The Doctor's Deadly Affair

by Stephanie Doyle

  “Explain.”

  Wyatt did. He told the sheriff of their trip to see Dr. Dade in an attempt to get some answers, then the attack on them by the car with the tinted windshield.

  Sheriff Mooney nodded. “It makes sense. She follows you, sees that you’ve gone to visit her ex-lover. Maybe she fears what he’ll tell you. She snaps, tries to kill you, but when that fails she knows she’s going to be found out. She’d already admitted to the vandalism. I was taking a hard look at her alibis for when the deaths in the hospital occurred. She was here for each one of them. I was getting close to bringing her in for questioning. She took her own life before that could happen.”

  “If you knew Delia…” Camille didn’t finish the thought. It was silly to say that she wasn’t the type. It was even sillier considering that she would have also said she wasn’t the type to kill. Both things were now true.

  “So it’s over,” Wyatt concluded.

  “There are some loose ends to clean up. We still have to examine the body. We found something under the victim’s nails we’re going to need to analyze. Also, the note was typed, not handwritten. The prevailing thought with suicides is that the note should be personal, but a typed note isn’t all that uncommon today given people’s use of computers. Also, I’m going to want to find that black car you described. If we can find physical evidence of her in the car, then we’ll be able to prove our assumptions. I’m sure all of us will rest better.”

  “No,” Camille said quietly. “I won’t. Not for a while.”

  “Understandable, Doctor. But you have to know none of this was your fault. You got caught in the middle between an unstable woman and her lover. It was bad luck on your part.” Bad luck. Three innocent lives lost. Another life gone. All for love. No, not even love. What Delia in her sick and twisted mind thought was love. What Logan in his strange and perverted ways thought was love.

  There was no real love involved in any of this. For the first time she let herself think about what Wyatt had told her yesterday. He said it. The L word. She’d reacted so strongly she’d run from him. It wasn’t in her nature to accept love. A perfectly logical premise given her history of abandonment by her parents.

  Of course, her grandfather, the only one who cared enough to keep her, couldn’t show or accept love or affection of any kind. He was a brilliant man in so many ways. And now she thought maybe he was right in this. Love was a word that got passed around a lot. A word people used when it was convenient, never realizing the pain that followed when someone left.

  Camille had witnessed so-called love and none of it had been pretty. The love that Delia felt for Logan was destructive. Abusive. The love her grandfather had for her was controlling. And the love Wyatt thought Logan harbored for her, was sick and obsessive. That wasn’t love. Maybe her very controlled, very isolating world was the safest place for a person to be.

  “Come on, Camille. I’m taking you home.” Wyatt said to the sheriff, “We’ll be around if you have any questions for us.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  The two men shook hands, then Wyatt helped Camille to stand.

  “What about Ruby?” she asked, her gaze shifting to the young girl still rocking in the chair.

  “We’ve called her parents. They’re on their way to pick her up.”

  Knowing that was the best thing for her, Camille let Wyatt lead her to the elevators.

  “I need to get my stuff. Out of the…locker.” Camille had a hard time getting the word out. She didn’t know if the cameras were still there. Most likely Logan dismantled them when he left, but it wouldn’t matter. She would never change in that locker room again.

  She’d have the next CEO see to it that she had her own office, her own private shower.

  The next CEO. Not Delia.

  Camille could feel the tears welling up, but she tamped them down. She didn’t want to process everything that she had seen and heard until she was alone. Away from the eyes of the hospital. Nurses and doctors were milling about, talking, gossiping. By now everyone knew. They had to. What a scandal. Delia and Dr. Dade. Dr. Dade and Dr. Larson. Dr. Larson and Dr. Holladay.

  Death. Murder. Love triangles.

  Wyatt followed her into the locker room and stood by as she pulled out her purse. She found her keys and then he followed her to her car.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “I can drive.”

  “Camille, you’ve seen—”

  “A dead body. Not my first. I can do this.”

  “Fine. But don’t lose me. I’m following you all the way home.”

  Home. It was the second time he’d used that word. The second time he’d referred to his place as her home. It had felt like home. Last night in his arms. It had felt safe and protective.

  Or was it him that made her feel like that? Like she was…loved.

  Camille forced the word from her mind. She couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t count on her feelings. She certainly couldn’t count on his. Everything that had happened had been too much. She trusted none of it.

  All she needed to do was go back to Wyatt’s house. Aphrodite was there. She could collect her pet and then she would go to her home. The place that she had called her sanctuary, her safe haven, for so many years.

  Her home didn’t feel as good as being with him.…

  No. She couldn’t let herself think that way. She wasn’t going to fall into the trap of thinking that now that the danger had passed she could have her own happily-ever-after ending. Wasn’t everything that had happened proof the fairy tale simply did not exist?

  She glanced in the mirror. Wyatt was no more than a few feet from her bumper. Both hands were on the wheel of the Jeep, and his expression was intense, as if he could keep her close to him with the power of his mind.

  The answer was so blindingly clear. Right now, in this moment, all she wanted to do was hit the accelerator. Speed away from him. Leave him in the dust. Get away from him because, deep down, she was more afraid of him than she was anyone else.

