GUILTY SECRETS

by Virginia Kantra

  She arched her eyebrows. "Oh, are we going to sleep tonight?"

  "Funny, Dolan. Now get out of here before I get a ticket for blocking traffic."

  "I know a guy whose brother's on the force. He could probably get you off."

  "Out," Joe ordered.

  Nell's smile lasted until she reached the reception desk and discovered Billie tight-lipped and furious because Jim Fletcher had blown off her nine-year-old nephew's appointment.

  "Did he tell you why?" Nell asked Melody, who had apparently delivered the news.

  The office manager flushed a dull, unbecoming red. "He said he wasn't feeling well this morning."

  Oh, no, honey, Nell thought. Was she covering up for the handsome doctor? Or sleeping with him?

  "All right. Call his patients and see who can be rescheduled. Give his urgent-care appointments to me or Dr. Nguyen. Billie, how is Trevor?"

  "Hurting," Billie said flatly.

  "Another pain episode?"

  "Same one."

  Nell winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to see him?"

  "What good will that do?" Billie snapped, and went to draw a PKU test on a newborn.

  Nell stared after her, stricken.

  "I put a copy of yesterday's deposit slip on your desk," Melody said, covering the awkward moment. "Joe couriered over a big donation somebody dropped off at the paper. You should see."

  "I'll look at it over lunch," Nell promised.

  But she spent her lunchtime writing up notes on her doubled patient load instead. Stanley Vacek was back after lunch, glaring at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows and complaining his new pills made him tired all the time.

  Nell listened, nodded and checked his cholesterol and blood sugar levels.

  "I read in the paper you don't have any money," Vacek said accusingly.

  Since Joe's article appeared, a number of patients had expressed concern about the clinic's future.

  Nell smiled reassuringly. "We're going to be around a long time, Mr. Vacek. And donations are actually up in the past couple of days. Don't you worry about us. Are you experiencing any difficulty breathing?"

  "No."

  "Let's have a listen, anyway," she suggested.

  The flood of patients and paperwork continued unabated through the afternoon. At four o'clock, Nell was trying to explain to a victim of the latest flu strain why antibiotics would not make her feel better when Melody stuck her head in the door.

  "Can I talk to you a second?"

  Nell stepped into the hall. "Can it wait? Because—"

  "Detective Ward is here to see you," said Melody in a rush. "I put him in your office."

  Her anxiety was contagious. "I'll be there as soon as I've finished with Mrs. Chatterjee."

  But when Nell turned the corner to her office a few minutes later, Kevin Ward was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, scanning the papers scattered on her desk. Nell bit back anger. "Can I help you, Detective?"

  The neat-haired Ward pivoted and looked her up and down. "Are you planning to confess?"

  Nell's heart beat faster. "Since I haven't done anything illegal, I can't see how a confession could help you."

  "That was a joke, Ms. Dolan."

  Neither of them laughed.

  "I have a few follow-up questions for you," Ward said, thumbing through his notebook. His gaze sharpened on her face. "If you don't mind."

  A weight descended on Nell's chest, making it difficult to breathe. What could she say? She didn't have anything to hide. Except her suspicions.

  "I don't have much time."

  "Would you prefer to do this at the station? At your convenience, of course."

  It was a threat, pleasantly and professionally delivered.

  Nell shook her head. "I suppose I could take a few minutes."

  Ward smiled. "I appreciate it. What can you tell me about the ten thousand four hundred and thirty-five dollars deposited to your account yesterday afternoon?"

  Her mouth dried. "What?"

  "Ten thousand four hundred and thirty-five dollars," Ward repeated. "Ten thousand in cash. Deposited to your account yesterday afternoon."

  Her mind raced. What had Melody said? I put a copy of yesterday's deposit slip on your desk.

  Nell looked down at the clutter on her desk and up at Ward. "How would you know about donations made to my account, Detective?"

