His Target: The Downing Family Book 4

by Wild, Cassie

  Instead, I covered my face with my hands and waited for the dizzying nausea to retreat a fraction.

  It took longer than I’d like.

  Once I could finally turn my head without feeling like it might explode, I looked around. The bottle of my Tennessee friend, Jack Daniels, sat on the table with only a few inches of liquid still inside.

  It was a new bottle. I’d just bought it yesterday.

  At this rate, it was possible that my liver would kill me before my lifestyle could.

  Oddly enough, it wasn’t an entirely unwelcome idea.

  “That’s enough of that bullshit,” I told myself.

  With a groan, I pushed upright.

  My stomach revolted immediately.

  I bolted for the bathroom but didn’t make it and ended up on my knees in the middle of the threadbare, worn carpet.

  The good news was that I probably wasn’t the first person to puke on the mucousy-green material.

  The bad news was that by the time the episode passed, my head was spinning, black dots danced in front of me, and my knees wobbled as I got to my feet.

  Before I could change my mind, I went into the kitchen, snagging what little Jack remained on my way through the room.

  After dumping it out, I went through the cabinets and fridge, finding anything with alcohol in it and treating it the same way I’d treated good ol’ Jack. By the time I was done, there were three empty glass liquor bottles and five empty beer cans.

  Not giving myself time to think about it, I went about cleaning up the mess I’d spewed onto the carpet, treating the task the same as I’d treat any other unpleasant job I had to complete.

  When I finished, my head was hurting even more. I also dry-heaved a couple of times. But nothing else came up. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign, but I’d take it.

  Shuffling into the kitchen, I grabbed a cup from the counter and filled it with water.

  I downed the entire thing and puked in the sink less than ten seconds later.

  I drank some more.

  It stayed down.

  So I had a little more and realized I was insanely thirsty.

  I stopped after the second cup because I didn’t want to push my luck.

  With grim determination, I made my way toward the bathroom.

  I needed a shower and about fifty ibuprofen to make it through the day, but damned if I wasn’t going to do it stone-cold sober.

  * * *

  It was coming up on four in the afternoon, and I still had six hours left in my shift, but I’d managed to get a sandwich down—and keep it down—so I was considering it a step in the right direction.

  Maybe if I’d taken my break a little later, I could have avoided the altercation with Jerrel.

  I wouldn’t swear to it, though.

  He came swaggering in with a sneer on his face and temper flaring in his eyes.

  “We need to talk,” he said, barely pausing by the counter where I sat. He kept on walking.

  I stared at his back.

  At the doorway, he turned and looked at me with a narrowed gaze. “Now.”

  I should have just told him to fuck off.

  He swung around to face me the minute the door slammed shut behind us. We stood alone in the small, pitted concrete square that served as parking for what few employees had vehicles. Just then, the only ones visible were Jerrel’s van, which he’d reluctantly loaned to me, and a motorcycle of Frankensteined parts that one of the guys had built.

  He always kept the bike parked close to the door, and as Jerrel approached me, I wondered how long the bike would stay standing once this shit got started.

  And I knew it was going to get started.

  Jerrel had a look in his eyes that I’d seen too many times. If my mood had been any better, I might have done what I could to level the situation out. After all, fighting with one of my employer’s men wouldn’t do a lot to impress the guy funding this mess.

  But my mood was toxic, and Jerrel’s attitude had pissed me off almost from the beginning.

  “You still ain’t got your act together,” he said, pacing forward until he was only an arm’s length from me.

  That was a stupid move.

  He made it worse by reaching out and jabbing a thick finger into my chest.

  “We aren’t exactly getting paid by the hour, asshole. The boss wants this done, and he wants it done now.” He jabbed again.

  Instead of responding, I lowered my gaze to the finger he was trying to punch through my sternum. “You want to remove that, mate?”

  He curled his lip. “What I want is for you to get your head out of your ass and get this shit over and done. Or is that too big an order for you…mate?”

  He jabbed me a third time for emphasis.

  I heaved out a sigh, then looked upward. “He’s going to make me do it,” I muttered to myself.

  “Hey, you piece of shit, you look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  I did, while adrenaline started to churn. It made my headache subside just a little. I knew, without a doubt, it would return, but the relief from the pounding was welcome all the same.

  “You know what?” Jerrel looked me up and down. “I think maybe somebody else needs to take over here. Maybe I’ll handle Briar, and you can just take your sorry ass back on down to Miami.”

  A muscle tightened in my jaw.

  He laughed. “What’s the matter, Irish? You don’t like the sound of that?” He reached up, probably planning on jabbing his finger into my chest again.

  I caught his wrist, twisted and yanked, not relenting on the pressure, even when I had him on the ground with his arm jacked up in the air while his face smashed into the pavement. “I tried to ask you nicely, Jerrel. All you had to do was stop touching me, but no…you had to be difficult.”

  I let him go and bounced back a few steps as he came roaring to his feet.

  He swung at me.

  I moved with the punch and ducked inside his guard, slamming a hard fist into the floating ribs.

  Something cracked.

