Wounds That Won’t Heal

by Calle J. Brookes

  Something Finley was always hinting that he needed. She’d told him he had personality issues. Rafe agreed with her at times, but he didn’t give a damn.

  He was there to run a hospital—not cozy up to the staff.

  As long as the staff did their jobs he didn’t care. “See that the celebrity status doesn’t interfere with the work. If she’s as good at her job as you said, FCGH is happy to have her back.”

  “You really need to make an effort, Dr. Holden-Deane. You’re starting to get a real reputation around here. Don’t make things difficult for yourself. Make nice with Jilly. You might actually like her. She’s always been a real sweetheart. Patients just love her and she’s a hard worker. The nursing staff already listens when she talks. She’d be a good ally to have on your side around here.”

  He just grunted. He hated organizational politics, and a hospital was drenched in just that.

  He heard about fifteen mentions of the woman’s name between arrival and his lunch break. Yet he’d not gotten a glimpse of her anywhere.

  Of course, he hadn’t been looking.

  The tuna sandwich was a bit dry—he hadn’t addressed the food in the cafe yet—but it was food. He might eventually contract it out to some company or another, but that would be at a later date. And depend on the numbers.

  He finished at his customary table near the door. He’d just balled up his wrapper when she came in.

  That Beck woman from the day before.

  He almost didn’t recognize her at first. The red hair was what gave her away. It was such a distinctive color. She had it in a simple French braid down her back, and the scrubs she wore were soft mint green with FCGH Emergency printed on them.

  She smiled shyly up at the doctor walking next to her. She shook her head no. Dr. Jacobson’s disappointment was easy to see. Rafe snorted. Allen Jacobson was always on the prowl. A pretty nurse like her was prime bait for a man like Jacobson.

  People called her name—lots of them.

  She looked around like she was a deer trapped on the highway in front of a semi. Jacobson wrapped a hand around her arm and led her to a side table, almost hovering over her. Protective? Or merely possessive?

  He knew Jacobson; the guy went after anything pretty in a pair of scrubs, and then discarded right after. Nurses were his favorite targets, but the latest flavor was a brunette tech in the hospital’s in-house pharmacy.

  Did the oh-so-sweet darling of FCGH know that?

  Rafe bit back a snort.

  Her sister had said she didn’t date doctors. That they weren’t her type. Nurses like Jillian Beck—young, sexy, available—they would always be some doctors’ types. Always.

  Rafe had seen it before. Did the sister know about Jacobson? He watched them for a long moment.

  Jacobson towered over her—and had barely looked away from her from the moment they’d walked in. Like he was proud to be with her.

  Rafe remembered Jacobson from his undergraduate days at FCU. They’d known each other reasonably well, though Jacobson had actually been in Rafe’s oldest brother’s graduating class.

  And why in the hell did Rafe give a damn?

  He grabbed a second cup of coffee, merely to study her.

  Jacobson was pushing. She obviously wasn’t comfortable with whatever the man was selling; Rafe didn’t understand why she was staying with him.

  What had Fin said? Something about the girl almost being killed a few months ago. It would explain some of the fear that had been in her eyes.

  When she glanced around the room, those eyes told their own story. Jacobson was the lesser of all evils for her right then.

  Rafe got that. Sometimes you were better off with the devils you know. He forced the compassion aside. She wasn’t his problem.

  Jillian Beck was a grown woman—if she didn’t want to be in the damned cafeteria she could walk out.

  That was exactly what he did.

  * * *

  Rafe tried not to let his irritation with Allen Jacobson show when he ran into the man just outside the Surgical Trauma department. Jacobson was a damned fine surgeon.

  “Jacobson.”

  “Dr. Holden-Deane, settling in?” The two had known each other for years, but Allen was a closer friend with Rafe’s brother Marcus. Rafe didn’t have many connections with those from his past. The few friends he’d had when he’d lived in Finley Creek before had drifted away while he was in Africa.

  Rafe preferred it that way. The only real connections he wanted in his life right now were his two brothers, his young niece and his nephew.

  He’d heard another mention of that redhead’s name on his way down the hall. This time two orderlies were talking about her—and it hadn’t been gentlemanly in the least what they were saying.

  It had boiled his temper, and Rafe had made it clear that type of conversation was not to take place on hospital time—or property.

  “Just so. I have some questions for you.”

  “On?”

  “Solpalmitraln and Virat Patel’s paper.” He went on to name the medical journal where the article had first appeared. “And I’m starting to get reports of adverse side effects.”

  “I’m not aware of any. And Virat’s paper was just speculation. It needed further research. I’d hate to see the hospital lose funding from Claireson because of speculation.”

