“Maybe a hotel…” she suggested weakly.
He could see her mind processing what staying in a hotel room would mean for her, a room that thousands of others had slept in previously. If he took her to a hotel, she’d end up standing in the middle of the room all night doing everything she could to not touch anything.
“If we go to my place, I’ll let you pick out fresh sheets from my linen closet. Or you can bring your own. Maybe pack your pillow and a blanket, too.”
Finally, she nodded. Together they worked to gather what she would need. Clothes, toiletries, her pillow and favorite blanket. The sheets she compromised on after being assured he washed his linens in scalding hot water.
Aphrodite was slightly more difficult to corral, having been through the trauma of the break-in. While Camille insisted she must have sensed the danger she was in, Wyatt was less likely to believe that the cat knew the fate she had escaped. However, he didn’t contradict her. She was moving along, agreeing to each of his directions and eventually he had her and her cat packed up and headed back to his place.
It was near two in the morning when they walked through the door of his town house. Aphrodite, happy to be released from her cage, took off exploring while Wyatt guided Camille to the guest room. He stripped the blanket and sheets then pointed her to the linen closet.
After dropping off the excess bedding in his room he went back to check on Camille and smiled as she made perfect hospital corners out of the top bedsheet.
“You going to be okay?”
She turned and shrugged.
Crazy, he thought, but he liked that she had given him an honest answer. She could have told him she was going to be fine. It would have been a lie, but he would have understood it. Instead she’d given him the truth and he hoped this was a sign of how much she trusted him.
“Get some sleep, Camille. We can talk about all of this tomorrow.”
She nodded. “You’re going to have to go into the clinic tomorrow?”
“Yes. I switch off with some of the other doctors every other Sunday. I’m scheduled for the seven to seven but I’ll find someone to cover me for the afternoon. Or if Delia’s been contacted by the sheriff by then, I might be escorted from the hospital altogether.”
“She can’t blame you for what’s happening to me.”
“Unfortunately, she’s the boss. She can do whatever she wants.” Wyatt stepped closer and lifted her chin with his finger. “Don’t worry about Delia. We’re going to let the police find out what’s happening and then all of this will go away. You’ll be back in surgery in no time.”
Tears formed in her eyes and it nearly killed him. “Whoever is doing this,” she whispered. “They’ve taken everything from me.”
He leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers. “Not everything. And nothing that you won’t get back.”
She smiled and sniffed back her tears. “You’re being really nice to me.”
“Yes, I am. I would like that noted.”
“Except for when you shouted at me earlier.”
“I felt like I needed to penetrate the fog.”
She didn’t respond to that, but asked, “Are you going to be able to work tomorrow on so little sleep?”
Wyatt smiled again. He’d kissed her, although a peck, but she hadn’t backed off. Instead it seemed as though she was talking so that he wouldn’t leave. They stood together in the intimate confines of the room, with the bed a few feet away, and she wanted him not to leave. It wasn’t the same as asking him to stay. And despite his arousal he wasn’t inclined to push her.
He had her in his home. She was safe and she trusted him. Given Camille’s nature, it was a step that was tantamount to landing on the moon as far as Wyatt was concerned.
“I’ll be fine. Doctor, remember? We don’t do sleep.”
Camille stepped back and rubbed her arms. “I hate to be at loose ends. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t know what I was going to do the next day. And being in a strange house…”
Wyatt considered that. “Wait here.”
He left the room and made his way to the utility closet. Picking out a few items, he gathered them in a bucket he kept there. He startled when he felt the cat wind her way through his legs. Bending down he stroked the animal from head to tail. “You make yourself at home here, okay? And I’ll help your mom adjust.”
Wyatt returned to the guest room. Camille was plumping her pillow and smoothing out the wrinkles of her blanket. He watched as she ran her hand once, twice, three times over the blanket until it was perfectly smooth. She wasn’t a woman who was used to wrinkles in her life. She’d done everything she could to avoid them. And now they were everywhere. Provided not only by the person who wanted to hurt her, but him as well.
“Hey, I thought you might like these.”
Camille turned and saw the bucket in his arms. She smiled again and he felt like he’d won the lottery. “You want me to clean your house?” she asked as she eyed the gloves, cleansers, brushes and spray bottles he’d stuffed in the bucket.
“That’s the beauty of having a germaphobe live with you. Come on.” He shook the bucket. “You know you want to.”
She took the bucket from his hands. “You’re right. I do.”
“You can go to town tomorrow. Tonight try to sleep.”
Wyatt was about to leave when she reached out and touched him. Another first, he thought.
“You really think someone killed those patients. Intentionally?”
He wouldn’t lie. “I do. And what’s really awful is that three innocent people died in order to make you pay.”
“Pay for what?” she asked, the shock evident in her voice.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Chapter 11
Camille scrubbed the countertop in Wyatt’s kitchen as fiercely as she would her hands before going into surgery. Wyatt’s idea to give her cleaning supplies to make her feel more comfortable was genius. Not only did it occupy her for hours, it also showed her that he considered what she would need to feel comfortable in his home.
