"But they both could get jobs somewhere else, right? They don't have records or anything."
Melody adjusted the hood over Rose's curls. "Aren't you cute?"
Joe started. She was talking to the kid. Wasn't she?
Melody stood with Rose on her hip. "Lucy used to run with the Conquistas. She showed me her tattoo once. But I don't think she was ever arrested."
The Conquistas were a girl gang. Joe couldn't remember if they were into drugs or not. Mike would know.
They hurried through the rain, Melody burdened by her daughter, Joe hampered by the stroller and his ankle.
"This is mine," he said, stopping beside the Range Rover.
"Nice," approved Melody. "Do you have a car seat?"
The rain dripped down. Joe stared at her blankly. He'd never thought of that.
"Guess not," Melody said. "Oh, well. Thanks for the offer."
The wind blew, and the rain came down harder, colder, than before.
Joe unlocked the SUV's doors. "Get in the back. I'll go slow."
"I don't know…"
He grabbed the stroller and stowed it in the trunk. Melody ducked into the back seat as rain pelted the roof.
"All set?" Joe asked, bending to look in on them.
Melody tightened her daughter's seat belt. "I guess. You don't have any kids, do you?"
A year—six months—two weeks ago, he would have shuddered at the thought. Anyone he worked with would have laughed.
"Do I look like I have kids?"
"Well, I don't know," Melody said, settling comfortably against the black leather seat and putting an arm around her daughter. "You're the right age."
She meant old.
Joe closed the rear door with an audible snap and got behind the wheel.
"Just for the record," he said to the rearview mirror, "I do not have kids."
Melody nodded, undeterred. "Ever married?"
"No." That sounded too bald. Defensive. "In my job, I travel a lot. At least, I used to."
"That's probably why you can afford such a nice car." With a little sigh, the office manager leaned back against the head rest. "Jim—Dr. Fletcher—drives a Subaru."
Joe's wiper blades beat against the rain. "I thought doctors all drove Mercedes."
"His first wife drives the Mercedes. His second wife drives a Porsche."
"Tough on a guy," Joe said dryly.
Melody straightened. "Turn right up there. Fourth building on the left. And it is tough," she said. "He can't afford to have any kind of relationship now, you know?"
Joe turned the corner, wondering how much Fletcher had exaggerated his financial hardships to keep the starry-eyed office manager at bay.
Unless he hadn't.
Unless Dr. Kildare really was strapped for cash. In which case, the ex-wives weren't an excuse. They could be a motive.
Joe double-parked in front of Melody's dilapidated apartment block. What if the doctor was supplementing his income with a little judicious prescription fraud?
And what if Joe only wanted the guy to be guilty because he was sober, successful and whole?
Nell didn't like doctors, he reminded himself as he unloaded the stroller from the back and limped up the walk in the rain. She liked him. She'd had sex with him. That proved it. A woman like Nell didn't crawl on top of a man unless there was something between them. Lust, yeah, sure, but liking, too. Affection. Respect. Trust.
Joe thought of Nell's determination to handle everything on her own, and his gut tightened.
Unless he was another one of her ducks. Not just lame, but crippled.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Billie crossed her arms in the doorway to Nell's office. "If I'd had thirty-six hours to play house with Joe Reilly, I'd be smiling."
Nell looked up from the stacks of paper spawned by her absence. She didn't feel like smiling.
"We didn't play house," she said, dismissing the memories of Joe, heating her soup. Joe, pouring her coffee. Joe, hot and hard under her and inside her, straining together as the light streaked beneath her window shade. "He took me home, he made sure I was okay, and he left before you and Detective Ward came over."
Billie raised her eyebrows. "And he never came back to tuck you into bed?"
Nell moved a stack of glossy drug-company brochures to a corner of her desk. "Nope."
"No?"
"No." Nell bit out the word. "I told him to leave, and he left."
Billie shook her head. She'd bleached her hair again, short, fuzzy, dandelion yellow. "Honey, that concussion scrambled your brain. You don't send a man like that packing."
Nell's temples throbbed, her scalp ached and there was a too familiar emptiness around her heart. Maybe her friend was right. But admitting it didn't help at all.
"Billie, we're in the middle of a felony investigation. Detective Ward took over my office this morning to question my staff. I'm behind on my paperwork, and my afternoon appointments start in five minutes. This is a really bad time for me to be thinking of starting anything with anybody. Even Joe Reilly."
Especially Joe Reilly, who made her feel … too much.
Billie sniffed. "Fine. But before you blow the man off entirely, you might take a look at the paper."
"I've seen the paper," Nell said wearily. "That article's been plastered up by the flow board for over a week."
"'Delivering Hope'? That was pretty sweet."
It was more than sweet, Nell thought. It was proof Joe was not the burned-out cynic he made himself out to be. His idealism might be tarnished, but his values shone in every word he wrote.
I'm offering to stay, he'd said, his blue eyes wary. I'm offering to help.
It wasn't his fault she wanted more.
"But I meant today's paper," Billie continued.
"What are you talking about?"