  He smiled. "Plain-view doctrine, Ms. Dolan. But what really caught my eye was today's editorial thanking all the generous people of Chicago who sent donations in care of the paper. Large cash donations. A real windfall for you, isn't it? That kind of money."

  Joe's words came back to her. Drug deals are cash transactions. Ward's going to look for any discrepancies in your cashflow. Unusual windfalls? Big purchases? Expensive habits?

  Nell moistened her lips. "Of course we're happy with the publicity and the donations. But ten thousand dollars isn't all that much."

  Ward raised his eyebrows. "I must be in the wrong line of work. It seems like a lot to me. What would you call a lot of money?"

  "I only meant… It is a lot of money, but we do receive corporate donations and charitable grants in the thousands and tens of thousands. It's not that unusual."

  "And is it usual for those donations to be made anonymously through a third party? Large cash donations just stuffed in an envelope? Without getting a receipt for a tax deduction?"

  She was doing this all wrong, Nell realized, watching Ward's smug, impassive face. She shouldn't be trying to defend herself with logic. She should be indignant, horrified, shocked. She should demand an explanation. Insist on a lawyer. That was what innocent people did.

  But Nell had been through this before. She wasn't shocked. Only deeply afraid.

  Ward planted a hip on a corner of her desk as if he owned it. "Where do you think all that cash came from, Miss Dolan? Can I call you Eleanor?"

  "Nell," she said distractedly. This was awful. He didn't just suspect her of drug fraud. He thought she was laundering money. "I suppose the newspaper article…"

  "Inspired a fit of charity?"

  "Something like that."

  "Or guilt?"

  She raised her chin. "I wouldn't know. Is there a purpose to these questions, Detective?"

  "I just wanted to give you the chance to tell me your side of the story," Ward said. "Any insights, any theories…?"

  He waited long moments while her heart beat drummed in her ears.

  "No?" He stood. "Then I guess that's everything for now. You might not want to plan any trips for a little while."

  He headed for the door.

  Nell forced herself to breathe.

  "Oh, one other thing," Ward said, turning around at the last moment like Columbo. "I reached out to the state licensing board today. You'll be getting a call from them in the morning, but I wanted you to hear this from me. Your DEA authorization is revoked. Pending the results of this investigation, they're suspending your ability to prescribe."

  Not a bad day, Joe thought, rolling a cigarette between his thumb and two fingers. Donations kept coming to the Examiner building for Nell's clinic. He had a lead on a social-services scam that might pan out for a story. And his editor had called him in this afternoon to tell him they were running the last installment of his series on the front page of the Sunday paper.

  No, not a bad day at all.

  Joe grinned and stuck the cigarette back in his pocket. He couldn't wait to tell Nell and see her reaction. Hell, he couldn't wait to see her, period. It was getting to be like a habit with him. Put in a day at the office, pick up Nell and go home.

  Okay, the office bit still left him cold, but the Nell-and-home part worked fine.

  He stopped on the corner by the pawnshop, waiting for a break in the traffic. Maybe he could talk her into packing a bag and spending the weekend at his house. He wanted her to sleep in his bed, to wake in his room, surrounded by things he'd picked up and kept because he liked them. He wanted her to co
me to Sunday dinner, to laugh in the kitchen with his mother and spar across the table with his brothers. He wanted more linking them than his razor in her medicine cabinet or her toothbrush in a cup by his sink.

  The light changed. He stepped from the curb into the street.

  She ought to move in with him. That was the most practical solution. He had the bigger house. She had the knack to make it home. He needed her to make it home.

  But did she need him?

  The lights above the clinic entrance were on, but the front windows were dark. Joe rapped on the glass. Nell came from the back, a pale shadow in a white lab coat, and unlocked the dead bolt. She opened the door, and he felt his day twist and right itself with her as its center.

  "How do you feel about Indian?" he asked. "There's a place on Devon does great chicken vindaloo."

  Nell held on to the door as if she'd fall down if she let go. "I can't tonight. I'm sorry. I should have called."

