by Hamel, B. B.
“As far as I can tell. But they can’t be. That’d make no sense.”
I nodded and opened up the hospital website. I clicked through a few links then showed her a single website with a simple heading. She squinted and frowned.
“Charity?” she asked.
“Donors,” I corrected. “This is a list of the most prominent donors, the ones that want to be named anyway.” I scrolled down through a list of wealthy, absurdly prominent people, and stopped at a name, highlighting it. “Letitia Ramirez.”
She frowned a little bit. “So what?”
“LMR. I bet her middle name is something like Missy.”
She snorted. “You think that spreadsheet is a list of donors?”
I scrolled down again and stopped at another name. “Derek Keller. I bet his middle name is Chris. And there are a few more: John Marble, Heather Wilson, Len Ark, Fay Ranger, Jen Watts, Corrado Blanch. Each of those names has a corresponding three-letter sequence on that sheet, and the numbers in the columns are all pretty damn big.”
“Big enough to get on the website?”
I nodded with a grin. “Damn right they are. Here, look at Letitia.” I found her first donation. “I think what we’re looking at is money in and out. See, she first donated fifty thousand, then it gets spent in small chunks, until it’s all gone.”
“Interesting,” Fiona said, seeming to warm up to the topic. “So this tracks money then.”
“Exactly, but there’s a catch. See, look here.” I pointed at a three-letter sequence: VSL. “All of these donations are larger than the smaller payouts, but the sheet claims the donations were all spent.”
“Money’s missing.” Her eyes went wide. “Holy shit. This is it, right?”
“It might be,” I said.
“But this has to be it. Someone’s making charitable donations to the hospital, but the money’s not getting completely accounted. Some of it goes missing.”
“Big chunks, actually. Almost all of it.”
She sucked in a breath. “This has to be what she was talking about with those guys.”
“I think you’re right. We don’t have proof right now, but there has to be some way to find it.”
She turned to me and a strange, bright excitement crossed her expression. She got to her feet and threw her arms around me, pulling me against her in a tight hug. Her body was warm and she smelled like hospital soap and fresh cut flowers, and I wasn’t shy in letting my hands linger on her hips.
“You did it,” she said. “God, Maria’s going to be so pissed.”
She pulled back but we stayed there, inches away from each other. I shifted toward her and felt my heart do a soft flip in my chest as I leaned closer. She didn’t pull away like I expected, and when my lips met hers, she sucked in a breath and neither of us moved, our lips pressed together, pleasure flooding my body—until she kissed me, and I kissed her back, and I held her tight against me.
That kiss was wild and triumphant and crazy, and I knew I might never get another like it in my life, but she pressed herself tight against me and I didn’t let her go. Slowly our lips parted and she took a breath, blinking a little, her mouth still so close to mine.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she said.
“You might be right.”
“But you’re not going to stop, are you?”
“No, I’m not. And I don’t think you want me to.”
“I don’t know what I want.” She pulled away, but didn’t leave.
“Why did you run away last night?”
She grimaced and stared down at the floor like I’d spilled cold water down her back. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“I understand, it’s just, you can tell me.”
“Yeah, and what? You’ll fix me?” She looked back up and I saw that spark of anger again.
I didn’t know what she held back, but I had a feeling that it was the flame that turned her into an inferno. Whatever happened to make her this way wouldn’t let her go, and now she still burned bright, hated the world for whatever it did to her. I didn’t want to fix her, although I would if I could—I only wanted to know her and to understand what motivated her, what made her run away, and what would make her want to stay.
I couldn’t put any of that into words though. “I’m not taking on new patients right now.”
She smiled, only a fraction of an inch. “I bet you’re not.”
“And anyway, you couldn’t afford me.”
She snorted and tugged at her hair. “I should get back to work.”
“If Maria comes to you again, tell me. In the meantime, I’m going to do some more digging and see if I can’t figure out some more details.”
“What can I do?” she asked.
I was tempted to give her an honest answer: she could take off her clothes and straddle me until we both came in shivering gasps. Instead, I only shook my head. “Don’t worry about it for now.”
She turned to the door and put her hand on the knob, but hesitated. “I don’t date doctors, you know.”
“I don’t date nurses.”
She looked back at me. “What’s the point of this then?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t bother.” I stared at her, daring her to agree.
She smiled slightly. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Get back to work. I’ll see you later.”
She turned and left, shutting the door behind her.
I lingered there then sat down in my chair and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling, my mind whirling so fast I could barely control myself. That kiss, her lips soft and strong and proud, and her taste on my tongue, and goddamn, that kiss.
But Maria knew. That was a problem. I didn’t know how far she’d go to protect her secret, and I suspected it might be very, very far. If she really was wrapped up with the mafia and involved with some dangerous people, then that meant she might use those dangerous people against us.
I had to be ready to protect Fiona.
That was the most important thing, above all else. Maria could go away, I didn’t give a damn, so long as Fiona came through this on the other side.