  Hell, so would Rafe. But patients came before money. Always.

  And that was the reputation he wanted for FCGH.

  He asked Allen a few more questions, then let the man go.

  Nothing in Allen’s answers or mannerisms told Rafe the man doubted his own words. To Allen Jacobson, Solpalmitraln was doing the job that it was supposed to.

  Whatever was going on with Solpalmitraln, Allen Jacobson—head of the department where it was most used—hadn’t noticed yet.

  It gave Rafe something to think about.

  4

  Jillian grabbed her bag and stepped toward the door. If she was lucky, she could slip out the back entrance and get to her car in the parking garage without anyone seeing her.

  If she had to talk to one more person, she’d probably scream. Just scream.

  Jillian was halfway across the parking garage when a man stepped out from behind a newer model black Mercedes.

  The small scream escaped her before she could stop it.

  “Well, if it isn’t our resident heroine.”

  The man, tall and huge compared to her, walked closer. Jillian looked behind her, ready to run. She should have stayed inside and waited for Ray the night guard to walk her out.

  “I didn’t realize you worked here or I would have introduced myself a bit differently in your rose garden the other day.”

  As he stepped under the security light, Jillian got a better look at him.

  Her tension doubled—but the fear lessened. Some. Him. Just her luck. “Dr. Holden-Deane. I guess you work here, too.”

  Damn, damn, damn.

  “You might say that. I took Lanning’s place as Chief of Medicine. Hello, Nurse Jillian. I’ve heard great things about you. Hope you’ll live up to your reputation.” His smile was downright frightening. Beautiful, but frightening.

  And just like his older half-brother’s. Luc smiled just like that—when he was angry. When he was about to eat someone for lunch. Jillian shivered again.

  “I see. Well, congratulations. I hope you’ll be happy at FCGH.” She was shaking and she forced herself to calm down. To gain control. Just two colleagues in a parking garage together. Late at night. Technically, he was her best friend’s brother. Even if he didn’t claim that. Still, she was alone in the parking garage where her other best friend had almost died...

  Lacy had been beaten bloody right over there on Doctor’s Row. The breeze picked up and it blew through the open sides of the parking garage. Jillian shivered.

  She hated being in the parking garage this late at night. And she always would.

  Alone with a man who was at least six-foot-six
and outweighed her by two hundred pounds. She wouldn’t be so stupid again. From now on, she was either getting a ride with her father or taking a taxi. Or calling for the company car that her sister Mel was always hounding her to use. Mel said Houghton wanted her and Syd safe—the car was there for that very purpose.

  It was just safer that way. Jillian took a step back, wanting to put a bit of distance between them. Except he was right next to her twenty-five-year-old BMW. Damn karma again.

  “You should have had Security walk you to your car.”

  “That’s not part of their job description.” And when several of the nurses and female physicians had asked about that, Lanning had shot the very idea down quickly. And fired one of the security guards to save money.

  Not a great response to a legitimate security concern.

  “It will be first thing tomorrow. Don’t you know you shouldn’t come out here alone? This isn’t exactly the best of neighborhoods.” He stepped closer, not exactly into her space but far too close for her peace of mind. Jillian just watched him, like she would a rattler.

  “There’s not a whole lot of people in this staff parking garage at this time of night.” And it was dark and frightening and she hated it out here.

  “No. There isn’t. I had a meeting, or I’d have been gone hours ago.” He glowered at her.

  Why was he looking at her like that? Because of that letter? Or was he just an asshole, no matter what?

  No surprise there. The last two Chiefs of Medicine had been, too. Dr. Daniels—the guy who had been the COM before Lanning—had had grabby hands, and a taste for hookers. He had had difficulty separating hookers from nurses. Or residents. She and Lacy had both had run-ins with him, but he’d gone way too far with their friend Annie. Lacy and Allen had rescued Annie in the nick of time.

  He’d get out of jail about the time Jillian was old enough to retire. Lanning had been a total ass—he still was, according to Lacy who worked closely with him—and treated everyone as if they were beneath him.

  Who knew what this COM’s deal would be? “I...I really need to be going. My family...they worry if I’m too late. Good night, Dr. Holden-Deane.” She forced herself to walk around him and unlock her car.

  5

  Skittish. Nervous. Frightened of him. He could understand it; she didn’t know him, she was over a foot shorter and thin, delicate, even. He could practically wrap his hands around her waist and just scoop her up and carry her away. A smart woman would be nervous in the same situation. So why in the hell had she taken such a risk? They were a long way from the doors and were the only people in the damned back garage. “There’s supposed to be a security guard in here at all hours.”

