The Doctor's Deadly Affair

by Stephanie Doyle

  “Real relationships aren’t like that.” Wyatt needed her to know that. “Real relationships are about give and take. Anything that one-sided is bound to be destructive.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “I mean I don’t know how it all works but I can imagine that’s how it’s supposed to be. Do you know there was a moment when Delia was ranting and flailing about, I actually felt fear? She was out of control. It was how I knew she’d been the one to key my car. Someone that angry had to have acted on it. I thought…I thought…”

  “You thought she could have killed someone,” he said, finishing the sentence she didn’t want to finish.

  “It’s inconceivable.” Camille shook her head. “I’ve worked for the woman for years. She runs a profitable hospital. She’s intelligent, hardworking—”

  “And she had no life outside of work, no real relationships that I ever recall because, like I said, what she had with Logan wasn’t real. And not that many friends, if her treatment of you is any indication,” Wyatt enumerated.

  “Gee, now that I think about it, it sounds like someone else I know.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught her scrunched face. “She could have snapped. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Is that what you think might happen to me? That I might snap?”

  Wyatt sighed. “I sure would like to see you bend a little before that happened. Talk to me, Camille. Tell me why you work so hard to keep people away. Why won’t you let anyone into your life?”

  “There is no time…I’m focused on my work,” she said tightly.

  “I’m focused on my work. You are obsessed with it. You mentioned your grandfather the other night. You said he raised you. What was he like?” Wyatt could feel the tension build next to him and for a moment he thought she wouldn’t respond.

  “I didn’t tell you who he was.”

  “I know he was a doctor. You said he mentored you. Would I know his name?”

  “Yes. My grandfather was Dr. Conrad Slazenger.”

  Wyatt blinked a few times. “The Slazenger? The actual Slazenger? The man was a pioneer. A revolutionary, a—”

  “My grandfather. Larson was my mother’s name. My parents never married.”

  “I see.” And Wyatt did see. Those were some pretty big shoes to fill. “He was stern, I take it.”

  “He was driven. He was ambitious and he wanted me to be the same. I am the same. I haven’t gotten to where I am solely because he pushed me here. I had to want it for myself. But Grandfather didn’t see a need for things like school and friends and play dates and all the rest. He isolated me so that I could keep my focus.”

  Wyatt snorted. “He isolated you so that he could keep you all to himself.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I’m not. You told me that your father didn’t follow in your grandfather’s footsteps. And after you were dumped in his lap he couldn’t handle the responsibility and took off. You don’t mention a grandmother—”

  “She died years before I was born.”

  “There you have it. Your grandfather had already lost his wife, he essentially lost his son and then you show up and he’s got another chance. So he gripped you tight and didn’t let go because he was afraid of losing you.”

  “That’s psychobabble. You sound like Dr. Rosen.”

  “That’s fact. Unfortunately, what your Dr. Frankenstein grandfather didn’t realize as he was molding you into the perfect surgeon is that he was depriving you of the things you needed to have a normal life.”

  It was a hard thing for Wyatt. Slazenger was one of the people he wished he’d had one hour with to talk medicine before the man died. But thinking of Camille as a little girl with scary dreams and no one to turn to and no friends to play with made him want to read the old man the riot act as well.

  “Normal,” she repeated. “I really did want…normal. That must sound boring to you.”

  “No, it sounds about right. Normal is friends and family. Normal is work, sure, but it’s also play. Normal is good sex and good times and laughter. You can have that, Camille.”

  This time she snorted. “Yeah right. After all these years—”

  “You can’t get back what you lost,” he stopped her. “But you can choose to live differently going forward.”

  “Says the man who wants me to have sex with him.”

  “Hell, yeah.” Wyatt didn’t say another word. He let Camille sit with her thoughts as he drove over the bridge into Philadelphia.

  Unlike Camille and himself, Logan had chosen city life over suburbia. He had a downtown penthouse that overlooked William Penn that was filled with leather, glass and chrome. He called it his fortress of solitude as he never brought any of his lovers there.

  Logan didn’t like to share his life. During poker he’d joked with the other doctors that his motto was simple: get in and get out. In a way, Wyatt had felt sorry for him. If he didn’t change his attitude, then he was going to spend the rest of his life without any meaningful relationships.

  Of course, then he’d made a crude joke about the girl who was serving the drinks and Wyatt had wanted to deck him.

  He circled the block a few times and got lucky as a car pulled away from the curb. Together they made their way to the lobby and asked the concierge to call Logan and let him know he had visitors.

  “Do you think he’ll see us?” Camille whispered.

  “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t. He probably wants this thing done as much as we do.”

  “Dr. Dade will see you,” the concierge announced.

  They rode the elevator to the top floor and made their way to his door. Wyatt knocked and wasn’t all that surprised to find Logan answering the door in nothing more than a silk robe. Logan also believed in the fewer clothes the better. Hell, Wyatt figured they were lucky he didn’t answer the door buck naked.

  “Doctors,” Logan said. “What a surprise. To what do I owe this honor? Because I’m fairly certain you two didn’t come here for a threesome.”

  “Yeah,” Wyatt drawled. “You can be fairly certain of that.”

