emergency room with Travis Russell.
“It sounds like you covered your tracks. I’m sure you’re in the clear.”
“I hate lying.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“I think someone with more undercover experience could do better.”
“You want Gambezi to keeping doing to other girls what he did to your sister?”
Dante’s fingers tightened around the cell phone. Briggins knew just how to land a stinging sucker punch. “No, which is why I think another officer would do better. If I screw this up, Gambezi will go underground and we’ll never nail him.”
“We can’t introduce a new player into the game at this point. It was risky enough sliding you in there, although your history with Lawson greased the wheels. We won’t have that advantage with a new agent.”
“What if I fail?”
“Then you fail. But you’re not going to fail. You think I would have sent you in there if I don’t have complete confidence in you? This is your first covert assignment. You won’t cave, Nash.”
“Sir, I…”
“That’s all you’ve got for me?”
“So far, yes. My main goal has been to establish myself here and gain Lawson’s trust.”
“That’s exactly what you should be doing. Hang in there. It’s all going to be worth it when we plant Gambezi’s ugly mug behind b
ars.”
He knew Briggins was right. Had known it before he made the call, but this duplicity was wearing. And he was worried what Elle might think of him.
Elle.
Was that the real source of his self-doubt? Deep inside did he fear she could somehow be mixed up in all this?
He snapped his cell phone closed just as Mark came scurrying out the side exit, his face tight with concern as he made a beeline for his Ferrari parked three cars away from where Dante was sitting. Without looking around, Mark slid behind the wheel and peeled out of the parking lot.
Something was up.
Should he follow him?
He glanced in the direction of his office, knowing he had a waiting room full of patients. Before he could decide whether pursuing Mark was worth the risk, Hailey pushed through the front doors of the office building, heading straight toward him.
Dante got out to meet her. “What is it?”
“Pete Russell’s on the phone.”
“Pete Russell?” Dante’s mind wasn’t tracking her conversation. He was still wondering where Mark had gone so quickly and what he was up to in the middle of a workday.
“You know, Pete Russell,” she said. “Travis Russell’s dad and Austin’s hottest musician. He’s calling to thank you for saving Travis’s life and to invite the entire staff of Confidential Rejuvenations to a private party at his house next Friday night.” Hailey took his arm, effectively ending any lingering thoughts he had of following Mark. “Come on. Hurry, before he hangs up.”
5
DANTE ARRIVED AT THE Russells’ lavish home on the outskirts of Austin sometime after eleven o’clock. He had forgone the concert, knowing there would be no chance for eavesdropping or investigating in that venue.
A line of valets hustled to park the expensive vehicles crawling up the driveway in front of him. He waited his turn, watching the well-dressed guests as they exited their vehicles, tossed car keys to the valets and then swept up the stone walkway to the Texas-sized mansion.
Feeling decidedly out of place, Dante pasted a fake smile on his lips, passed the valet a big tip and followed the crowd inside. He didn’t see anyone he knew, so he made a beeline for the buffet table, where he could at least pretend to be engrossed with the food while slipping surreptitious glances at the crowd.
But he didn’t make it that far.
Before he was halfway across the room, he heard Mark call out to him. “Dante!”
He spied his ex-roommate coming toward him with a beautiful young woman hooked to his arm. He’d seen the woman’s face plastered across billboards and movie posters, but he’d never seen a Cassandra Roberts film, although he did attend many other kinds of movies when his demanding work schedule allowed it. She was arrestingly gorgeous with her long, blond hair and large doe-eyes, but she seemed somehow vacant and lost. Mark had traded Elle, a vibrant, substantial woman, for this vacuous creature?
The fool.
“Hey, man, glad to see you made it.” Mark clapped him on the shoulder.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Cassandra delicately cleared her throat.
“Oh,” Mark said, and draped his arm around Cassandra’s waist. “This is my wife, Cassandra. Cass, this is my old college roommate, Dante Nash.”
Dante shook Cassandra’s hand at the very same moment he looked across the room and saw Elle standing in the corner, a martini glass clutched in her hand. She looked as if she’d just been slapped across the face.
“Nice to meet you,” he murmured, but his eyes were on Elle.
Quickly she pivoted and slipped out of the room. It was all he could do to keep himself from going after her.
“Do you think I could have a word with you in private?” Mark asked.
“Sure.”
“Oh, no,” Cassandra whined. “Don’t tell me you’re going to talk business.”
Mark kissed his wife on the cheek. “Sorry, darling, it pays the bills. I’m sure your adoring public won’t mind keeping you entertained for a few minutes.”
Cassandra pretended to pout until Mark leaned over and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she said, and then drifted off to talk to someone she knew.
Mark inclined his head. “Let’s take a walk outside.”
