by C. J. Lyons
Until she stumbled as she crossed the threshold. Lucas righted her with a hand on her elbow, closing the door behind them as she sank into a chair. The conference room had windows for two of its walls, so they had no real privacy, although no one could hear them.
“I’m just tired,” she muttered as Lucas stared at her. Again. He was a man of few words, but his expressions spoke volumes.
She remembered that was what had attracted her to him in the first place. The way he could focus so intently on a problem, on helping a patient. She had wondered what it would be like to be the object of that kind of singular attention—but hadn’t bargained on his seeing her only as a scientific conundrum rather than a woman.
Lucas relaxed, leaning back against the door. “You took my notes on Becky Sanborn and then vanished for the day.”
“Jim sent me to do a consult on peds.” It was strange, but she owed Jim for that one.
“Jim is not in charge. I am.” His lips twisted from side to side as if tasting something bitter. “Maybe we should make some changes around here. As of tomorrow you can work with Dr. Hansen in the clinic.”
That brought her to her feet again. “You’re punishing me for not allowing you to interfere with my personal life?”
“No. I have to put the welfare of my patients first.”
“Now you’re saying I’m incompetent, a danger to patients?”
“No—I …” He trailed off, shaking his head. He pushed off from the door, rubbing his face between his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were clouded, and for the first time she had a glimmer of hope that Nora was right, that he had noticed her. “You’re not incompetent, Amanda. Far from it. But I don’t think I’m the best attending to teach you.”
He leaned against the table’s edge, his body seeming to sigh with the effort of remaining upright. His arms were crossed against his chest—warding off any chance of his touching her again.
“I can’t be your attending any longer.” He paused, the silence heavy as she tried to unravel the nuances of his expression. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
“Why?” she demanded, taking a step closer so that she was directly in front of him. Now it was she who blocked his escape. “What conflict?”
Her voice dropped, and she was certain it betrayed everything she felt. If only she could figure out what it was she felt. Sweat pooled between her breasts, and she felt hot and moist all over—kind of tingly as well, sensations that most definitely were neither professional nor ladylike. Blame it on the wine—better than admitting the real cause: Lucas. Conflict of interest? Did that mean he was as interested in her—her, Amanda, the woman, not the patient with strange symptoms—as she was in him?
“There are—rules.”
He stared at her, waiting. As if she were the one in charge, the one with the power here.
The thought charged through her and she straightened, daring to reach out and brush her fingers against his sleeve. “Lydia didn’t follow the rules when she started the hypothermia protocol—you said she probably saved that baby’s life. You didn’t follow the rules when you tried chelation therapy on Michelle Halliday.”
He jerked his chin up at the mention of Michelle. “You know about her?”
“I did my research. Trying to find other patients like Becky and Tracey. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to scare you. I was already having a hard enough time getting you to trust me enough to tell me your symptoms.” He frowned, shaking his head ruefully. “Still am, it seems.”
“I’ll tell you everything if you don’t make me spend the month in the clinic.” She tried her best to summon up one of Mama’s best Sunday social smiles. “Please.”
She was surprised to see him squirm. She’d seen Gina have this kind of effect on men, and her mother as well, but never expected that she could wield such power. Warmth flooded her. Spending the last year on the wards, trudging into the hospital before dawn and home hours after sunset, she’d forgotten what it felt like, feeling like a woman, like someone desired her—not just her ability to start an IV, draw blood, or run errands.
She wanted nothing more than to hike her dress up, slide onto his lap, and kiss him in a most unladylike and scandalous fashion.
His lips parted slightly and she could hear his inhalation. If it weren’t for the glass walls surrounding them …
The moment roared through her mind like a summer squall across the ocean. Her smile deepened, no longer one she’d copied from Mama, but a genuine one that was all hers.
Then the storm crashed down on her. His gaze met hers and his expression was one of dismay. No, horror.
“I think we have a misunderstanding here,” he said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “You’re my student, Amanda.”