  The back of Joe's neck prickled. "What's the matter?"

  Nell's eyes were as wide and blank as a doll's. "I have things I have to do." Her voice trembled.

  "Fine," Joe said easily. He stuck his foot over the threshold. "I'll wait."

  "I have to clean out my desk."

  It sounded like one of those ridiculous excuses a woman used when she didn't want to see you anymore. "I have to wash my hair." "Walk my dog." "Clean out my sock drawer."

  Only Nell wasn't joking and Joe wasn't laughing.

  "It's the weekend, babe. Can't it wait till you get back on Monday?"

  "I'm not coming back."

  He took his hands out of his pockets. "What are you talking about?"

  She drew a painful breath. "The donations… Detective Ward thinks I'm using donations to the clinic as a way of hiding money I made dealing drugs."

  Son of a bitch. "Did he charge you with anything?"

  "He notified DPR."

  Not good. She was still on probation, implicated in her user husband's drug fraud.

  Joe came inside and shut the door firmly behind him. "Did they yank your license?"

  She flinched. "They revoked my DEA authorization."

  He was badgering her with rapid-fire interview techniques, using his reporter's logic and need to know to hold panic at bay. He knew it, knew it wasn't what she needed, and yet he couldn't seem to stop.

  "What does that mean?"

  Nell swallowed. "It means I can't prescribe medicine for my patients anymore. I can't do my job."

  "Wait. You have nurses working for you who can't prescribe medications, right?"

  "Two salaried nurses who are part of medical teams with volunteer doctors," Nell said precisely. "But there has to be one full-time member of the staff who can work autonomously."

  He got that. But…

  "You could hire a doctor. Or another nurse practitioner. Just until you're cleared."

  Her eyes were bleak. "And how long will that take? How much damage will the scandal do in the meantime?"

  "What scandal? Who has to know? I'm not going to write about it."

  "Even if it's news?"

  Her question stopped him like a cane cracked across his shins. If the story broke, if his editor asked him to follow it, would he?

  Nell looked away. "Anyway, you're not the only paper in town."

  "You're making this bigger than it has to be," Joe argued desperately.

  "The board of directors is making it bigger." He shot her a disbelieving look. "Ward called them," she explained.

  Interfering bastard.

  "Why?"

  "The suggestion was made it would be best for the clinic if I resign."

  "Screw that," said Joe. "They can't touch you. They can't fire you without probable cause, and if they do, they've got the kind of scandal they're trying to avoid."

  "But I've lost their support. My ability to do my job is compromised. And I'm still under investigation for drag diversion and prescription fraud."

  "You'll fight that," Joe said. "You'll beat that."

  "I am tired of fighting," Nell said.

  It was like hearing Joan of Arc say she didn't feel like storming any castles today. It was like learning there wasn't any Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus. Her abdication frightened Joe more than the case against her.

  "Sure, you're tired," Joe said. "That doesn't mean you resign."

  "For the good of the clinic," Nell said.

  "You are good for the clinic. You are the clinic. You're its force. You're its heart. Everyone who works here knows it."

  "Someone who works here is stealing drugs and trying to pin the blame on me."

  And that betrayal, Joe guessed, cut as deeply as anything else. No wonder she felt beat. Anger licked through him at the person who could do this to her.

  "You have to trust to the police to figure that out. My brother, Dietz, even Ward. Let the pros do their job."

  "This from a man who won't trust his own doctors?"

  Joe set his jaw. Even down, even defeated, Nell was dangerous at close quarters. "I'm just saying you can't let what happened in the past keep you from making a difference here. You can't let fear stop you from doing the work you love. Work that makes a difference to this neighborhood. To this city."

  Nell's face was white. Her eyes narrowed. "You're letting your fears keep you from making a difference in the world by doing the work you love. Why do I have to be wiser or stronger, more hopeful or more determined than you are?"

  "Because…" At a loss for words to tell her what her staunch idealism, her passion and compassion meant to him, he opened his arms wide. "You just are."