  Foot on the pedal, she pressed down hard.

  Chapter 16

  “What the hell were you doing?”

  Camille looked over her shoulder. As soon as she parked the car, she jumped out and made a dash for the house. Wyatt had shown her where the hidden key was and she used it to let herself in. She knew she only had minutes before he caught up to her. And the further along with her escape, the better.

  Only he’d been very close behind her even after her attempt to elude him. It was going to make things harder.

  “I’m packing.”

  “I asked you not to lose me,” he said. “What was that stunt at the hospital?”

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  “A hurry to do what? Will you stop that? I was hoping we could chill out for a while. Talk it all out.”

  “What is there to talk about? Delia is dead.” Camille paused. The pain of it roared over her. She knew she shouldn’t be this upset. The woman had wanted to kill her after all, but she couldn’t get past the idea that a few days ago she thought Delia was the closest thing she had to a female friend. Now she was gone.

  “That’s it. She’s dead. It’s over.”

  “Isn’t it? I know you brought me here because you wanted to protect me. That was very sweet of you. But the danger is past. I need to go home.”

  Camille was scooping up her clothes and throwing them into the overnight bag she’d brought with her. She tried not to look at him, but when she did she flinched in reaction to his expression. He did not look happy.

  “Sweet of me. You think I did this to be sweet.”

  “I think you did this because you felt you had to.”

  “Bullshit. You know why I did this. You know why I brought you here that night after the break-in. You know why you slept in my arms last night. When are we finally going to talk about the fact that I told you I love you?” The L word. There it was again, the one word she couldn’t face. It made her afraid. It made her want t
o escape. She didn’t take time to question why that was, she just accepted how she was feeling. Like a cornered rabbit.

  Maybe if he hadn’t used it, she could have stayed. Maybe she could have pretended that they were really close with nothing threatening happening between them. But he wouldn’t let it go.

  She zipped up the bag and slowly turned to face him. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  “Uh…let’s see…maybe that you love me, too.”

  Her body practically jolted. If she was frightened by the idea of him loving her, then she had no word for what it would mean for her to reciprocate his feelings. There was no name for a fear that big.

  Love Wyatt? Love him. Give herself to him. Trust him with everything?

  Haven’t you already done that?

  The sly voice inside her head was to be ignored. Now, more than at any other point in her life, she had to be reasonable and sound.

  “I can’t love you.”

  “Can’t. There is that word again. You used it the first time I asked you to dinner. You said you couldn’t date me.”

  “Exactly. I don’t think a relationship between us would work. Therefore the logical step for both of us in order to avoid further pain would be to not pursue this…” Camille waved her hand between them rather than actually use the word relationship.

  Wyatt stepped closer. “Am I hurting you?”

  Yes! You’re scaring me. You’re making me believe I can have something I know I can’t.

  The words stuck in her throat. If she said them, he would try to counter her arguments. He was a good debater. He might win and then what would she do?

  “I think we’ve kept things superficial enough to avoid any real pain.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Last night was superficial? That night we spent at your place…superficial?”

  Camille tried to smile, but failed. “So typical of a man. You go right to sex.”

  “If my memory serves, you went right for my sex. And your mouth was about the least superficial thing I have ever felt in my life.”

  She could feel her cheeks heating. She hated that she was vulnerable to him on this level. “Sex is not love.”

  “Yes it is. When it’s done the way we did it. You’ve never put your mouth on a man in your life, Camille. You think doing that with me meant nothing? You ever straddle a man before, ride him until you couldn’t see straight? You ever let a man go down on you? Ever? You ever trust anyone that much?”

  She backed away as he moved closer to her with each question. She found herself cornered against the bed in the guest room and in a fit of childishness, stepped onto the mattress and walked over it to avoid him. She escaped out the door leaving her overnight bag behind.

  All she really needed was Aphrodite anyway.

  “So you’re going to run from this. Coward!”

  Camille whipped around, her anger finally getting the better of her fear. “You don’t understand.”

  “Make me understand. Make me see why we can’t be together. I love you. I know, deep down in that messed-up heart of yours, that you love me, too. We can make this work.”

  “I can’t! I can’t trust. I can’t give you anything. I don’t know how. I’ve never known how. I want to be alone.”

  “Alone for the rest of your life. That’s your solution.”

  “Yes! Look at what happened to Delia. She had her work and she was fine. Then she fell in love, tried to give herself to a man. And it drove her insane. That’s what love did to her.”

  “You are not Delia,” he said, his voice calmer.

  “No. I’m worse. I have all these hang-ups. I didn’t even make it through therapy. I can’t stand to eat in a restaurant. I went crazy because I fell into some trash. You have to wash your car because I can’t stand to touch anything that has the smallest amount of dirt on it. And I need a mask when I enter the clinic because all I see are the germs.”

  “So you’ve got hang-ups. You’re a person, Camille. We all have our thing. I can’t drink. I can’t take a sip of wine without wanting to drink the whole damn bottle. Why? Because I’m afraid I’m not good enough. I’m afraid I’ve never been good enough. So I like to sabotage myself any chance I get.”