She fled through the door and raced out of the ICU before he could finish. Her heart was pounding and the blood rushing through her felt like molten lava. Good gravy, had she just tried to seduce an attending physician?
No, it was insane, against all the rules; her foolish actions could end her career—or worse, his. What if she got kicked out of school, was sent home in shame? What would she tell people?
NINETEEN
Thursday, 11:22 P.M.
“IS THE COAST CLEAR?” TREY MEANDERED through the French doors to join Lydia on her patio, where she was watching the stars from one of her chaise longues, absently stroking No Name into a purring frenzy loud enough to disturb the corpses in the graveyard beyond. She wasn’t too surprised to see Trey—unlike her, he wasn’t suited to long periods of solitude.
He sat down beside her, ignoring the swipe of No Name’s paw as the cat protested the disturbance. “Did you guys finish your chart review? Solve the mysteries of the universe, or whatever else you women do when you get together?”
“I think I got through to Gina,” she said, watching as he and No Name played Whack-A-Mole, the mole being Trey’s hand as it tried to settle on her thigh. “We’ll see how she does tomorrow.”
Trey made a noncommittal noise. He shifted his weight so that they now lay side by side on the chaise longue. No Name meowed—a sound like a garbage disposal on overload—and finally conceded, leaping gracefully to the ground with a baleful and superior glance back over his shoulder.
“And Nora’s patient she was worried about?”
“Turns out there’s more than one patient. I don’t know—things don’t add up, but I have a few ideas I want to look into tomorrow.”
“Sounds like you’re planning to spend your day off inside the hospital.” He reached behind her to massage the taut muscles along the back of her neck. She relaxed into his touch, amazed once again by how he knew exactly what she needed.
“It’s okay, I have a patient I want to follow up on.” She didn’t add that the patient came with a great-grandson whom she’d promised to take care of. Still wasn’t sure how she was going to pull that one off without violating hospital rules or CYS regulations. Probably she’d ignore both …
He slid his hand down her arm, entwining it with hers. His hazel eyes twinkled in the light coming through the window. Then he wagged one eyebrow in a melodramatic leer and stood up, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go upstairs, try out that new bed of yours.”
“Can’t. The sheets are dirty.” It was a lie. The sheets were new—she hadn’t even slept in them herself. She couldn’t meet his gaze as she pulled away from his grasp. The thought of her sleeping in that bed—much less in that bed with him—panicked her. Probably why it had taken her so long to find the right bed.
It represented a huge investment in this place, in this man, in a future here. She’d never had a home or family other than her mother, never had to make a commitment before. She couldn’t do it now, not just on a whim.
“I don’t mind.” He pivoted her so that her back was to the French door and kissed her.
She tried to respond fully, but her pulse still surged with fear. She had to tread carefully here or she could hurt t
hem both.
He raised his head and regarded her with a serious expression. “Do you have a problem with me staying the night?”
“You can stay all night any night you want. You know that.”
He pulled back, caging her in his arms, his face hovering inches above hers. “No, Lydia, I don’t know that. I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”
She bristled at the hurt in his voice. Damn it, was she supposed to be a mind reader or something?
“Well, now you know.” She rose up on tiptoe to catch him with a kiss, but he turned his head away. “Trey, really, it’s fine. Stay the night.”
The sound of No Name tumbling through the sprinkler saved her. The big cat stopped and looked over his shoulder at her as if inviting her to come and play. Not a bad idea.
“Come with me.” She ducked beneath Trey’s arm and tugged at his hand.
One of the things Lydia loved about her house was its privacy. Originally the cemetery caretaker’s cottage, it was built at the end of a cul-de-sac, the only house there, surrounded by tall hemlocks on three sides. The backyard faced the cemetery with its century-old trees and bushes, providing absolute silence and privacy unless you were a ghost.
No Name frolicked, chasing the dancing drops of water. The sky had cleared of storm clouds, allowing a half moon to shower a dim, otherworldly light down on the cat.