I only wished I understood exactly what I was protecting—if this was something real, whatever was happening between us, or if I was going to do what I always did, and run the hell away.
I was too scared of turning into my father, and Fiona was scared of something else.
11
Fiona
In the shower that night after getting home from my shift.
Again while eating dinner, and again while watching TV.
In bed, because I couldn’t sleep, and in the morning, when I lay on my side staring at the clock halfway wishing it weren’t my day off.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.
It’d been a while since I reacted that way to a man—maybe I never had before in my life. I tried to think back to previous boyfriends, but they all seemed like phantom blobs in my memory, vague gray shapes that laughed and grunted and had too much hair.
Dean was crystal clear. Too clear, really, so sharp that I could still taste him and feel him on my lips and teeth and tongue. I wished I could make the memory go away, or maybe that I could go back in time and make myself stop, but I couldn’t do either.
It was probably for the best. I needed to get that out of my system. One kiss was no big deal, after all, and I told him that I don’t date doctors. He said he doesn’t date nurses, so that’s the end of it.
We won’t date each other.
Except I kept thinking about him, and not about the thing I should’ve been obsessed over. At the bodega down the block while I bought some coffee, in the bagel place while I bought more coffee and a sandwich, and in the grocery store while I pawed at apples and heads of lettuce. I knew I should’ve been focusing on the Maria problem, and yet I couldn’t seem to care about that, like kissing a handsome doctor was somehow more pressing.
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn�
�t. Either way, there he stayed, locked up tight in my brain and apparently not going anywhere.
I dropped off my produce then went for a walk, partly to clear my mind, and partly because I had nothing better to do. It was a nice morning, slightly blustery, but the sun was strong and warm, and I felt good. I stopped for another coffee, my third of the day, and felt the jitters as I sipped it and continued down Philly streets congested with traffic, old cars parked tight against the curb, trash rolling along the gutters, people sitting on their stoops, women leaning out of windows, brick buildings looming all over and seeming to stretch out into forever. I angled toward the park, stopped at a light—and looked back over my shoulder.
That was the first time I saw them. Two guys, one of them tall, the other medium-height, both of them wearing nondescript windbreakers and jeans. The shorter guy was bald, with chubby cheeks, and the taller one had long hair pulled back into a ponytail and the ghost of a beard.
I kept going, not thinking much of it, but by the time I was halfway through my coffee I saw them again, lingering near a tree while I sat on a bench and watched groups of kids walk past. I watched them, and they seemed to watch me before they moved on. I tried to shake the feeling that they were staring at me still as I moved on toward the shopping mall on Walnut, and decided to duck into a CVS for a bottle of water—only to spot them again across the street as I hurried on.
My heart started racing. I shoved my hand in my back pocket and fingered my cellphone, wondering if I should call Dean, or maybe I was being paranoid and stupid. I hurried on and stopped in Paper Source, and when I came out a few minutes later after browsing, I didn’t see them at all.
Stupid, very stupid. I was being stupid and paranoid. I let myself drift back into pleasant daydreams of Dean pushing me up against his desk and spanking me raw, when I turned a corner and spotted them.
I stopped mid-stride and stared. They stood leaning up against a car, seemingly oblivious to me, but when I turned on my heel and marched in the opposite direction, scaring the hell out of some nice old lady and her son who promptly called me a stupid fucking douchebag, better watch where you’re going, I glanced over my shoulder and saw the two guys following me again.
I pulled out my phone and dialed. Dean answered on the second ring.
“I thought you had the day off,” he said.
“I’m being followed.”
He didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know.” I hurried down Walnut, back toward the park, heart racing. “Two guys. One’s tall, the other’s short and kind of fat. White guys. Average looking, I guess.”
“You’re sure they’re following you?”
“Dean. I’m absolutely fucking sure.”
“Okay, all right, I had to ask.” He sucked in a breath. “Where are you right now?”
“Walnut, heading west.”
“Come to Mercy.”
“What? No way. That’s where Maria’s at.”
“It’s also an extremely public place.”
“Dean—”
“Okay, start walking toward Mercy. I’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll be on Walnut.”
He hung up the phone. I cursed, put my phone away, crossed at the next light, and headed back the opposite direction. I saw the guys staring at me across the street, and I realized they weren’t even trying to hide it anymore.
I walked fast and I tried not to panic, but it was hard. I wanted to start sprinting, but I knew that would only draw more attention and might make the guys do something drastic. They were mafia, I was so sure of it my lungs hurt, and every step was a painful reminder that I was deep down the rabbit hole now and might not ever see the other side.
A car rolled up next to me and pulled over, double-parking a black SUV. I almost screamed when Dean rolled down his window. “Get in.”
I ran around to the passenger’s side, threw open the door, and buckled myself in. He pulled out, and I scanned the crowd of tourists and bored locals, spotting them as we rolled along. They openly stared and the shorter one lit a cigarette.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
“I think so.”
