by S. M. West
Kit
A Scarred Hearts Novel
S.M. West
Contents
Playlist
1. Caro
2. Caro
3. Kit
4. Kit
5. Caro
6. Kit
7. Caro
8. Kit
9. Caro
10. Kit
11. Kit
12. Caro
13. Kit
14. Kit
15. Caro
16. Kit
17. Caro
18. Kit
19. Kit
20. Caro
21. Kit
22. Caro
23. Kit
24. Caro
25. Kit
26. Caro
27. Kit
28. Caro
29. Kit
30. Caro
31. Caro
Epilogue
Other books by S.M. West
About the Author
Kit Copyright © 2021 by SM West
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, storylines, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
This book is for your personal enjoyment only. Please respect the author’s work by not contributing to piracy and purchasing a copy for those you wish to share it with.
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Cover Design: Bailey Cover Boutique
Edited: Leanne Rabesa
Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography
Cover Model: Zack Salaun
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“I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.”
~ Maya Angelou
Playlist
Listen On Spotify
“Old Time Rock & Roll” – Bob Seger
“Quitting You” – Arkells
“Let You Down” – NF
“Never Forget You” – Zara Larsson and MNEK
“Lay it on me” – Vance Joy
“All of Me” – John Legend
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Inspiration for KIT on Pinterest
Caro
“That’s bullshit. Get Foley, now.” A gruff male voice brings the hairs on the nape of my neck to attention.
Only feet from the door to the outside, I stop and turn on my heel; all eyes in the clinic waiting room are glued to the two burly men looming over the intake desk. They are a wall of muscle.
On the other side, Willow’s on her feet back from them when usually she’s sitting, pleasant and smiling. She’s talking to them, standing stiffly with her shoulders jamming into her ears, but I can’t make out her words over the low hum of the ventilation system.
Closer now, I’m almost at the counter when her melodic voice wavers, “Dr. Foley hasn’t worked here for over five months. But we have several other doctors—”
“If Foley isn’t here, get Doctor Caroline Archer,” the bigger of the two, a bald man, growls.
I nearly trip over my feet, now only a foot from the men. “I’m Dr. Archer, how can I help you?” My confident tone hides my trepidation and mounting anxiety.
The strange prickling sensation has now spread from my neck to every region of my body. Unfortunately, patient harassment isn’t anything new at this walk-in clinic. We’re in a rough neighborhood, and despite the signs plastered all over the place noting no narcotics on site, that’s usually what all the ruckus is about.
This feels different. But what they are after isn’t obvious.
Neither appear to be bleeding or wounded, no one is clutching at or favoring a body part. And despite how intimidating they are, neither of these men act or look like they are high or in need of a fix.
“Come with us.” The bald man, who is super intense and scary, grabs my bicep with his thick, sausage-like fingers.
“Excuse me.” I try to pull away, but it’s too late. His grip is firm.
Behind us, in the waiting area, someone gasps and another calls out, “Hey, you can’t do that.”
My free arm juts out to the side, palm down in an everyone relax gesture, and I struggle to remember my self-defense training. What am I supposed to do when grabbed?
Nothing. I can’t remember anything.
I’m a doctor, dammit, and worked in the ER for years, no less. I perform exceptionally well under pressure. Yet now, when I’m faced with potential danger, I’m… useless.
“Let her go.” Willow holds up the phone and her gaze mirrors my concern. “I’m calling the police if you don’t leave right now.”
The other guy, the mustached one not manhandling me, reaches across the counter and snatches the phone from her, slamming it into the cradle.
She jumps back, afraid he’ll grab her too, but undeterred, she scrambles to pull her cell from the front pocket of her scrubs. This woman is awesome.
I’ve worked with Willow for a few years, and she’s proven to not only be an outstanding nurse and office manager, but also a good friend.
“No one gets hurt if Dr. Caroline comes with us.” The guy at my side tightens his hold, trying to drag me to the door.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I muster all my courage into a calm and controlled tone, briefly glancing at the many faces around the room, some worried, some bewildered, and some fascinated. A few even have their phones out. Terrific.
“Like I said, maybe I can help you.” Trying to satisfy them might be foolish but it’s all I have right now. “What is it you need? I just finished my shift here but if you want me to take a look at whatever is wrong—”
“Where can we talk privately?” The hostile Mr. Clean dude scans the room, and I point to the door to his left that leads to the examination rooms.