As they pushed through the throng, heading for an exit, Dante caught sight of Elle again. She was at the buffet table talking to Dr. Vanessa Rodriquez. But as he and Mark passed by, she turned her head and caught his eye.
The air in the room suddenly seemed to quiver with her sexuality, beckoning him forward. She did not smile. Neither did Dante. He placed a palm on the back of his neck, dropped his gaze, nodded to Mark, pretending he was listening.
But his mind was completely preoccupied with Elle.
He slipped another look in her direction. She was still watching him. She wore an emerald-green halter dress made from some kind of silky material that clung provocatively to her curves. His fingers itched to reach up and untie that dress and watch it fall. Buffering waves of sexual attraction shimmered across the space between them like summer heat rising up off fresh asphalt.
“This way,” Mark said, breaking Dante’s train of thought.
Reluctantly, he pried his eyes off Elle. He had to remember why he was here and what was at stake.
They went out the back door and walked past a group of smokers huddled on the patio, taking long drags off their cigarettes. The night was perfect. Full moon, lots of stars, balmy breeze. Too bad Dante was in no frame of mind to enjoy it.
“Let’s go down to the fishing dock.”
“You’ve been here before?” Dante asked.
“Pete and Cassandra are old friends.”
“Ah,” he said. “Did they used to be lovers?”
“I don’t ask her those kinds of questions,” Mark said. “What she did before me is none of my concern.”
“She’s a beautiful girl,” he said.
“I’m a lucky man.”
“What about Elle?” Dante asked.
“What about her?”
“She’s beautiful, too.”
“Come on, buddy.” Mark gave a half laugh, half snort. “You’re talking the difference between meatloaf and filet mignon.”
Dante had an urge to pop Mark in the mouth with his fist. He thought Cassandra was filet mignon? To Dante’s way of thinking, Elle was the prime cut and Cassandra was nothing more than a blond rice cake.
The grass was damp underneath their feet as they walked the quarter mile down a rolling hill below the house to a redwood dock overlooking a fishing pond. There was no one else around. The full moon cast a glow of light across the still water. The air smelled earthy.
Mark leaned his backside against the railing, crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at Dante the way he had on the football field at UT whenever they won a close game. Mark had been the first-string quarterback and Dante his favorite wide receiver. Together they’d led their team to a Cotton Bowl victory during their senior year.
“I’m glad you came to Confidential Rejuvenations. It’s like old times. Only with a lot more money. Remember how good we were on the gridiron?”
Dante nodded. “I do.”
“A well-oiled precision team. When we were on the field, it was as if we could read each other’s mind.”
“Yes.”
“We both had drive and ambition, both of us running away from our ugly childhoods, both of us running toward success as fast as we could.”
What Mark said was true enough. Their traumatic pasts had been the magnet that had drawn them together. The football field had been the thing that bonded them. Yet in spite of all they had in common, their interests had not made them fast friends. Their outlooks on life were polar opposites, their core values too different.
Dante truly believed in helping others. In his heart, he’d always known Mark merely paid lip service to the concept. Only three things motivated Mark Lawson—money, prestige and w
omen.
“We could be like that again.”
“What do you mean?”
“A team, like we were in college.”
“Isn’t that what we are now?”
Mark shook his head.
Dante tensed. His body went on full alert. “I’m not following you.”
Mark didn’t answer immediately. Dante could tell he was weighing his words before he spoke. A fish broke the water of the pond, jumping up to catch a june bug buzzing around the dock light. There was a flopping sound, followed by a smacking splash as the fish sank back underneath the surface.
“Big one,” Mark commented, and nodded at the widening ripples.
Dante leaned over the rail, watching the waves spread out across the pond. “Uh-huh.”
“You do much fishing?”
He had no idea where this conversation was headed, but he knew they weren’t really talking about fish. “Not much.”
“It’s all about the bait.”
“The bait?”
“Different kinds of fish like different kinds of bait. Lures work great for bass. Crappies like minnow. Perch go for worms. But catfish? They’ll hit anything.”
Dante met Mark’s gaze. “Who knew?”
“Exactly.”
They stood looking at each other. Was Mark on to him? Was that what was going on here? Or was it something else? He had to be careful. “So you fish a lot.”
“For relaxation.”
“Ah,” Dante said. “I never pegged you for a fisherman.”
The tension was like a tightrope. Dante could feel it under his skin, like rubber bands twisted to the snapping point. Neither of them said anything for the longest moment. Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. The breeze gusted. From the house came the distant sound of laughter and music. It felt as far away as the moon. Neither one of them took their eyes off the other.
Mark cleared his throat.
Dante curled his fingers into his palms. We’re getting down to it now. Whatever “it” was.
“I’ve noticed you could use some relaxation. You work too hard, Dante. You always have.”
And you’ve always taken the easy way out.
“You need to loosen up. For your own mental health. You can’t be an effective doctor without a little R & R.”
