Covert M.D.

by Jessica Andersen

  Then he was gone, leaving Rathe wondering that very thing. He had assumed it was her innate drive, or perhaps her desire to show him up. But what if it was more? What if it was personal?

  Then she’d be even more likely to endanger herself in pursuit of the truth.

  On a curse, he spun and headed down the hallway after her. Damn it, he wasn’t going to stand by and watch another partner die on a personal crusade.

  He found her deep in conversation with Logan Hart. The doctor’s tawny elegance countered her petite darkness nicely. He was young, steady and had a job that would bring him home for dinner safely every night.

  He was everything Tony had once wanted for his daughter.

  Rathe clenched his jaw when Nia nodded, smiled and parted from Hart with a half wave. Her voice carried when she said, “See you tonight, then.”

  Edgy irritation spiked through Rathe when she joined him, and they walked down the hall shoulder to shoulder. “Great. That’s just what I need.” They stopped outside her new office, and he cursed, not caring that they were attracting attention. “Did it occur to you that the middle of your first official investigation is not the time to start a romance?”

  She shot daggers at him and lowered her voice. “And did it occur to you that we don’t know who blew our cover?” She paused, and the implications surged through Rathe like guilt. Apparently his face reflected the emotion, because Nia nodded. “Right. Since theoretically only Wainwright and Boston General’s head administrator and the transplant directors know about us, there has to be a leak high up. What better way to investigate—or use—the leak than cozying up to the assistant director?”

  Nia’s plan was devious. It was Machiavellian. It was manipulative. It was…

  Exactly what Rathe would have suggested if he’d been thinking straight. Because she’d beaten him to it, he scowled. “Fine. But I’ll be right behind you on your date tonight.” He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “HFH policy, remember? Nobody goes Lone Ranger.”

  And with their cover blown and a murderer on the loose, he’d be sticking to her like a Band-Aid.

  Rather than argue, she nodded, and he saw a flash of something in her eyes. Fear, perhaps, or regret. “Fine. But don’t let him see you.”

  She turned away, but he caught her arm before she could leave. “Nia.” He damned himself for needing to know, for breaking his own rule and getting personal. “What did Talbot mean about your father? When you called me back then, you said he’d had a heart attack.”

  Her eyes dimmed with old hurt. “The heart attack was a complication from kidney failure and a transplant.” She lifted her chin. “Which you would have known if you hadn’t hung up on me.”

  He wanted to turn away, wanted to run away. But he couldn’t. She deserved better. She deserved the truth. “I couldn’t come back, Nia. I promised him I wouldn’t.”

  “I know. He told me.” She dropped her voice but didn’t look away from him. “That’s what I didn’t get to tell you—he forgave you. He forgave both of us. He wanted you to come back so he could tell you that before he died.”

  This time Rathe did turn away. He stared out the sheer glass window, down at the small cars six stories below. He’d known Tony had forgiven him in the end. Somehow he’d known.

  Hell, Tony never could keep a grudge. But part of Rathe had needed the reason to stay away from her.

  He sighed. “It wouldn’t have been real, Nia. It wouldn’t have been right. I gave him my word that I’d never see you again.” Never touch her again, taste her again. Never send her another silly trinket from a faraway land. Never ask her to share his life, homeless, rootless, living out of a half-packed duffel and dodging bullets. Murderers.

  In the end he’d done her a favor. No woman needed to live his life. No woman should end up like Maria had.

  Her voice was quiet, the hurt unmistakable. “Well, you kept that promise. I hope it keeps you warm at night, knowing that even though you refused to see him, my father died with your name on his lips.” She turned, her shoulders set, and walked away without looking back.

  After a moment Rathe followed.

  UNWANTED TEARS clouding her vision, Nia slipped into the ladies’ room, knowing it was one of the few places she could escape her partner’s watchful gaze. There was a small alcove with a changing station and a single plastic chair. She sank into the chair, leaned her head against the cool wall and closed her eyes.