  Behind him he could practically hear Camille gagging. His girl had good taste.

  “I want answers, Logan.”

  “Well, then,” he said, opening his door to let them inside. “You had better start with the questions.”

  Chapter 13

  Camille did everything she could to avoid looking at the gap in Logan’s robe. He was sitting on his couch, a drink in his hand with his legs sprawled wide. She knew he’d done it intentionally as if to show off what she’d missed. She had to suppress the urge to let him know that Wyatt was much more…impressive…in that department. But she didn’t imagine that would help them with the answers they were looking to get from him.

  “How many people were you seeing, Dade?” Wyatt started with.

  “What makes you think I’m going to discuss my love life with you?”

  “Because people are dying.”

  “That has nothing to do with me.” Logan stood, the silk material flapping around him. He went to his wet bar and dropped more ice cubes in his glass. Camille watched him pour dark liquor over the cubes and wondered how many drinks he’d had before they got there. It was only five o’clock and he was already two down. Maybe what was happening at his old job was bothering him more than he let on.

  “It has everything to do with you,” Wyatt said.

  “You don’t know that. And if coming here to accuse me of murder is your idea of spending a fine Sunday afternoon, then you can leave.”

  Wyatt leaned back in his chair. “Look, I know you didn’t have a hand in their deaths. You can’t be held responsible. But still, people are dying.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I better take another look at the videos. I mean, I told Delia I didn’t see anything, but maybe a second pass would help point the finger at your incompetence.”

  “Logan, don’t,” Camille said quietly. She looked at him and waited for him to meet her eyes. “Don’t lie about th
at. Lie about why you left or that we were involved. Lie about anything else. But you and I together have replaced hearts. You’ve seen me operate. You didn’t need those tapes to know what happened in the OR. And as much as you hate me, I know you respect me. I did not kill those people on the table.”

  Logan closed his eyes. “Fine. Conceded. So, you’re saying that someone murdered patients because I dumped her. I’ve dumped a lot of people over the years, Camille. Nobody has ever resorted to murder before.”

  “How many people have keyed your car?” Wyatt wondered.

  “I know who was responsible for that. And trust me, that person did not kill patients.” Logan took a sip of his drink. “It would be bad for business.”

  “We know it was Delia,” Camille said. “She admitted it to me.”

  “There, you see? It was Delia. I went in to give her my two weeks. She flipped out. Said she couldn’t handle the thought of losing me. The next day my car is trashed. It was extreme, yes, but it’s not the first time someone wasn’t ready to let go. But you and I agree she wouldn’t have killed anyone. Which means the stuff with the cars is totally unrelated.”

  “Maybe, unless you want to tell us who else you were seeing who didn’t want to let go.”

  Logan pursed his lips and shook his head. “I told you, I’m not naming names. It’s bad enough what’s happened to Delia.”

  “Bad enough? She might be a murderer.” Wyatt stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “As much as I hate to think she could have done it, given her actions I’m sure the sheriff is going to take a long, hard look at her. But I want to be prepared if it’s not her. Which means I need names.”

  “If you want the names of everyone I’ve slept with in the past month, we’re going to be here awhile.”

  Camille could see Wyatt clench his jaw in irritation.

  “Fine. How about the ones with a temper? The ones who didn’t want to let go when you were done with them. We know you were seeing Marie—”

  “I was seeing a lot of nurses.”

  “Names, Logan. I need names.”

  He paused for a moment as if thinking, but shook his head. “No. No one kills for sex. You’re going down the wrong path.”

  Now it was Camille’s turn to hide her irritation. He was lying. She could see it. Either he didn’t want to confess that he might know the person responsible or he truly didn’t want to believe it. Camille glanced around the open space and wondered if the view from the top floor was going to be enough to assuage his conscience if someone else got hurt.

  There was a counter that separated the living space from the kitchen beyond. A blinking light caught Camille’s attention. It was the dock for a portable phone. The hand set wasn’t in it but the blinking light on the base reminded her what her own phone did when she had messages.

  “Is someone calling you, Logan? Leaving messages you don’t want to hear?” Camille pointed to the phone.

  “I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he answered easily.

  “I wonder,” Wyatt said as he looked out through the massive glass windows that showcased the city below. “If we were to listen, how many messages would there be? And how many would be from the same person?”

  “I’m sure some would be from Delia. She’s using Camille’s suspension as an excuse to contact me. You know, I would say it was all rather flattering if I didn’t think part of Delia’s reason for being so pissed was that she lost a surgeon. Not a lover.”

  Wyatt faced him then. “And she’s really the only one. The only one who might have gone off the deep end to do something this extreme.”

  Logan took another sip of his drink.

  A buzzing sound echoed in the room and caught their attention. It sounded like it was coming from the table in the foyer. Camille recognized the sound instantly.

  “Shit. That’s my buzzer. I’m on call.” Logan set his drink on the bar and went to go fetch it. He picked it up and cursed. “I need a second.” He headed down the hallway to what Camille imagined was his bedroom.

  “Obviously he doesn’t have the issues with drinking on call you do,” Wyatt muttered once Logan was out of sight.