  "No. I'm not."

  "I never thought you were a quitter," he goaded her.

  Her head snapped back. "And I never thought you were a hypocrite. But I don't have to listen to you."

  Her accusation hit him like mortar fire, stinging, numbing, debilitating.

  "You got that right," Joe said, and walked out.

  Nell watched him stride away down the street, one shoulder slightly higher than the other because of his limp, and something broke inside her. Her eyes burned. She blinked.

  It was too much, their fight on top of everything else, and it was her fault, she was partly responsible, saying those horrible things to him when he was only telling her what she knew. She had to fight. Only she was so tired of fighting.

  She was pretty sick of taking responsibility, too.

  Joe never looked back.

  Her tears fell. She turned out the lights and shuffled back to her office, misery dragging her steps and burning in her chest. Her credibility with the state licensing board was down the tubes. Her career was in the toilet. Everything she had struggled to build or accomplish in the past two years was about to be flushed away, and no one believed or supported her.

  Joe had, a tiny voice reminded her.

  She pushed the thought away, hugging her grievance and self-pity tight.

  No, he hadn't. She had needed his comfort and understanding, and he had battered her with questions. Plied her with solutions. Pushed her to think and act when she wanted to scream and cry. She couldn't be what he wanted.

  Nell sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands. She wasn't strong enough. She wasn't good enough.

  She closed her eyes. Tears seeped under her lashes.

  She was still sitting, sandbagged, when she heard a noise from the front. A click. A scrape. For one second, she thought Joe, and wild hope expanded her chest.

  But of course it wasn't Joe. She'd pushed Joe away. Whoever it was was already inside, and Joe didn't have a key.

  Alone in her office, Nell wiped hastily at her eyes. She had locked the door, hadn't she?

  It could be Melody. The office manager had a key. Or the cleaning service. The timing was right. But some instinct, some caution kept Nell from calling out. She pushed to her feet. Were those voices? Her heartbeat quickened.

  Instead of taking the hall to the waiting room, she went the other way, past the nur
ses' station, through the office area, to the patient registration desk.

  It was dark, but she could still see Billie. Billie had a key. There were two men with her. Strangers. Patients?

  But Nell knew they were not. Her stomach rose to her throat. She looked down for the panic button.

  They saw her behind the counter and stopped.

  One of the men, a dark bandana tied over his hair, turned his head toward Billie and growled, "You said nobody would be here."

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  He'd tried to help her, and she'd called him a hypocrite.

  Joe hunched his shoulders, shoving his hands deep in his jacket pockets. Damn it, he was no good at this. He should never have gotten involved. If he hadn't featured Nell in that article, she wouldn't have been hit with those donations. Ward wouldn't suspect her of hiding drug money, and the licensing board would have left her alone.

  His feet pounded the pavement, jarring his bones, punishing his ankle. He'd screwed up. No wonder she was angry.

  He didn't blame her for feeling tired and discouraged. He could forgive her for speaking out of frustration and fear. What he couldn't forgive—or forget, either, Christ, he would never forget the look on her face—was her being right. Right about him.

  His abused ankle let him down as he stepped off the curb. He stumbled.

  You're letting your fears keep you from making a difference in the world. Keep you from doing the work you love.

  Joe raised his head. He was almost at Flynn's. The beer signs in the window glowed like a promise in the dark.

  Damn right he was afraid. Not of the surgery itself but of its aftermath.

  He was afraid of losing himself again in a fog of pills and booze.

  He was afraid of losing Nell. Of disappointing her.

  But most of all, he was afraid of failing her.

  She wouldn't listen to him. She wouldn't let him help.

  Joe stopped on the sidewalk in front of the bar. Which left him, really, with only one option.

  Nell hated being afraid. Hated being vulnerable. She really hated being out of control.

  She took a deep breath and shifted toward the panic button under the counter, trying not to provoke a reaction. "Billie? What's going on?"