Going farther into the clinic isn’t smart, but I’m not leaving this building with him. And this way, Willow can call the police and we’re away from the people in the waiting room, who may get hurt if this goes south.
I stop at the first room, close enough to the front of the clinic, and enter. “Leave the door open.”
They ignore me and one guy shuts the door while the other still has me in his grasp. My heart rockets into my throat.
“Where the fuck is Foley?” The bigger one leers at me with eyes as black and toxic as tar.
“We already told you. He no longer works here and hasn’t in months, but he’s still a doctor and you should be able to find—”
“Shut up.” He pinches my arm, crowding my space. “We’ve fucking looked and can’t find him. So we’ve come for you. Where the fuck is it? You give us the goods and this’ll be over.”
The door opens and Willow’s there with two male doctors from the clinic flanking her sides. “I’ve called the police.”
“You fucking bitch.” Moustache guy curls his fingers into bowling-ball fists, all his fury aimed at her.
The guy in front of
me snarls and releases me. He taps his buddy on the shoulder, and the three in the doorway quickly scatter, making room for the two giants to storm out.
“You okay?” Willow is the first to my side, rubbing at my arm, and it’s the first time I register it’s throbbing.
“Yes, just a little shaken.”
“What did they want?” She rolls up my sleeve and examines the red welts in the shape of fingers on my arm. “Oh my God.”
“It’s okay.” I pull from her grip and straighten my shirt. “I’m not sure what they wanted. They said something about looking for Elliot, and they couldn’t find him so they came for me. They asked for the goods but never said what they were.”
“The goods?” She wrinkles her brow. “I wonder what that means. We should call Elliot—hopefully he’ll explain this to us.”
“Yes, but I’ll call him.”
“You sure? I mean, I’m glad you want to call him and I don’t have to, but you had to deal with those guys.” She’s sincere and caring but I can’t help but chuckle while nodding.
Elliot Foley is her least favorite person among the staff who work, and have worked, at this clinic. Sadly, I also dated him. Not something I’m particularly proud of, and not because of him but more because I don’t know why we were ever together.
I broke things off five months ago and around the same time, he found another job at a hospital. Scrolling through my contacts, I hit his number and it goes straight to voicemail.
“Dr. Foley. You know what to do.” Even his recorded voice leaches arrogance. Just one of many reasons why we didn’t work out.
“Elliot, it’s Caro. We had a…an incident at the clinic today. Two guys, um…big guys, scary even, came in looking for you. When told you no longer worked here, they asked for me. They are looking for ‘the goods,’ do you know what that is? I hope things are okay. Please call me when you get this.”
While our split was amicable, we haven’t spoken since. Those guys are intense, and if Elliot is mixed up with them, he might be in trouble. We’ll never be friends and we’re both okay with that, but I don’t want harm to come his way.
Two uniformed cops arrive nearly an hour later, and by that time, we’ve isolated the incident on the security system. The police set about taking statements and in addition to Willow and me, a few patients stuck around, more than eager to chime in with their account of how things occurred.
No surprise, the police don’t promise anything since no one was hurt and no damage was done, but they’ll get back to us if the images of the guys on the security tape lead to anything.
“Hey, Willow, do you need me to stick around?” Everything is back to normal, and once again, I’m on my way out.
I was supposed to be at Léa’s Home nearly two hours ago. The Home is a private facility I own with my brother, Nick, for people suffering from acquired brain injuries.
“No, no. You go.” She smiles. “I’ll talk to you later.”
By the time I get to the Home, it’s a little past five and I’m already exhausted. I’ve been juggling two jobs—the clinic and the Home—for almost two years now and my energy is near depleted.
When Nick first came to me with his plan to build the Home as tribute to our dead father and older sister, Léa, I jumped at the idea. Both of them suffered brain injuries as a result of two different incidents which altered their lives and eventually led to their deaths.
I left my ER job, but it didn’t take long to realize every dollar we could put into this endeavor only improved its chances of success.
The Home is a not-for-profit, and like Nick, I didn’t want to need a salary so I took on more hours at the walk-in clinic. This way, the Home didn’t have to pay me and those funds could go back into the Home.
Of course, Nick didn’t like the idea and told me we’d make it work, even though it was all right for him not to take a salary. Two years later and I was fine with the fact that we haven't had another discussion regarding my salary. I wouldn't take it anyway.
This was finally a way for me to give back to my brother and sister. I’m the youngest, and without our parents, they always took care of me no matter the cost or impact to them.