“The night’s too nice to be cooped up inside. Are you staying?” she asked Trey, holding his hand.
A small furrow of a frown appeared on his forehead, but by the time she slid her hand free and pulled her shirt over her head it had vanished, replaced by a wide grin that showcased the dimple on his left cheek.
She couldn’t resist that dimple, and he damn well knew it. He hugged her tightly, then danced her backward through the wet grass into the path of the sprinkler.
“I’ll stay.”
She interlaced her fingers around his neck, and he lowered her into a dip, her hair brushing the wet grass. He was laughing so hard she was surprised he didn’t drop her. No Name took that moment to slink beneath her, his tail brushing her bare skin, tickling her, and she began to laugh as well. Water glistened on Trey’s face, making him look like something from a fairy tale. Prince Charming in the moonlight.
“Your cat’s crazy, you’re crazy, and I love you, so I guess that makes me crazy as well.”
Lydia jerked her head up, startled by his words. Water from the sprinkler pummeled them both, making her gasp as the cold sparked against her skin. By the time she caught her breath, she could almost believe she’d imagined his words.
The cat screeched louder than a hoot owl, a sound worthy of a graveyard animal, and Trey laughed again, collapsing them both to the ground. Before she could ask him if he meant what he said, before she could even begin to imagine the implications of his words—if she hadn’t imagined them—he buried her mouth with a kiss.
NORA CLIMBED THE OUTSIDE STEPS TO HER second-story apartment and let herself inside. The house was vintage Victorian with spacious rooms, high ceilings, hardwood floors, and large leaded-glass windows that rattled in the slightest breeze. Nora had the entire second floor to herself, with a private entrance outside as well as one leading downstairs through the waiting room to Mickey Cohen’s law office.
It made her feel important, being able to help the lawyer. Mickey was semiretired; she’d been a law professor, but now she focused on part-time work, her health permitting, for the ACLU. Nora had been here almost four months now and found that Mickey’s independent, argumentative spirit added a spark to what would otherwise be empty nights spent missing Seth.
But now Mickey was away on vacation, leaving Nora alone in the empty house, nights filled with strange noises, moans and groans amplified by the silence.
Nora tossed her keys down and clicked on the lights. Everything in its place, just the way she liked it. Still, she felt compelled to adjust the towels hanging from the oven door, aligning them perfectly.
She rinsed out the empty sink; wiped the canisters on the countertop, followed by the countertops themselves; flipped up the burners to scrub beneath them, even though the stove hadn’t been turned on all week; and then cleaned the front of the refrigerator and microwave.
The mindless motions soothed her racing thoughts, edging out concern about Seth, anxiety that she’d forgotten something vital to a patient, fear that Lydia and Gina were heading toward trouble on their own reckless paths, and worry that something was wrong with Amanda.
By the time she finished, her mind had quieted and she felt that maybe she could fall asleep without too much effort.
She went to the bathroom, scrubbed her teeth clean for the prescribed two minutes with her sonic toothbrush, washed her face, and changed into her nightgown. After double-checking her locks and leaving the bedroom door open and the lights on—Nora did not sleep with the lights off—she crawled beneath her covers. She’d just eased herself back, breathing deep until her shoulders slumped in relaxation, and closed her eyes when the phone rang.
She bolted upright, blinking twice before she remembered that the phone was on the table beside her. Her fingers and lips tingled with the familiar early signs of hyperventilation by the time she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Nora? I didn’t wake you, did I? I know you’re usually such a night owl and I didn’t know who else to call after Gina didn’t answer, I think she’s pissed at me anyway, or maybe at Jerry, I’m not sure. Definitely pissed about something, probably Lydia giving her an ultimatum and making her go to work with EMS tomorrow. Anyway, I thought you’d still be up. I didn’t wake you, right?”