  “There. You see? What if I’m that to you? What if I’m the next thing you’re using to sabotage yourself with? I know,” she said in a ridiculous voice. “I’ll date crazy Dr. Larson. If I can succeed with her and her host of issues, I can make it with anyone.”

  “Stop that. It’s not true and it’s not fair to me or my feelings for you.”

  “I make no sense with you,” she cried. “None. But you keep pushing me.”

  She reached for the door to the laundry room. Inside was Aphrodite’s travel case. She picked it up and held it to her chest like a shield.

  He stepped closer, his movements cautious as though she was the cat he wanted to trap.

  “You’re right. You don’t make sense with the person I was. That person liked it easy. Easy life. Easy love. Easy marriage. All of it was easy. You are hard. You are like the Mount Everest of love. But I need you like I need sobriety. That’s hard, too. But it’s made me a better person. You make me a better man. It’s so clear to me. And what upsets me is that the only thing preventing you from seeing it, too, is your damn insecurities.”

  “My damn insecurities stem from a lifetime of people leaving me. Why do I want to give you a chance to be the next in line? You say that I’m hard and that’s what you need. But you won’t say that a year from now. A year from now I’ll still be hard, but you’ll be tired of me. I know it.”

  “A year from now I’ll only know you more. A year from now I’ll want to know you even more than that. Camille, I will never tire of you.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t believe him. There was nothing in her life that made having faith in him a sensible decision. “I need to go.”

  “Okay.” He raised his hands and took a few steps back. “I’ve done this dance with you before. I get it. I come on a little strong—”

  “You kept calling this place home,” she accused him. “Like we lived here together. Like we were a family.”

  “I’m not going to lie. I want that for us. But I can wait. We can take it slow. We can go back to dating. I’ll let you throw water in my face any time you want.”

  He was trying to make a joke. To lighten the mood. But it wasn’t funny. That date, when she tried so hard to make it work, was nothing more than a symbol of her failure.

  “I wish I was braver. I really do. But I’m not.”

  As if Aphrodite knew it was time to make a strategic exit she came right to Camille. A little persuasion and she had her locked in the travel case.

  Wyatt hadn’t responded to her last words. He stood in the living room with his hands in pockets. Not moving, head down.

  But he didn’t look defeated. He looked as if he was planning the next salvo. She needed to get out now, before he could fire it.

  “I’ll see you at the hospital,” she said softly. She would do everything she could to avoid him. She would try not to speak to him for a while. But someday in the future, when he’d moved on, maybe they could go back to what they had been before all of this started. Acquaintances.

  Wyatt listened to the sound of the door closing behind her and thought about shouting. Did real men shout? Not like a squeal or a crying shout. More like a caveman grunt that exclaimed to the world that his woman was causing him grief. That’s what he wanted to do.

  He threw himself down on the couch and thought about the look on her face when she left. He’d never seen anyone so frightened in his life. How did an intelligent woman fear so much what most of the world took for granted? He’d known she had issues, but he’d never truly understood how thick and heavy the wall around her heart was.

  Because the two times he’d made love to her, there were no defenses. She’d been so open to him, so accepting. Had he mistaken those moments? Read into them more than there was?

>   Maybe she didn’t love him. Maybe she liked having sex with him, but that was all she wanted.

  That sucked.

  He felt bereft and it was such a strange thing. There was no more action for him to take. Nothing he could use to stay in Camille’s world. The events of the past week were abruptly over. She didn’t need his protection. She didn’t need any more favors from him. There would be no more bargains. And she wouldn’t accept his love.

  Hell, she wouldn’t even accept a date.

  Which left him…with failure.

  Standing, he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the door of the refrigerator and found the nearly full bottle of white wine he’d bought for her. He’d coaxed a glass into her to calm her after the near-accident, but the bottle was still almost full.

  He pulled it out and eyed it. He hadn’t touched a drop in five years, so there was plenty left in this bottle to do the job. Drunk, he would stop thinking about her. Drunk, he would think only about staying drunk.

  Booze made him forget. It had always worked that way. The truth would creep up on him, want to take over, and a glass or two or three or four would drown it out. And he wouldn’t have to listen to it until the next time.

  So what was the truth? She didn’t love him? She couldn’t love him? Did it matter?

  The result was the same. He was alone and the woman he couldn’t seem to stop wanting was so far out of his reach that he was standing here looking at a bottle of wine.

  Disgusted, Wyatt pulled the cork out and emptied the contents of it into the sink. He wanted to call her up and yell at her if only to tell her how much her stubbornness upset him. She’d almost driven him to drink. Camille.

  Staring around his now empty town house he thought about the next step. As a recovering alcoholic he’d always been about the steps. They made things simple, clear cut. Do one then the other.

  Now he was on another precipice and it was time to figure out what came next. Step one: he could listen to her. Conclude, as she had, that she wasn’t capable of a relationship because of the issues in her past. Step two: he could focus on his work, dedicate himself to the clinic until he forgot why having a life was important. Step three: he could start dating other women if work no longer became enough.