My double duty helps, but the back and forth and spending every waking moment working is taking its toll on me. The sooner I can walk away from the clinic, the better.
And there is hope. We’re hosting an investor reception the day after tomorrow in support of the Home. If it’s a success and we sign on new donors and raise more funds, my last day at the clinic will be closer to becoming reality.
After spending a few hours in Nick’s office, I take a quick walk around the floors, checking on our patients, and finally reply to Willow’s text that came in when I was on a phone call.
Willow: All good here. The men didn’t come back and the clinic is closed.
Me: Good.
Willow: Have you heard from Elliot?
Me: No, I’m going to send him a text now.
Willow: Jerk. Someone needs to teach him manners.
I shake my head, coming out of the last room. She never passes up a chance to take a shot at him and the feeling is mutual. Willow and Elliott sling words like swords as if they are mortal enemies.
Me: He’ll call. I remembered earlier tonight, there’s a box of his things at the clinic. Just stuff he left behind and never picked up.
Willow: That’s right. Why didn’t I think of that? It’s either in the front closet or the bin behind reception. Or maybe the medical supply closet. Sorry I’m not sure where it is.
Me: I’ll swing by on my way home and find it. There may be a clue as to what the men are looking for.
Willow: No, go home. It’s late.
The thought of going home is tempting, and I will be at the clinic by seven in the morning. I could deal with this then.
Me: I guess. It’s just bugging me. What are those guys looking for? And since Elliot hasn’t called, this could give us some answers.
Willow: True. But whether we get answers tonight or tomorrow doesn’t make much difference.
Me: OK. Thanks and I’ll see you tomorrow.
Willow: Night.
Phone back in my pocket, I round the corner and stretch, aching for a hot bath. I can’t wait for Nick to get back; I hate paperwork. He runs the administrative end of things and together with Maggie, his partner, they secure the investors and donors. I, on the other hand, run all medical operations.
“Everyone is settled for the night,” I say through a sneaky yawn, covering my mouth as my cheeks redden.
Trudy, the night nurse, a plump, older woman, swivels from the monitor to face me, and her round, ruby cheeks and thin lips curve upward. “Good. Now go home. You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up.”
“Wow, thanks. Remind me never to look to you for a compliment.” I tuck an unruly curl back into the tie holding my mass of hair, suddenly conscious of my appearance.
She shoos me with a hand. “Shush, you. You don’t need compliments. We should all be so lucky to look like you. Go on, drive carefully, and get some rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I mock salute the kind motherly woman who runs the night shift at Léa’s better than some administrative staff in hospitals.
“You know, normally I wouldn’t say this to the boss—it’s not my business.” She stares at me and I want to smirk at her blatant lie.
This woman doesn’t know how to hold her tongue and has never not spoken her mind. I lean in, elbows on the table, as if showing her she has my rapt attention.
“Caro, we have a schedule for a reason. At the young age of thirty-four, you’ve got a lot on your plate. On top of owning and managing this place, you also work the floors.” She rests her hand on top of the very schedule she’s talking about. “And as if that isn’t enough, you’re also putting in hours at the Jane Walk-in Clinic. You’re going to run yourself ragged.”
My phone pulsates with a near-silent buzz in the pocket of my scrubs and I ignore it
.
“Point taken, and I am seriously thinking about cutting back my time at the clinic…” I trail off and she clucks at me, her tongue kissing the back of her front teeth.
“You need to cut it out altogether. I know you’re superhuman or something, but not many people could go on for as long as you have working two full-time jobs with the hours and stress that come with both.” Her warm green eyes stare at me over the rim of her glasses, and she rubs her hand tenderly over mine before sliding the chair toward the now ringing phone. “Good evening, Léa’s Home. Trudy speaking.”
I wave at her and grab my bag from under the desk, then my winter coat from the rack in the corner. Before I head for the exit, I mouth good night to Trudy and pull my phone from my pocket.
Unknown: Tell us where it is or else.
Is this a wrong number? Or some kind of hoax or scam?
Me: Who is this?
I stop only feet from the exit to the building because a response pops up.
Unknown: We can’t find Foley. You’re all we’ve got. Give it to us and no one gets hurt.
Icy fingers curl around my insides. Not this again. Even through text, it’s threatening.
Me: Tell me what you’re talking about.
Unknown: Don’t play stupid. You’re a doc, supposed to be smart. Give it to us or else you’ll regret it.