His home.
Camille stopped her scrubbing and took the time to really look at his space. Comfortable furniture. Muted colors. It was homier than she thought it would be. And she wasn’t sure why she was surprised. The Wyatt she’d been attracted to from a distance was cool but easygoing. Friendly to most people around him. And his home reflected that. The Wyatt who occupied this space was comfortable and easy with himself.
It was one of the things she envied the most about him. He seemed to go through life as if he owned it. It should have annoyed her. But then he confessed how that attitude had hurt his career. His life. He pretended that she was the one with all the issues, but there had to have been more fallout for him.
He lost the career he thought he would have forever, maybe for the best, but still it had to be hard. He’d lost his wife. It occurred to Camille he hadn’t mentioned her much during their acquaintance. Not that there would have been any reason to, but even back in the days when she was learning from him, getting to know him, his wife wasn’t a topic between them.
She thought about how she’d left him. It seemed during his darkest hour. He’d resigned his position as a surgeon and the next day had checked into a rehab facility. When he returned, sober, he’d been jobless and spouseless but with a new purpose in his life. The clinic.
At the time it had been nothing more than a small section of the hospital with a few extra beds. In the past few years Wyatt had made it into something bigger than that. Now the clinic was a vital part of not only the hospital, but the surrounding community as well. A place where someone knew they could go for treatment even if they didn’t have the advantage of the best health insurance. From runny noses to broken arms, to the diagnosis of more serious conditions, the clinic was part emergency room and part hometown doctor’s office.
The woman must have been a fool to have let him go. Or maybe she’d been too self-abs
orbed to stay with him while he struggled. Or maybe she’d stopped loving him, but Camille couldn’t see how that was possible.
All she knew was that if she had been with him then, she would have fought to hold on to him, no matter how awful things had gotten. Because there was something about Wyatt that you knew you could count on. He was a man who was going to come out on top. He screamed that kind of confidence.
If he fell, he would get up. If he became a drunk, eventually he would get sober. If he was behind, he would come back to win.
Maybe his wife hadn’t thought he was good for another comeback, but Camille knew better. Knew him better than his wife. That made her feel a little smug about the man who was her—
What? Her almost boyfriend? Were they involved? Was being tied together through an act of violence enough to consider themselves in a relationship?
Leave it to her, to find herself connected with a man in the most bizarre way possible.
Then again, she had to consider that their relationship had started before all the trouble began. After all, they had gone out on a date.
She remembered when he asked her out. She’d been petrified and completely flustered. She’d said yes before her brain could process his question. It was as though this secret part of her brain had been waiting for the right moment to jump up and speak. In that one moment, that part of her brain—she wasn’t sure if it controlled her heart or her hormones—had taken over and done the talking.
She’d spent days vacillating between canceling and going. She made up note cards on topics of conversation in case she got stuck. She practiced smiling in the mirror without too many teeth showing. And she spent a fortune on an outfit that didn’t make her look too sexy.
What woman spends money on an outfit for a date to not look sexy?
Camille tossed the sponge into the sink. Opening the fridge, she took a look at the contents and decided he had the most ridiculous sweet tooth ever. Of course, it stood to reason that a man who drank mochas with extra whip cream every day would also drink grape soda. Full sugar no less.
Soda was bad for the teeth and stomach lining. The sugar levels weren’t good for the metabolism and that didn’t even take into account the germs on the can itself. Suddenly Camille wanted a grape soda so bad she couldn’t look away from the can. She snatched it out of the fridge as if her grandfather were here and would catch her doing something sneaky. She cleaned the lid with hot water first—because she wasn’t insane and cans like these were stored in warehouses where rats often nested—then popped the top and took a large gulp.
It was hideous. And wonderful.
She felt…free.
Making her way to the living room, she plopped down on his couch and let herself remember how she felt about that first date with Wyatt. For so long she blocked it, but now that seemed silly. It had happened.
She remembered that as excited, nervous and sick about that date as she had been, she’d still wanted it to go well. She wanted to flirt and laugh and have Dr. Wyatt Holladay look at her as though she was fascinating and brilliant, but not too sexy because she knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle any type of advance from him.
Instead he’d questioned her belief that everything could be solved by her rigid sense of science and she’d told him he was a fruitcake.
He’d called her a condescending know-it-all.
Then she’d thrown water in his face.
She'd come home from that date and cried all night. Plus she'd done everything she could to not run into him at the hospital. Until she’d needed him.
Had she? Had she really needed him to review those cases? Yes, she’d been upset by the inexplicable deaths, but she could have gone to any other surgeon in the hospital or even to the medical examiner for another review. Instead she’d sought out Wyatt.
Which led to that night.
Despite the confusion and ultimately the horror of realizing what had been happening in the past few days, Camille couldn’t put that night very far from her mind. There was no blocking it. It had been, by far, the most intense sexual experience she’d ever had. Beyond that, it had been the most emotional.
Now she was here in his home and knowing that he had slept a few feet away from her last night had caused emotional upheaval. She’d clung to Aphrodite all night waiting for another intruder to break into her bedroom.
