The Doctor's Deadly Affair

by Stephanie Doyle

  Step four: he could forget her. Or at the very least, he could push her far enough into his memories that she would be nothing more than a sad regret. A lost chance at something good.

  It was a good plan. She would appreciate it. It was thoughtful, sensible and based entirely on the conclusion that she didn’t return his feelings.

  And he would be damned if he was going to follow through with it.

  He’d called her Mount Everest for a reason. He imagined those who conquered that mountain did so after making a few attempts at it first.

  Which meant he needed some new steps.

  Step one: give her a night to think about it. Step two: she was going to need him at Delia’s funeral. Camille would go, he knew that much about her. It didn’t matter the circumstances around Delia's death, Camille would want to be there. Step three: hold her hand. Because that day, when it came, was going to suck for her, and any comfort he could give her he would.

  Because he loved her.

  Damn it.

  Wyatt tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin and cursed his luck for having to have picked the absolute most messed-up woman on the planet to love. Some things though, a man couldn’t control. He was heading into the living room to strategize his new series of steps when his phone on the countertop caught his attention. He wasn’t surprised that he’d forgotten it this morning, given his preoccupation with the events the night before. He was about to shove it in his pocket when he checked and saw that he had a new message.

  Punching in his security code he listened for a second when the sound of a voice only vaguely familiar came through the speaker.

  “Holladay, it’s Dade.”

  That’s why the voice was off. The broken nose he’d delivered had made Logan sound nasal. Wyatt’s teeth clamped down at the recognition of who he was listening to as the pictures from the CD raced through his mind. He should have broken more than the jerk’s nose. He should have ripped off his—

  “Listen, I was thinking about what you said. Maybe I feel a little guilty. I don’t know. The thing with Camille…I couldn’t get over her not wanting me. I figured that meant she was special. With a scalpel, she was better than I was. I can admit it. I don’t like it, but whatever. Look, that’s not why I’m calling. You asked if there was anyone I was worried about going off the deep end when I left. I know Delia was a problem, but she didn’t worry me nearly as much as Jeff.”

  Jeff? Wyatt couldn’t have heard that right.

  “I told you I liked nurses. I liked all the nurses. I don’t have any sex hang-ups. Men, women, it’s all good to me. But Jeff sort of took things a little too seriously. He was convinced that in my heart I was gay and that we were meant to be together. I ended it with him. Let him know I liked to play it both ways. I even told him I was in love with Camille. That really set him off. He followed me for a while. I’m not going to lie. It made me nervous. It was either leave Physicians’ Memorial or file a restraining order. Anyway, I thought you should know.”

  Wyatt listened to the message two more times, making sure he hadn’t misheard. Logan Dade had hooked up with Jeff and Marie and Delia among others. But it was Delia who was responsible for the deaths. Wasn’t she? Wasn’t that what the note said—that Delia couldn’t handle the idea that Logan didn’t love her?

  She snapped.

  Wyatt understood that. Was he any better? Systematically plotting how he was going to get back into Camille’s life? At least he was certain he wouldn’t kill for her, or drive by her house waiting for—

  A flash of memory clicked. He remembered when he’d gone to Camille’s house to pick her up for the date that eventually ended in her bed. There had been a car parked across the street. He’d waited for the spot to open up.

  A black car. A black car with tinted windows.

  Had that been Delia? Had it been Delia who he chased through the woods that night Camille’s house was broken into?

  Wyatt picked up his cell and hit a button to dial his last received call.

  “Hello?” Logan answered after a few rings.

  “What kind of car does Jeff drive?” Wyatt asked without preamble.

  There was a pause and Wyatt squeezed the phone in his hand as if it was the other man’s neck.

  “What kind of car does he drive?” he repeated slowly, his intent clear.

  “Jeff is sort of a car nut. He likes old American cars. Has a bunch of them. One red, one black—”

  “The black one. Are the windows tinted?”

  “Yeah. He likes to mess around with guys in his car. Turns him on. He tints the windows so no one can see inside.”

  Wyatt hung up the phone, not needing to hear more. Delia hadn’t done it. Delia hadn’t tried to run them down on the streets of Philadelphia. Delia wasn’t the murderer.

  Delia was dead. Jeff wasn’t.

  And Camille was a sitting duck.

  Chapter 17

  Her cell phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Given everything that had happened it wasn’t as though Camille could ignore it. But when she saw the same name appear she tossed it into her purse.

  “He’s not giving up, Aphrodite.”

  Camille wished she could believe that her pet was offering moral support with her meow, but she knew the cat just wanted out of her cage.

  Maybe Wyatt was going to turn out to be another Delia. What if he pursued her even against her wishes? As soon as Camille thought it, she knew it wouldn’t be true. Wyatt was stubborn, but he wasn’t a stalker. If she said no to him enough, eventually he would move on. Forget her. Put her firmly in his past.

  Darn it.

  Camille pulled up to her house and turned into the driveway. She ignored the insistent ringing of her phone and instead focused on getting an angry Aphrodite out of the car and into the house where she could release her.

  She stopped when she saw Jeff get out of his car parked across the street. It was one of those cars that looked like it came out of a James Dean movie. Red, with racing stripes across the side.