"The article in the paper. Front page. Didn't you see it?"
Nell shook her head dumbly.
"Melody brought it in. I didn't read the whole thing. There was a bunch about unemployment benefits and medical insurance and I don't know what all. But there was a lot about the clinic patients and a real nice bit on you. That's why I thought you two might be, like, involved."
Nell was nearly breathless with hope and distress. He'd written about her in the paper?
"He probably just needed a hook for his story," she said, getting up from her desk.
Billie shrugged. "Whatever. He sure made us look good, though. Bet we see some more donations."
Nell clutched the stethoscope around her neck.
"Hey, I thought you'd be happy," Billie said.
"I am. It's just…"
He'd never told her. Oh, she knew Joe's editor had asked him to write a series on health insurance. But he hadn't told her he was writing about her. He hadn't told her he'd made it back on the front page. They'd swapped body fluids, but he hadn't shared a bit of himself.
And yet he'd given her exactly the kind of media attention she wanted and her bottom line needed.
Her stomach churned. Her head throbbed.
Billie frowned. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Nell said brightly. "Never better."
She grabbed her clipboard and went in search of her two o'clock appointment.
Maybe if she kept moving, she wouldn't notice she wasn't getting anywhere.
"Congratulations," Nell greeted Joe when he opened his front door. "You made page one."
He squinted at her, confused, and so damn glad to see her that for about five seconds or so he could overlook the strain behind her smile and the shadows that lay like bruises under her eyes. He bet she'd put in a full day at work, damn it. She should be home in bed.
Nell in bed. Great idea. Bad move.
He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing her and demanded, "What are you doing here? You look like hell."
Her bright smile slipped. She glared back at him. "So I'll never get asked to do a testimonia
l for Cover Girl. Are you going to invite me in?"
He stepped back to admit her over the threshold. She must have come directly from the clinic. She was wearing the neat slacks and tidy blouse he thought of as her uniform, and in her hands she carried…
"What's in the bag?"
"I brought dinner." She held it up for his inspection. "To celebrate your return to the front page."
He eyed her warily. Dinner, fine. But something wasn't right. Her shoulders were stiff beneath her martial red cloak, and her tone was warm and false as hell.
"Below the fold," he pointed out. "On a slow news day."
"Still, you must be pleased."
He took the bag from her and headed back to the kitchen. "Actually, I hoped you would be pleased."
"With the publicity? I am. It's wonderful. Thank you," she said, the way you thanked the dentist after a root canal.
Joe's mouth quirked. So much for his little fantasy in which Nell, overcome with gratitude, begged him to spend the night with her. The whole night, and none of this thanks-for-sex-and-I-can-handle-the-rest-myself stuff the next morning, either.
He put on the kettle for tea. "Did you read it?" he asked.
"Of course. It's very good." She was here. She was saying all the right things. So why did he feel cheated? "Did you see the quote?"
He'd quoted her, right after his demographic breakdown on the percentage of the city's population that didn't have health insurance.
"It's not about statistics," said Eleanor Dolan, director of the Ark Street Free Clinic. The clinic provides both quality medical care and a sense of dignity to those it serves. "My patients aren't numbers. They're people."
Nell nodded, perching on a bar stool pulled up to the island. Joe liked his kitchen, a big, old-fashioned room with oak cabinets and a hardwood floor. He wondered if Nell noticed. And why he cared.
"I never expected that remark to make the front page of the paper," she said.
"It was a great line."
Her gaze slid sideways. "Is that why you used it?"
"I used it because I thought it would do the clinic some good." He dropped two tea bags into mugs. "I figured it might do you some good, too."
"We got a nice bump in donations from your article about the Massouds."
"You'll see more this time," he promised. "A couple of checks already came in, in care of the paper. Somebody even dropped off a huge wad of cash in an envelope. My editor was impressed."
"I am, too."
"Money is good. Especially if it's a gauge of your public support."
At last he'd shaken her polite, bright facade. "Is that why you did it? To support me?"
He shrugged. "Can't hurt to let that detective see who he's dealing with."
"Joe." Her eyes were troubled. "This isn't your fight."
His gut hollowed. She couldn't have made it more clear that she didn't need him. That she didn't want him.
"It's my job," he persisted stubbornly, "to write the truth."
She blinked at him. She still didn't get it.
The kettle whistled. He lowered the heat under it and turned to face her.
"I didn't do you any favors," Joe said. "I write what I see. And what I see when I look at you is hope. Commitment. Compassion. I watch the way you take responsibility for everyone and everything around you, and I can see that you care. You care for the losers and the lame ducks and the people who need a second chance or who never had that much of a shot to begin with. You care so much, you even make me care. Which kind of pisses me off, but there it is."
She reached across the island and touched his arm. "Joe…"
"Let me finish." He took a breath, trying not to be distracted by her touch. "So if you don't like me getting involved, tough. Get over it. Just because your ex was a creep and you're working with a crook does not mean you have to lie down for the investigating detective."
"Okay," Nell said. She was smiling.
"That's it? 'Okay'?"
She nodded.