Although she was fairly certain she wanted this intruder to come find her.
He hadn’t. Wyatt had been a gentleman. Damn it.
The doorbell rang and instantly, she tensed. She wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was in this situation. Did she answer it? Or pretend like no one was home.
“Camille,” came a shout through the door. “I know you’re in there.” Delia’s dulcet tones carried through the thick wood.
Seeing no other option, Camille headed for the door, but not before hiding her soda in the refrigerator first.
Approaching the small foyer, she noticed that Delia hadn’t stopped banging on the door, which couldn’t be a good sign. Straightening her shoulders and preparing for a fight, Camille opened it.
The woman’s blouse was untucked from her skirt and her hair was a mess. She looked rattled and Camille had a suspicion as to what had caused it.
“You two couldn’t leave well enough alone,” she began, pushing her way past Camille into Wyatt’s home.
“Someone broke into my house last night.”
“So what?” Delia’s hands shook as she paced Wyatt’s living room. “Can’t you see that the house and the car can be one thing, but those patients dying might be something else? The sheriff was in my office first thing this morning asking questions. What if this gets out? What if it makes the press? You can kiss any shot at your new surgery wing goodbye.”
“Delia, you need to calm down.”
“Calm down!” she shrieked. “I’ve worked for this hospital for years. I’ve built it into something special and now people are dying. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if people think there is a chance they might be murdered when they come to Physicians’ Memorial the likelihood is they will stay away.”
“And maybe they should until we find out what’s happening. Delia, look at me.” Camille waited until the older woman looked into her eyes. “I was not the cause of death for those two patients. I don’t know if Chuck has had a chance to examine the third.”
“Nothing,” Delia muttered as she made her way to the sofa. She collapsed on it as if she’d run out of energy. “The medical examiner found nothing. No bleeds, no infection, no obvious reason for cause of death. There was a minor skin reaction around where the IV was inserted into the patient’s arm, but he didn’t find any drugs in her system other than what was supposed to be there. And Logan reviewed the tapes. He found…he found nothing wrong with any of the surgeries.”
Because there was nothing to find. Camille had known it. Now Delia did, too. Camille sat across from her, her hands folded in her lap. “Wyatt is taking precautions.”
“Wyatt,” Delia said, lifting her head, “is playing hero to your damsel in distress. What must that feel like for you, the perpetual wallflower?”
“I’m not a damsel in distress,” Camille snapped. “And I don’t need rescuing. What I do need are some answers. My patients are dying. Someone is…obviously after me. Wants to hurt me. Right now Wyatt is the only person who seems to give a damn. You certainly don’t.”
Delia sighed. “I care, Camille. You’re one of the most talented surgeons on the flippin’ East Coast. Because of you I’ve been able to do what I have with this hospital. We make money. We’re written up in medical journals. You are my star. Without you it all comes to a big crashing end and we go back to being a no-name suburban hospital. I don’t want that.”
“Then why are you fighting me on this?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense,” she railed. “Someone is killing patients because they’re pissed off at you? Your car, totally understandable. What’s the big deal to you if th
ere is some damage to your car? Maybe even someone trying to scare you by breaking into your house, okay. But murder…in my hospital? I refuse to believe it.”
“You understand why someone would key my car?” Camille slowly rose. She couldn’t say why but she wanted more than a coffee table’s amount of distance between her and Delia.
“Logan left because of you. You know that.”
“Logan left because he couldn’t handle being second best. That has to do with his ego, not mine. You know that.”
Delia stood then and pointed her finger in accusation. “You rubbed it in his face! You showed him up every chance you could.”
Backing up a few steps, Camille kept more than a few feet between them. “I didn’t.”
“You were always on call. You were always the first one any cardiology group in this area contacted when there was an emergency because they knew you would be there. Logan couldn’t compete with that. He wasn’t a robot like you. He had a life.”
“You mean he had sex. It seems to me that must have filled all his free time given the number of partners he had.”
“Don’t you judge me.”
Camille was fairly certain she was judging Logan, but she didn’t say anything. Delia’s face was red and blotchy. Her temper, something she’d been known for anyway, was out of control. Physically, the woman was taller and probably outweighed Camille by ten or twenty pounds. If she chose to act on her frustration, Camille knew she would be at a disadvantage.
There had been no cat fights with girls in her past. She’d never formed any relationships with anyone that would have necessitated fighting. She was pretty sure the most violent act she’d ever committed had been to throw water in Wyatt’s face.
Water, however, was not going to calm Delia down.
“Don’t you dare judge me,” she repeated even as she advanced on Camille. “I was working seventy, eighty, sometimes ninety hours a week. Everything I had went into that hospital. My whole self. I needed…something for me. I needed the release. I needed sex with Logan. I had to have that at least. It was only fair. And you should understand that tucked away here in Wyatt’s home. I see the way you look at him. Like he’s ice cream and chocolate and every fantasy you’ve ever had about a man rolled up into one. You have to understand how I felt.”
The Doctor's Deadly Affair Page 11