  “Dr. Larson,” he said, jogging up to her. “I heard about Delia. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “I know.” He took the carrier from her as she made her way to her front door. Part of her, the suspicious part of her that had developed over the last few days, wondered why he felt the need to come to her house. Her address wasn’t a secret, but still, Jeff had never contacted her for any reason outside of work.

  She opened the door and took Aphrodite from him.

  “I guess I was curious what this meant for you…professionally?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Are you going to stay at Physicians’ Memorial? I know it’s probably crass to ask right now, but you’re one of the best thoracic surgeons. It doesn’t hurt my résumé working with you.”

  Okay, she thought. That was a somewhat legitimate premise for his being here. He wasn’t concerned about Delia or her. He was concerned about his career. Only, he’d made that comment about Dr. Dade being a superior surgeon.

  She glanced over his shoulder at the car he’d driven. The fact that the shape of it was similar to the black car that had nearly run her down made her nervous. But this car wasn’t black, it was red. And Jeff was here to check about her future plans.

  At least that’s what her brain told her. Her gut was screaming something else entirely. She stepped inside and made sure there wasn’t enough room for him to follow. She set Aphrodite down behind her and reached for the door.

  “I really can’t say what my plans are going to be now, Jeff. I need to let this all sink in.”

  “Of course. I understand. I felt like I had to ask you directly.”

  She nodded and smiled. That was all. He wanted to ask his question and see her reaction in person. It was plausible. She was merely unsettled by everything that had happened. Nothing wrong with that either.

  “I can’t see why I would leave,” she offered. “Physicians’ has been like a second home to me.”

/>   “That’s good to hear.”

  With nothing left to say Camille began shutting the door. “Okay. Well, see you around the hospital.”

  His hand gripped the edge of the door hard, his foot blocking where she had tried to shut it. She felt the force of him shoving it hard against her. His strength sent her tumbling backward, tripping over Aphrodite’s cage.

  The cat let out a shriek. Or had Camille done that? All she knew was that it was over in seconds. She was on her butt and Jeff was inside the house, shutting and locking the door behind him. From the back of his shirt, he pulled out a length of rope.

  “No.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Sorry. I thought I could let it end with Delia. Let her take the blame for everything. Walk away from it all. But I couldn’t let you live. Not now. When I had done all this because of you.”

  Camille tried to crawl away from him. Using her hands and heels like a crab she scooted back, but he had the advantage, towering over her as he followed her.

  She flopped around so that she could gain her feet, but as soon as she did, he grabbed her hair, pulling her up against his chest. His arm around her waist was like a vise.

  “Stop this, Jeff. You’re a nurse, you don’t hurt people.”

  He laughed at that. “Doc, I signed up for nursing when I found out they were giving out huge signing bonuses. Plus I like hot doctors. They’re all a little on the edge, if you know what I mean. They think they’re larger than life, and sometimes they are. That’s the only thing about nursing I care about. I don’t give a shit about people. No, that’s not true. I did care about one person. And he dumped me. Because of you.”

  She scrambled in his hold, trying to use her feet to kick at him, but her strength was only a fraction of his. He all but lifted and carried her into the living room.

  Talking. She had to keep him talking. She needed time to think.

  “I didn’t—”

  He grabbed her face in his hand, his fingers crushing her jaw as he turned her around. “I would beat you right now if I could. Beat you so bad that you looked on the outside like I’ve felt this past month. For a month I watched you, waited for that opening to hurt you and anything close to you. You don’t know how badly I want to see you in pain. But I can’t leave any nasty bruises. Except one place.”

  He grabbed her throat and squeezed. The air swooshed out of her. She clawed at the two hands around her neck, but couldn’t budge him.

  “Logan was mine. I knew, despite all the crap he pulled with the women in the hospital, that it was me he wanted. I knew it. But I couldn’t get him to confess. He still had to hide that part of himself in the closet. I hated him for that! As much as I loved him, I hated that he wouldn’t announce to the world that he was mine. That I was his.”

  Camille couldn’t care less about where Jeff’s anger came from as long as the time he was taking to tell her, was time he wasn’t using to kill her. She could still breathe, but only barely. It was like he had complete control over how much pressure to exert to allow her enough air without crushing her larynx.

  She thought about Marie and the sexual asphyxiation and knew instinctively where Logan had picked up such a trick.

  “But no, he said he wouldn’t be with me. He said he was in love. With you.”

  Camille could hear the outrage in his voice.

  “You’re nothing. You’re this mouse with some weird talent for cutting into people. I told Logan he was better than you, told him how easy it would be to discredit you. Filling those syringes with air, sticking their IV hoses, it was so easy. They die, people stop thinking you invented open heart surgery, and Logan comes back. Only that didn’t happen.”

  The lack of air was starting to affect her, she could feel her knees giving out. She dropped and for a second he let go of her throat. Instantly, she searched for something in reach. A candle jar on her coffee table. She grabbed it and swung it at him, hitting him in the face.

  “You bitch!” he screeched as it bounced off his cheek.