  She’d known all along that her father had chased Rathe off—but nobody chased Rathe unless he was ready to run. At the time she’d been furious with her fa ther, but even back then, when the hurt was fresh and new, she’d understood his reasoning. Her dad’s experiences in the Army had marked him, made him fearful, and he’d wanted better for his little girl.

  She hadn’t agreed, but she’d understood. In the end, before he died, he’d understood, too, and he’d given her his blessing to do what she wanted to do with her life. What she needed to do. Because of that, and because she’d loved him so, she’d wanted to give her father one last gift before he died.

  She’d wanted to give him his best friend back.

  So she’d called Rathe and waited an age while HFH transferred her from one country to the next. She’d steeled herself against the sound of his voice and the immediate hint of wariness when he realized who was on the line. But she hadn’t been prepared for him to refuse her request. He hadn’t even given her an opportunity to pass on her father’s message. He’d simply hung up.

  And to learn that he’d guessed he was forgiven and still hadn’t come home to her father’s bedside, hadn’t come back to her…

  It shouldn’t hurt so much. It merely confirmed what she’d known all along.

  He hadn’t wanted to come back. He might tell himself he’d wanted to keep a promise, and perhaps there was honor in that, but in the end it had been nothing more than an excuse.

  “Damn him.” Nia ground her palms against her eyes, trying to stem the tears that leaked between her fingers.

  A toilet flushed nearby, and her cheeks heated at the realization that she wasn’t alone. A stall door closed, water ran briefly, and the air hand drier puffed to noisy life. After a moment, a wide, pleasant-looking face peeked into the alcove. Nia recognized Marissa, the nurse Logan had barked at during the previous day’s transplant emergency.

  The older woman seemed startled to recognize her. “I’m sorry, Dr. French. I’ll leave you to your…thoughts.”

  “No. Wait.” Nia sat up, wiped her face off and determinedly shoved Rathe from her mind. “I want to ask you something.”

  Marissa cocked her head. “Yes?”

  “Yesterday morning Dr. Talbot performed a rare-type transplant. I was supposed to observe it but never got there.” When the nurse merely lifted an eyebrow, Nia took a breath. “How is the patient?”

  “He’s fine, Dr. French. Still critical, of course, but hasn’t shown any signs of rejection yet. Not like…” They both knew who she was thinking of. Logan’s dead patient, Julia.

  “Okay, thanks.” Nia rested her head against the cool wall. Talbot’s affront at her question had been the surgeon’s ego talking, not guilt.

  “Does this relate to your investigation?” The nurse’s brown eyes shone with interest. “Do you have any suspects?”

  Nia cocked her head, keeping it casual though her heart picked up a beat. “What investigation?”

  “Oh, pish.” Marissa waved a blunt-fingered hand. “Everyone knows that you and that handsome Dr. McKay are looking for the missing drugs. It’s all over the hospital.” She leaned against the wall as though settling in for a chat. “So, is Dr. Talbot one of your suspects?”

  It was all over the hospital? Nia’s fingertips tingled, as though she’d just touched a live wire. This was important. She was sure of it. “Who started the rumor about the investigation?”

  Whoever it was had blown their cover and was, quite likely, the administrative leak she’d been looking for. She could bring the
name to Rathe and they’d have their first solid lead. Well, their first lead aside from Short Whiny Guy’s corpse, which was in the hands of the Chinatown detectives. They could lean on the leak, find Cadaver Man, and—

  “It’s no rumor.” The nurse looked at her strangely. “Dr. McKay told us himself.”

  RATHE WAS BEGINNING to suspect Nia had crawled out the sixth-floor bathroom window to avoid him. But that was disproved when she blew through the door, ignored the elevators and jogged down the wide spiral staircase, lips set in a firm line.

  “Now what is she doing?” he muttered as he followed her through the basement level morgue. He hoped she was observing the autopsy of Hart’s dead transplant patient. He hoped she wasn’t—

  Damn it, she was. She stepped into the service elevator, the one that only went into the maintenance sub-levels where she’d promised she wouldn’t go alone, and the door eased shut.