"Why?" he demanded. "I mean, I don't want to screw myself over here, Dolan, but that was not me at my most charming and persuasive."
"That was why," Nell said simply. "I don't think you'd be that rude if you weren't sincere."
Her perception made him squirm. But she was right. She did challenge his detachment. She blew his cool. Being around her made it difficult to play his usual glib, defensive self. Which meant he had years of being tongue-tied and inarticulate to look forward to.
The thought didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have.
Joe believed in her. He believed her.
Nell hugged her new knowledge to herself as they sat on his standard bachelor-issue, black leather couch and ate Chinese food out of cartons. Her legs were curled under her. His ankle was propped on the coffee table.
Her dinner ploy had worked. She was in charge of her own destiny, in control of the situation. "Is there any garlic shrimp left?" she asked.
"Sure. Pass me the sesame beef."
They swapped little white boxes, and in that moment Nell was almost completely happy.
So what if Joe hadn't made a private declaration of love? A public declaration of faith was equally moving and almost as good. She would settle for that.
He dug into the carton with his chopsticks. She noticed he handled them easily, even the cheap disposable kind the restaurant had packed in with their order.
Joe Reilly, man of the world. The thought impressed and depressed her at the same time.
"So, how did your interview with Detective Ken go?" he asked.
Nell swallowed. "His name is Kevin. Kevin Ward."
"He looks like a Ken doll."
She smiled. He did: slick suit, stiff hair, plastic smile. "Well…" She sobered, remembering the detective's pointed questions and obvious disbelief. "He hasn't arrested me yet."
Joe's chopsticks lifted. "Is he planning to?"
"He'd like to. I think the only thing stopping him is the fact that none of the pharmacists who filled the prescriptions could identify my photo. In fact, two of them insisted the drugs were picked up by a black male in his late twenties or early thirties. So even though my name is on the prescriptions, there's nothing connecting me with the drugs on the other end."
Joe nodded. "Ward needs to find the money."
"I don't have any money."
"Not in the bank, maybe. But drug deals are cash transactions. Ward's going to look for any discrepancies in your cash flow. Unusual windfalls? Big purchases? Expensive habits?"
She thought. "I don't have anything like that."
"Who does?"
"Excuse me?"
"Somebody—probably somebody you work with, since whoever it is had access to your prescription pad and the clinic patient list—is profiting from the sale of those drugs on the street. I don't know the scope of the diversion, but if Mike is right and they've notified the DEA, they're going to expect big money somewhere."
"It hasn't been going on that long," Nell protested.
"Then think. Who needs money now? Or has money all of a sudden?"
Her contentment leaked away like the brown sauce in the bottom of the carton. "I don't want to talk about it. I haven't even let myself think about it much."
"You have to have some ideas."
"All right, yes, I do," she said, irritated with him for making her admit it. It felt like a betrayal, a shift in alliances, her-and-Joe when it had been her-and-the-clinic, and she wasn't ready for it. "That doesn't mean I have to act on them."
"Not admitting the problem doesn't make it go away," Joe said quietly.
Nell knew that. She had experience of that with Richard. And she resented Joe for pointing it out.
"You're not doing this person any favors by keeping quiet," he said.
"I don't know anything," she insisted.
"But you suspect."
Doubt and indecision ripped at her. "I don't know," she repeated. "I can't function if I go around suspecting everyon
e."
"You can't function if you're arrested, either. Who do you think might have done it?"
Nell set her open carton of shrimp on the coffee table. She wasn't hungry anymore.
"You have a responsibility here," Joe said. "A legal, moral responsibility to report someone you suspect of diverting drugs."
"I have a responsibility to the people who work with me, too," Nell said. "What if this person isn't doing it for the money?"
"You mean, stealing for personal use?"
She nodded, eager to convince him. Desperate to convince herself. "What if—this person—needs counseling? Treatment. Siccing the law on him might be the worst thing I could do. He might never recover."
"Ignore he has a problem, and I can guarantee he won't recover."
With her mind, Nell accepted what Joe was saying. But her heart panicked and retreated from the precipice he was leading her to.
"I don't want to go to the police," she blurted.
"We could go together."
She shook her head.
"You need to confront this guy with his problem. If nothing else, give him a chance to defend himself."
The chasm yawned wider at her feet. Her head pounded. Her throat ached. "I don't know if I can."
"Sure you can," said Joe. His tone was easy, but his gaze was sharp on her face. "You don't back down from anything."
"I did before." To her horror, she felt tears well in her eyes. "I never confronted Richard when I first thought he might be using drugs. It was my fault he didn't get the help he needed."
"Bull," Joe said.
"It's true." She was flailing, falling into a deep, dark hole of responsibility and guilt. "I failed him, and I failed our marriage."
"You kept him from hitting bottom," Joe said. "And, yeah, maybe that was a mistake. Protecting an addict from the consequences of his addiction isn't going to motivate him to change. But that desire to change has to come from inside him. The choice to change is his. You don't have control over that any more than you have the power to cure the addiction."
"Then why should I try to do anything now? I couldn't even help my own husband."
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