  He was a tough son-of-a-bitch though, and instead of retreating, he bellowed with rage and swung at me.

  That one connected, and my head snapped back.

  I tasted blood, but there was no time to dwell on it as he moved in on me.

  I sidestepped. He broadcasted his movements like he was on air. He was right-handed too. I’d learned early on that I was ambidextrous, and while plenty of rough assholes could adapt to a right-handed or left-handed fighter, not too many people were as good at dealing with somebody who could pound the shit out of somebody using either hand. I caught his arm this time, trapping it against my left side as I brought my right fist up and slammed it into his throat.

  His eyes flew open so wide the whites of his eyes showed all around his pupils. As he choked and gagged for air, I shoved him back and resettled my weight.

  “It might be a good idea for you to stop,” I advised him. My jaw hurt like a bitch where he’d punched me, but other than that, I felt just fine. Thanks to the rush of adrenaline, even my various aches and pains had faded.

  Jerrel might be a tough one, but he wasn’t too smart. Instead of stopping, he swung at me. He was too far away. As he over-rotated, I shifted my weight to my left foot and brought up my right, pivoting.

  I drove my heel into his unprotected side, high up on the torso where he’d left his ribs vulnerable and exposed.

  Something cracked, and this time, it was enough that it affected his ability to breathe.

  As he stumbled away, glaring at me with obvious hatred, I only watched.

  “You…dumb…motherfucker.”

  I shrugged. “I gave you a chance to walk away.”

  He gave me a smile that could only be described as completely evil. Then he slid a hand behind his back.

  At the sight of the blade he pulled out, I set my jaw.

  “Maybe you should have been the one to walk, dickhead.”

  Twenty-Four


  Briar

  My phone buzzed as I left the curtained area where I’d been evaluating a patient with possible appendicitis.

  Appendicitis, the bread and butter of any decent surgeon.

  I recognized the name and opened the message.

  I ran into the nurse I’d needed before I had a chance to read Anneke’s text.

  “We need to get this patient in for an abdominal CT.” I gave her the information. “And we needed it like yesterday, so make sure they know this is priority.”

  The nurse nodded, and as she walked off, I made a beeline for the doctor’s lounge.

  I needed coffee bad enough that I’d even drink the shit in the lounge. If I had time, I’d go over to the cafeteria, but construction in the hospital had closed some of the hallways as of yesterday. Now, what used to take about five minutes took close to twenty, assuming nobody stopped me for directions or conversation. I didn’t have twenty minutes so I’d just suffer the motor-oil options in the doctor’s lounge.

  The message from Anneke asked if I was up to anything the next day. I’d like to sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

  I told her just that.

  A laughing smiley was her response, along with a thumbs-up emoji.

  The little dots came up to signal she was typing in something else, and I took the few seconds to add almost a quarter cup of milk to the coffee, and almost half as much sugar.

  It was almost too sweet when I was done, but if I didn’t have something to soften the taste of the oil-like viscosity, the coffee would eat my stomach lining alive.

  Anneke’s text popped up.

  Was wondering if you wanted to go out for some Mexican and margaritas later this week. Interested?

  Just thinking about that put me in the same frame of mind I’d been in the day when we’d last gone for Mexican.

  In other words, I thought of Cormac. And I didn’t want to do that.

  I almost begged off, but then I made myself reconsider.

  It had been a lousy week.

  I hadn’t seen him since that last afternoon.

  I couldn’t lie to myself. I missed him. I didn’t understand how he had gotten to me in such a short period of time, but he had, and I’d been brooding about him almost all week.

  That right there decided the matter for me, and I punched in my response.

  When and where?

  Typing one-handed, I made my way back out into the hall as we made our plans.

  “Dr. Downing?”

  I looked up at a familiar face. After a few seconds, the name came to me. “Yes, Nakita?”

  The pretty black girl gestured to one of the curtained-off areas. I blinked at the spots of blood I saw on the floor, forming a trail that disappeared under the curtain, leading to the bed, I assumed.

  “The patient in bed twelve has insisted on seeing you.” She rolled her eyes. “Dr. Moyes wanted to know if you’d at least go in and see him so the patient will calm down and allow the evaluation. We think he’s sustained a stab wound, but he won’t let anybody near him until he sees you.”

  A bad feeling settled in my belly. I took another drink of coffee and thought absently that it might do me better if there was a shot of whiskey or something in it besides milk and enough sugar to induce a coma. That done, I put my phone in my pocket. “Do you know if we’ve heard back from imaging?”

  “No, but if you’ll give me the patient’s name, I’ll look into it.”

  I told her, then hoping I didn’t look too much like a prisoner walking to her execution, headed toward bed twelve. I was still five feet away when I heard his voice. It managed to send shivers down my spine, so I braced myself against any such reaction before pushing aside the curtain so I could go in.

  I thought of the blood I’d seen splattered on the floor, and I couldn’t keep from studying him closely, with worry. I didn’t like feeling this kind of worry. It wasn’t just concern for a potential patient or a fellow human being. It was too personal for that.

  Getting personal was how he’d been able to hurt me.