  Rathe was in the car and in her face before the doors closed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I told you not to come down here alone, damn it. I’m the primary on this case, and—”

  She jerked her chin up and met him glare for glare. “Then why did you break our cover?”

  He stopped. Swallowed. Noticed how near they were to each other and took a step back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I beg your pardon?” she mimicked him with a scowl. “Do you try to sound like you’re sixty years old, or is it a natural talent? You’re thirty-eight, Rathe. Knock off the crap and stop trying to compromise this investigation.”

  The doors groaned open. He grabbed her arm before she could leave the car. “What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes burned him with fury, unshed tears and something he couldn’t even name—maybe desperation?

  “Our cover. You blew our cover. Why? So you could scare me into leaving? So you could prove your own warped theory about women? Well, guess what? I’m still here, a man is dead, and we’ve lost the element of surprise, thanks to you.” She yanked her arm away and stalked out into the thrumming halls of the laundry level, which teemed with activity except where the police tape barred entry.

  Shock rattled through him, followed by irritation. “Nia! Damn it, Nia, get back here.”

  She ducked under the police tape.

  Cursing, Rathe followed. He snagged her arm, unlocked a nearby room, and pushed her into it, slamming the door behind them both. He didn’t bother with the lights—the low glow of the emergency bulbs was suf ficient for a fight. “Damn it, I didn’t break our cover. Calm down and let’s discuss this like professionals.”

  Except, so far she’d been the professional and he’d been wasting his energy trying to boot her off the case. He’d accused her of being hobbled by her sex, but he’d been the one keeping her from doing her job.

  Her glare told him that and more. “Professionals don’t betray their own partners.”

  “No,” he said quietly, the fight draining out of him in an instant as the words echoed back to him in Maria’s darker, huskier voice. “They don’t.” He set his jaw and stared at the featureless gray wall, seeing a lush rainforest canopy torn by machine gun fire. “Partners stick together, or they die. I learned that in Tehru. Which is why I’d never have blown our cover. I swear it.”

  He heard the screams in his mind, smelled the taint of blood and explosives.

  Nia sighed and uncrossed her arms. “This is not about Maria. This is about us and our investigation.” She stuck her hands in her pockets. “But damn it—if you didn’t break our cover, then who did? And why did the nurse think it was you?”

  He shrugged. “Someone posed as me, maybe, or someone lied. Maybe even the nurse.” Though he didn’t think it likely.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” She turned away. “I just…I’m confused. And I’m frustrated.”

  Her scowl and the defeated droop of her shoulders should have thrilled him. It was what he wanted—for her to learn that Investigations wasn’t all about excitement and adventure. Mostly, it was hard work and aggravation. He’d wanted her to lose interest in the work. He should be feeling victorious.

  Instead he was vaguely disappointed in her. He chose his words carefully. “It’s not supposed to be easy. If it were, I’d be out of a job.”

  She shot him a filthy look. “I’m not talking about the case, McKay, I’m talking about your attitude. About how everything I do or say eventually comes back to Maria and the guilt you feel over her death.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest. “I’m not trying to excuse myself for what just happened. I should have known better than to believe you’d knowingly endanger us—even if it meant getting me off the case. But we’re going to have to come to some sort of agreement here, or this is going to be impossible.”

  Helpless guilt battled regret in his chest, then bumped into denial. He forced them all down and found himself asking, “What sort of agreement?”

  Instead of answering directly, she sighed and said, “Tell me about her.”

  The quiet request rattled him. It had been a long, long time since he’d consciously remembered that time, though flashes of it had been intruding steadily for days, ever since Nia had reentered his life.

  It was a long moment before he said, “How much of it do you already know?”

  “Only what I overheard.” She leaned against the gray wall beside him, so they were both facing the door, not touching, but near enough so her heat warmed his arm. “My father told me the exciting stories at first. Then, once I started talking about premed and self-defense classes…”

  Rathe knew. The stories had stopped because Tony hadn’t wanted his daughter anywhere near HFH. Anywhere near him and the danger that went with the lifestyle.