“Where are they?”
“Back there. One’s smoking.”
He peered into his rearview mirror and shook his head. “I don’t see.”
“Two guys followed me almost all day.” I wrapped my arms around myself, staring ahead. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You don’t need to do anything.”
“You’re not the one they followed,” I snapped, and even as soon as I said it, I knew it wasn’t helpful. He wasn’t the bad guy here.
But it didn’t seem to ruffle him. “They would’ve done something if they were going to do anything at all. I bet they’re only trying to intimidate you.”
“It worked.”
“Did they try to hide?”
I hesitated. “A little bit.”
“But not really. I mean, you saw them. I bet those guys could’ve tailed you all day without you realizing.”
I felt my stomach churn. “Oh my god. They could’ve been following me for weeks.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.” He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers, drumming them in a broken rhythm. “I think they’re trying to scare you. Maria said something about turning on me, right?”
“She mentioned that, yeah.”
“I bet that’s the angle then. They want you to turn on me and help them out. I bet Maria approaches you again soon and pushes that hard.”
I chewed my lip. “I won’t do it.”
He laughed. “Thanks.”
“Seriously. I’m not playing their game.”
“I hope not.”
“But this doesn’t change anything. Even if they’re trying to scare me, it freaking worked.”
He grunted and rolled the car along, heading south until he found a spot. He pulled over, but left the engine running, and turned to face me, concern etched into his expression.
“You can come stay with me.”
I gaped at him. “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious. We can go to work together. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“What the hell are you going to do if some mafia guys want to come hurt me?”
He smiled a little and tilted his head. “I’m not as useless as you think.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He nodded to himself. “It’s a good plan. We can stick together until this is all over.”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “Absolutely no way.”
“Why not? I have a spare room. You’ll have your own bathroom. We’ll be like roommates.”
I didn’t know how to explain how bad of an idea that was. I spent all last night and all this morning daydreaming about him, thinking about his kiss, about his hands on my skin, on my body, and now he wanted me to move in with him. It would be a mess, such a damn mess, because I knew that as soon as we were alone in the same room, I’d do something stupid.
And I couldn’t handle that, not right now. Not when he wanted something I could never, ever give him.
“I just can’t.” I stared at the dashboard, unable to meet his gaze.
He said nothing for a moment, then reached out and put a hand on my thigh. I bit my cheek and looked up at him, staring into his eyes, but I didn’t move his hand away. I liked the weight of it, the feel of him, the way he touched me—it made me feel safe in some crazy way.
“How about this,” he said softly, “I’ll drive you to work from now on.”
“Our schedules don’t match up that perfectly, do they?”
“I have some leeway. I’ll move things around the best I can, and when I can’t, I’ll come anyway.”
“Dean—”
“Do this for me. I’m going to worry if you won’t at least let me try to give you a damn ride.”
I let out a breath and nodded once. I figured getting
a ride to and from work wouldn’t be so bad, and anyway it would make me feel better. “Fine, okay? You can drive me to work.”
“It’s a date then.” He pulled his hand away and put the car in gear.
“Not a date. Just a ride.”
“My favorite. Or your favorite? Probably your favorite.”
I rolled my eyes as he pulled out and took me home. I climbed up my stoop and looked back at him as he watched me head into my apartment, and I wanted to call out to him, to invite him into my place, to tell him to come up and keep me company, but that was exactly what I wanted to try to avoid. I waved once then shut and locked the door behind me, practically jogging into my place, and barring and locking all my doors and windows.
The apartment felt so empty, and almost oppressive, and I knew those guys were out there, waiting for me—but so was Dean, and that helped.
12
Dean
Fiona was quiet on the ride into work the next morning. Her shift started a few hours before mine, so I figured I’d drop her off then grab a few case files to peruse at home before my shift started in earnest. She smiled at me and squeezed my hand before we stepped out of the car—then disappeared inside without looking back.
I let her go. I figured we didn’t need the gossip, although that was starting up already. You can’t do anything at Mercy without someone noticing and commenting sooner or later.
I went up to my office on autopilot, nodding to a few colleagues as I went, thinking about the mafia, thinking about Maria, about her threatening Fiona, about everything bad happening all at once—and stopped dead in my tracks as I opened my door and found the place a wreck.
The desk was shoved to the side. Its drawers were ripped open and papers, charts, and folders were thrown around. My computer was smashed to pieces, my filing cabinet dented and destroyed. It was completely wrecked, everything ripped to shreds, all my notes, all my papers, my case files, my everything, destroyed.
“Fuck,” I said, not moving, not able to bring myself to move.
This was bad. Not because they’d come for me—I expected them to come at me sooner or later—but because destroying my files like this meant a patient might get hurt. I had active cases in there, years and years of patient care, and my notes were incredibly important to those people, and now it looked as though some of it was going to be lost forever.