  “He’s lying,” Camille whispered. “I can see when you’re asking him these questions that there is a person he’s thinking of. Why doesn’t he tell us?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he really doesn’t want to believe anyone he was with is actually dangerous.”

  Wyatt’s attention was caught by the entertainment unit he was pacing in front of. He stopped and knelt down. Then hit a button on the CD player.

  “What are you doing? Now is not the time to be checking out the electronics.”

  “I noticed it was on. I wonder if he was watching your surgeries before we came up. Maybe one last time to spot something unusual.”

  Camille didn’t see the relevance. “More likely it’s some tasteless movie only men enjoy. If you pull that out and the title is some horrible porn name, I don’t want to know it.”

  Wyatt held the CD around his finger. His face was tight, his expression was unreadable. “Not a porn name. Your name.”

  “What?”

  Wyatt put the CD back in the machine. He looked for and found the remote on the coffee table. As he turned on the TV, Camille thought he’d lost his mind and was about to tell him so when images of her filled the screen.

  This wasn’t her in the middle of a surgery.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Logan shouted as he came back in the room. He lunged for Wyatt, but Wyatt easily sidestepped him. His eyes never left the screen.

  Camille couldn’t move. She was frozen in place as she watched herself. She was removing her clothes in the locker room. Tucked away in the corner she knew so well, but somewhere above her there must have been a camera in one of the lockers. She watched as she stripped out of her scrubs left only in her serviceable bra and panties.

  Then the scene switched and she was in the shower.

  In the shower, naked and completely unaware of the camera that was mounted somewhere on the wall.

  The scene shifted again, only this time it was Camille in surgery. It was a tape of a transplant she had Logan had performed together. They were standing side by side discussing their plan of attack.

  Why? Why would he intersperse pictures of her in the shower with images of them in surgery together. It made no sense.

  “Turn it the hell off!” Logan roared. This time he made another lunge for Wyatt and pulled the remote out of his hand. While Logan worked frantically to turn off the TV, he didn’t see Wyatt turn back toward him.

  “You sick…” Wyatt didn’t finish his thought with words. The sound of flesh hitting flesh wasn’t pleasant. The crack registered and Camille could see Logan hit the ground, his hand flying to his nose.

  “You bastard,” Logan mumbled even as the blood poured through his fingers. “You broke it.”

  “Damn it!” Wyatt clutched his fist with his hand, wincing in obvious pain. “Man, that hurts.”

  “That’s why hitting is not advisable for a doctor. We typically seek to avoid pain,” Camille chastised.

  Unable to watch anyone bleed needlessly, she stepped over Logan and made her way to the kitchen where she grabbed a bunch of towels. She handed them to him and watched as he applied pressure to stop the bleeding.

  “Why?” Camille asked, crouching so that she was eye level with him.

  “Don’t let him answer. He was taping you. Filming you. Freaking cameras in the lockers and the showers. I should have your perverted ass thrown in jail.”

  Logan shook his head. “Get out. Both of you get out.” The words were mumbled through the towels now soaked with blood.

  “But the surgeries. You edited film of me getting undressed with us operating…” Camille understood she wasn’t sexually sophisticated. But this seemed…strange.

  Logan shrugged one shoulder. “It’s where I did my best work. Always. With you. But you never saw me, did you? Never once. Why didn’t you ev
er see me? I had everyone I wanted. All I needed to do was crook my finger. But never with you.”

  “I—” Camille didn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t say she was sorry. Not for refusing to be another notch on his belt.

  “You going to tell us what we need to know?” Wyatt asked one more time.

  “I. Don’t. Know. Anything.” It was said as clearly as it could be with a broken nose. “Let’s go.”

  Camille could feel Wyatt grabbing her arm, but she resisted the tug. She wanted answers. None of this made any sense to her.

  They were to the elevators before her thoughts stopped reeling enough to address what happened. “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s not to understand?” Wyatt asked angrily. “The man was secretly videotaping you.”

  “Wyatt,” she said, reaching for his arm.

  He took a long breath. Then another one. “I’m going back there and killing him.”

  Fortunately the elevator doors opened and Camille could steer him inside before that happened. She hit the lobby button.

  “I knew he was…perverted. But…”

  “He was watching the damn CD before we got there. Probably… Damn it!”

  Camille was grateful Wyatt didn’t try to finish that sentence. “I understand all that but why add in video of me operating? Am I missing something? Some blood fetish? Because if that’s the case, then that man seriously needs to be analyzed before he’s allowed back in an operating room.”

  “Don’t you get it?”

  Wyatt was looking at her with a confused expression on his face, as if he couldn’t understand how she didn’t know what he apparently knew. She felt foolish. Like everyone was in on the joke except her. “Get what?”

  The doors opened to the lobby. Camille hurried out before getting her answer. Suddenly she didn’t want Wyatt to say any more. It was enough that she was dealing with the concept that someone—maybe her boss—was a killer. That was certainly enough to handle in one day.

  “Camille, hold up!”

  She didn’t wait, simply kept heading out the doors and onto the sidewalk.

  Wyatt jogged up behind her. “Running from me isn’t going to make it go away.”