  And, damn it, he’d been right.

  She touched his hand. “Tell me.”

  She deserved to know, Rathe decided, because it was a main part of why he’d left her years ago. And maybe if she understood, she’d be more careful. Maybe she’d stay alive.

  He took a breath. “Maria and I met during HFH training, both fresh out of med school.” He tried to picture her face but failed. “We became partners first, then lovers.” Which had been his first, and worst, mistake. He hadn’t been able to separate partner from lover. “She was beautiful and independent, like you.” But Maria had been aloof and reserved, whereas Nia wore her emotions like a badge.

  Which made her even more vulnerable.

  “What happened?” Her gentle prompt brought him back.

  “We’d been a month in the Tehruvian back country during a period of nasty civil unrest. Maria and I traveled from village to village with a group of HFH doctors, treating patients wherever we could. There were so many wounded—” He broke off and stared into the shadows. “And there were too many factions, all strug gling for control of that little slice of jungle. Maria…had political leanings. She sympathized with one of the rebel groups.” HFH was supposed to remain neutral, but Maria hadn’t cared. She had her convictions and nobody, certainly not Rathe, could tell her otherwise. “She befriended one of the leaders.” Perhaps had been his lover. “We fought about it nearly every day, and when he called her to treat patients inside the military camp…she went.”

  The last time he’d seen her alive, clinging to the back of a jeep, she’d flipped him off as if to say, I’m through with you and your rules. Take that!

  He was aware of Nia at his side, aware that this was only the second time he’d told this story. The first was to her father. She took his hand, and warmth traveled up his arm. She smelled like stability. Home. All those things he couldn’t care about, living the life he’d chosen.

  “Go on.”

  He breathed through his nose and pushed himself past the rest of it. The worst of it. “The rebel faction she was traveling with was ambushed by another group. Maria and her friends were executed. She was delivered to HFH as a warning that we should stay out of their country, their business.” She had been bound and gagged. A small
bullet hole had marred her smooth cool forehead, an explosive exit wound had gaped at the back. He swallowed. “We pulled out the next day.”

  He’d run, leaving her killers unpunished. Though the rebel factions had later been conquered and their vari ous leaders imprisoned, the knowledge had been little comfort. Rathe would always know he’d run.

  Nia pulled her hand away and swung around to face him. In her eyes Rathe saw both sympathy and an unexpected bite of temper. “I’m sorry, Rathe. That must have been awful, and there’s nothing I can say to take away the memories. But you seem to be forgetting that it was her choice to go. Just as it’s my choice to stay. You’re not responsible for either of our decisions.”

  The snap in her voice startled Rathe, irritated him. When Maria’s body was dumped off, he’d nearly gone mad, knowing he’d been to blame. He stepped toward Nia and scowled. “What do you know about it? You were just a kid when it happened. Hell, you’re still a kid now!”

  Her eyes narrowed on a hint of wetness, though he wasn’t sure whether it was anger or tears. “I’m the same age you were when Maria chose to go off with the rebels.”

  He set his teeth. “I should have stopped her.” She should have listened to me.

  Though he didn’t say the words aloud, Nia seemed to read them in his face. Her eyes softened. “Loving someone doesn’t mean doing everything they say, Rathe.”

  Love. It was a word he hadn’t consciously thought in years. Not since his best friend had punched him in the face and loaded him onto a plane with orders never to see Nia again.

  Well, he was seeing her. She was right in front of his face, twice as beautiful as she’d been seven years earlier. Twice as stubborn.

  “Maria died because I mixed up my personal feelings with my professional responsibilities. No,” he touched a finger to her lips and felt the slow burn of blood through his veins, “let me finish. As an HFH doctor, I should have reported her and had her yanked the moment she took up with him. As a man—” a young man, as Nia had pointed out “—I thought I could win her back.”