  Leaning down he picked her up by the wrist and threw her across the room into her bookcase. She felt her head smack hard against the edge and stars swam in front of her eyes.

  “You’re going to make this harder! The police need to believe you killed yourself. In a fit of guilt, unable to cope with the tragedy you brought on, you followed Delia’s example.”

  “No one will believe that.” Camille mumbled the words, trying desperately to regain her thoughts. She needed a weapon. She had to act. She could see the rope that he planned to use, coiled in a loop on the floor around his feet.

  “Delia said the same before I ended her, but the police will believe whatever you write. I really didn’t want to kill her, but you had to go to the police. They were asking questions of all of us. No, I couldn’t risk it. Someone had to be guilty and she was the most obvious suspect. With her dead, the police will stop looking. I’ll make your letter especially good and then it will really be over. And once you’re dead maybe finally Logan will see the truth. That you were nothing to him. Nothing to the hospital, to surgery. Nothing at all. He’ll have to rethink everything, including our relationship.”

  Camille reached for and found the heaviest book on the shelf. Gray’s Anatomy. She flung it at him, but it bounced off his chest. The power of her throw was nothing against the signs of mania he was exhibiting.

  He reached for her again and she threw everything she had into a punch aimed at his nose. She’d seen how effectively Wyatt had subdued Logan with a single blow. But Jeff saw the move coming. He drew his face back and her fist glanced off the bridge, barely making contact.

  Her attack only seemed to enrage him even more. She felt him grabbing her arm, taking both hands on it, one at her wrist and the other at her elbow. He brought it smashing down on the edge of the coffee table. She wasn’t sure if it was the burst of pain or the sound of the bone cracking that got to her. She felt the edges of her sight go dark first.

  Then everything went black.

  Wyatt hung up the phone. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he knew the calmer he was in this scenario the better. He double-parked his car in front of the red one he knew belonged to Jeff.

  At least that escape route would be cut off to him.

  Wyatt focused on his breathing, even as he carefully and quietly approached the house.

  Jeff was inside with Camille. Jeff was a murderer.

  But Camille wouldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be.

  For one, she’d barely left his place when he’d gotten the message from Logan. He’d chased after her, calling her cell the whole time. If only she had picked up the damn phone. But he couldn’t worry about that now. He could only think in terms of time. He’d done eighty miles an hour through the small town without seeing a police car, although running into a cop on his way wouldn’t have been the worst thing.

  She could have only arrived at her house minutes ago. Jeff couldn’t have killed her in minutes. You didn’t take out a life, destroy a human being, in minutes.

  The part of his brain that shouted to him that Jeff had done exactly that to those patients, he ignored. He needed to know she was alive. Believe she was alive. He made it to the front door. Carefully, he turned the knob and pushed to find it was locked.

  The back door. Jeff had jimmied the lock during his break-in. It would be open, unsecured. Wyatt ran around the house to the rear. He climbed the porch steps and again turned the doorknob. This time it gave easily. Like a man attempting his own break-in, he opened it by degrees. Hearing each slight squeak, he prayed the noise wouldn’t carry through the house.

  He created only as much room as he needed to slide through. Once inside, he moved down the hallway on the balls of his feet, careful not to make any noise. He heard sounds coming from the living room. Heavy lifting. Pushes and grunts. Furniture shifting.

  What he didn’t hear was Camille fighting. What he didn’t hear was Camille.

  Lowering himself, he pr
essed his back against the wall ready to ease his head around the corner and take a look. If Jeff was looking in his direction, it was over and he would attack. If Jeff wasn’t looking in his direction, he would attack and he would have the element of surprise on his side.

  Not known for his fighting skills, Wyatt prayed he was up to taking the physically fit nurse down. Yesterday, he’d had no problem with Logan because he had rage on his side.

  Today, he felt the same rage, but it was combined with desperation.

  She isn’t already dead. She isn’t already dead.

  It was the only thought he allowed himself to have.

  In position he moved so that he could see into the living room. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. From the ceiling fan in the center of the room, Jeff had already hung the rope. He was holding Camille, who seemed to be unconscious, while he pushed her head through the loop at the end. The coffee table had been pulled over and now he set her standing on it so that the rope was slack. But the slightest nudge and she would fall.

  She would hang.

  For a brief second Wyatt allowed himself to think of Delia and what the end must have been like for her. He could only hope she, like Camille, had been unconscious when it happened.

  With all the fury of a man seeing his woman in danger, Wyatt rushed at Jeff. He let out an awful shout and could see the noise startled the nurse who thought he was alone.

  With his shoulder he knocked Jeff away, sending the man sprawling to the floor. Then instantly he reached for Camille. Jeff was nothing. Camille was everything. He grabbed her around the waist as she began to fall off the coffee table. The rope around her neck was holding her up but not strangling her.

  “You fool,” Jeff said as he got to his feet. “I’m going to have to kill you both.”

  With that the front door burst open. Two officers rushed in first, two others behind them.

  Wyatt didn’t blink at their arrival. The hardest, but the smartest, thing he’d done was call the police as soon as he spotted the red car out in front of Camille’s house. His first instinct had been to rush to her rescue, but his second was that he needed backup.