  Remembering that, I slammed my mental barriers into place just as he caught sight of me.

  Something flashed through his gaze. It might have made my heart flutter if I couldn’t still hear the disinterested, dismissive tone he’d used the last time we’d seen each other.

  I gave him a cool stare. I’d already noticed that his color was good, and his pupils were only a little dilated. No major signs of shock, so the injury couldn’t be too bad.

  He went to speak, but I cut him off as I shifted my attention to Dr. Moyes. “I was told you’d requested my assistance.”

  Dr. Moyes looked like he would have been at home playing for any NFL team’s defense. He had a voice that was soothing, like water rippling over stones. In the short time I’d known him, I’d been witness to him disarming a high heroin addict, and an hour later, he’d fixed the ‘owie’ a little girl’s doll had obtained when the two of them tried to fly off the roof.

  He was able to assess a critical situation at the drop of a hat.

  More, he was kind and gentle, but when the need arose, he could make even the most irate patient back down.

  I adored him.

  But I sure as hell wasn’t working on Cormac.

  “This gentleman says he knows you,” Dr. Moyes said, turning a warm smile on me before directing that look over at Cormac. One might think they’d been friends for years.

  The look had little impact on Cormac, but I wasn’t surprised. I wondered if a sledgehammer would make a dent.

  “We’re acquainted, yes.” I didn’t offer anything else.

  “I need you to work on me,” Cormac said, his tone belligerent.

  I made a show of checking my watch, then looking at the tablet computer I carried. “I’m afraid I’ve got a patient on her way into surgery.”

  He opened his mouth, but I ignored him, turning to Dr. Moyes. “Has he let you examine the wound yet?”

  “Why can’t you examine it?” Cormac demanded. His voice was husky, and I noted, the faintest bit slurred.

  “I’m needed in surgery.” I didn’t look back at him. “Should I send somebody else to assist you?”

  Moyes must have read something in my eyes. After a pensive study, he shook his head. “Perhaps you can explain to your friend here that I’m qualified…?”

  Cormac wasn’t being an ass because he questioned the other doctor’s qualifications. He was being an ass because he was Cormac—and drunk. But I didn’t see the point in making things any harder for the other doctor. Keeping my voice neutral, I looked over at Cormac. “Dr. Moyes has been at this since I was in high school. You’re in good hands, Cormac.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue.

  “Dr. Downing, you have a call from imaging. Dr. Downing, a call from imaging.”

  I beamed at Moyes. “There’s my patient.”

  I rushed out before Cormac had a chance to say anything else.

  Twenty-Five

  Briar

  The appendectomy was routine and went by without any complications. By the time I was done checking up on my patient in recovery, it was time for me to head out.

  I’d been all but tip-toeing around, worried I might run into Cormac, and I was still a little leery on my way out to my car.

  “Dr. Downing.”

  I looked over and saw Moyes just as we both crossed out from under the protective overhang off the employee entrance to the ED.

  “Dr. Moyes.” My face heated, and I hoped the darkness would hide it, although the streetlights were more than adequate.

  “How did your surgery go?”

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “Fourteen-year-old girl. Would have been better for her if her dad hadn’t assumed it was girl troubles.” I rolled my eyes. “But we got her on the table in time.”

  “Always good.” He was quiet a moment, almost like he was weighing whether he wanted to say something. “Mr. MacTavish was discharged about an hour ago.”

&nb
sp; I didn’t let myself react. “Excuse me?”

  He stopped and reached out, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Please don’t feel like you need to say anything. I just…” He grinned a little. “I saw you darting around every corner, looking like a mouse with a cat after her.”

  The picture annoyed me, but I didn’t say anything about it, because it was probably accurate.

  “We went out a few times,” I said in a guarded tone. “That’s all.”

  He nodded. “If you like, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  I would like.

  Not because I was afraid of Cormac.

  But because I didn’t trust myself.

  * * *

  I wasn’t hungry, but I’d been forcing myself to eat the past few days after noticing that some of my jeans were a little looser than they should be. I knew some people stress-ate when upset. I was the opposite. I could go an entire day without eating if my mood was off, and that wasn’t a safe tact for a doctor to use, so it had become habit to coax myself into eating even if I wasn’t hungry.

  I hadn’t had much chance for a break during my shift, so I stopped by a local deli that had great bagels and a drive-thru.

  It was close enough to my house that my food was still warm when I climbed from the car, bagel bag in hand.

  After I trudged inside, I dropped the bag on the table and went to wash my hands. That done, I smeared the bagel with cream cheese and sat down to eat.

  It was like eating sawdust, but I churned through the task.

  What I wanted right then was a shower, then my PJs.

  Once inside the shower, I washed my hair, then put conditioner in. Telling myself that some self-pampering might help, I grabbed one of the packets from the basket I kept on a shelf. I didn’t bother looking to see what kind of mask it was, just tore it open and started to apply it.

  My nose clued me in on the mask type as I rubbed it in, one of the scented charcoal ones. I was pretty sure it was supposed to stay on for five minutes so I blindly fumbled for my razor.