Nora took a beat to process Amanda’s tumbled words, all the more difficult to understand because her Southern accent was also on overdrive. “Amanda, what’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Well, nothing’s wrong. I guess. Maybe. I’m sorry, I never should have disturbed you. Go back to bed.”
“Amanda—”
“I kinda tried to kiss Lucas Stone and he was so totally not interested, you should have seen the look on his face, you’d think I was a swamp monster or Cujo or something, his eyes got so big, and he practically threw me out of the ICU and now I don’t know what to do, oh God, I’m so embarrassed. Nora, what should I do?”
Nora sank down onto her bed, her breathing finally slowed back to normal. “Slow down and tell me exactly what happened.”
“We were in the ICU—the conference room, you know? The one with glass walls—oh my God, everyone could see us, they were probably all laughing at me—”
“You were in the ICU and …”
“We were talking about Tracey Parker—oh heck, I forgot to tell him about the ideas Lydia had—anyway I tripped and he kind of caught me, and we were standing really close and I had this idea that maybe he was interested and I—I—I—”
“What, Amanda? Did you kiss him?”
“No. But I wanted to.” The medical student’s sigh rattled through the airwaves.
“Did he kiss you? Do anything inappropriate?” Nora couldn’t imagine it, not of Lucas—but then again, her judgment about men hadn’t been very accurate lately. She couldn’t help but remember what Elise and Gina had said earlier about his being the only common factor in the deaths of two patients.
“Lord no! If you could have seen the look on his face! He was shocked, horrified—Nora, I disgusted him! He said I should leave the service, work down in the clinic, that it was inappropriate. Do you think he’ll call the dean? He could get me kicked out of school. Nora, I couldn’t bear that, I just couldn’t. What would I tell my folks?”
“Calm down, Amanda.”
Usually Amanda was the quiet one, but when she got to talking it was like trying to stop the Johnstown Flood with a spatula. Nora threw the covers off and bounced to her feet, happy to have someone else’s problems to think about. “If I know Lucas, he’s more embarrassed than you are. Probably blaming himself for giving you the wrong impression.”
“He didn’t, honest,
he didn’t. It was all my fault.”
“It was no one’s fault. These things happen. You both were tired, working so close together trying to help a patient, it’s easy to get your signals mixed up.”
“Really? So you don’t think I’ll get kicked out of school or anything?”
Nora paced past the windows looking out over the back of the house. She stopped, drew back the edge of a curtain. There was a man walking across the backyard.
“No, you’re not going to get kicked out of school. Do you want to go down to the clinic for the rest of your rotation? It would get you away from both Lucas and Jim Lazarov.”
“Jim. Yuck. If he hears about this—” Amanda interrupted herself. “No. I don’t want to leave my patients. I want to stay on the floors. Even if it means working with Lucas and Jim.”
The man in the backyard stopped at the base of her steps. Nora craned her head, watching from behind the curtain so he couldn’t see her if he looked up. He didn’t walk up the steps, but instead crouched down as if placing something there.
Son of a bitch. Seth, the lying bastard. Leaving her more flowers—after she specifically told him to stop.
“Amanda, here’s what you do. Don’t mention it. Act like it never happened. Lucas will do the same.”
“He will?”
“I guarantee it. Don’t worry, everything will be all right.” As she spoke, Nora jogged through the house to the back door and unlocked it. She flicked on the outside light just as she jerked the door open. “I have to go now. Bye.”
Still holding the phone, telling herself she’d call 911 if Seth tried to do anything, she ran down the steps. The lights caught the glisten of florist cellophane and the bright colors of a bunch of daylilies lying on the grass. The man was already almost to the curb.
“Seth!” she shouted. A dog barked in the distance. “You bastard. Go ahead and run—and don’t you ever come back!”
The man paused but didn’t turn around. He was too far away for her to make out any features other than that he wore jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt. He kept going, out of sight around the corner of the house. A few moments later, there was the sound of an engine gunning and the squeal of tires.