  She shrugged and kept her eyes on him, wary, as she unlocked the door of her classic car. He’d admired the car earlier. If she hadn’t been her he probably would have asked to take a look inside it. Rafe enjoyed cars. He always had. “Probably on break or something. Lanning fired the other one when we complained about this parking garage. Welcome to FCGH.”

  He’d be speaking to the head of Security himself first thing in the morning. She turned toward him as she opened the driver’s side door. The light hit the side of her neck and his gaze landed on the scar.

  He’d heard the rumors, or parts of them, and now he had to wonder... Rafe had seen far too many women with just that same look in their eyes.

  Djibouti left a lasting impression on a man who’d gone there to try to help. Rafe had learned his lesson about helping really well.

  He hadn’t noticed the scar in her garden that day. Or if he had, he hadn’t paid any attention. Why would he? He had some nasty scars of his own.

  No wonder she looked so frightened. Young, afraid, defenseless—at that moment, she reminded him of every girl he’d treated in Africa, and every one he’d lost. “Hey, I’ll stick around until you make sure your engine starts, ok? Are you on the schedule tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Same hours.”

  “Then there’ll be a security guard here when you leave.” He’d make sure of it. Two guards on duty at all times, one to escort people, if needed.

  In a city this size, it was needed. The parking garage was an addition to the hospital, built in the 1980s, and not in the most secure of locations. It was poorly lit and too far from the ER entrance for his peace of mind.

  He hated the damned parking garage, but it wasn’t as high on his list of priorities as it probably should be. He’d have to rethink that. Regardless of what the Board thought.

  It was Rafe’s ultimate responsibility to keep the people in his hospital safe. A young woman walking alone at night was never fully safe. If something had happened to her tonight, the hospital would have been liable. Period. It was in his power to keep his people safe and he’d do it.

  She slipped into the driver’s seat, then started the engine. “It started. Thank you. Good night.”

  Rafe caught her door in his hand. For some reason, he wasn’t quite ready to see her drive away. Not yet. Not after everything he’d heard about her. He needed to reconcile what the rumors were against the woman he’d met in her garden. “No fire at me tonight, I see.”

  “Excuse me? “She looked up at him, brown eyes so wary.

  “Yesterday I thought you were going to toss a potted plant at my head. You’re a lot quieter this evening.”

  “Just a long day. And you called my best friend and people that I consider a close part of my family leeches. Kind of hard to get over that. They are the best people I know, after all.” She shot a look of challenge at him.

  He smiled. He’d accomplished what he’d intended—the fear had left those eyes of hers. “There it is. The fire.”

  “Good night, doctor. Your sister is waiting for me to pick her up right now. You’re welcome to ride along and meet her for yourself. If you can be nice to her.” Jillian shot him a wicked expression. She had more bite than he would have ever expected.

  He immediately pulled back, exactly as the red-headed devil no doubt wanted. “Good night, Nurse Jillian. I will see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  He stayed next to his car until hers left the parking garage, staring after her like an idiot. Just who was the real Jillian? The frightened redhead or the one who breathed fire to protect her friends? Rafe couldn’t help but wonder.

  He wished she worked in any other hospital but his—he had a feeling she was going to be more trouble than he ever could have anticipated.

  The exact same kind of trouble he just did not need right now.

  6

  It was one of the longest work days Jillian could remember, culminating in a friend of a friend almost dying in a cave, of all places. Because some monsters had abducted her and forced her to treasure hunt for them. Jillian had actually helped with the search for that woman until she had to clock in at the hospital.

  She’d been there when that poor woman—a work colleague of her sister Carrie—had been brought in. It had been touch-and-go for a while.

  There was nothing she would ever understand about the way some people treated others. When she was finally in the locker room gathering her things to go home she was more than happy.

  Lunch with Allen had almost done her in. She’d wanted to take a break with Lacy, but her friend had had an emergency surgery to attend to on another woman who’d suffered a complication in that same damned treasure hunt.

  Something was going on with Lacy, and Jillian knew it.

  Getting her friend to talk was going to be more than a bit difficult, though. Lacy would close up tighter than a clam when something was bothering her.

  She looked up at the sound of a raised voice—usually she was alone at this time of the evening.

  It was a woman and from the tone and the conversation—Jillian winced at the words the woman used, whoever was on the other end of the line was getting an earful—it was not a happy call.

  Or a cheap one. The woman railed and railed about the money.

  Jillian didn’t really care
at the moment. She wanted to figure out what was going on with her friend. She grabbed her bag, slammed her locker shut, and headed for the door.

  She didn’t make it.

  Because of him. The frog.

  The Chief of Medicine caught her coming out of the nurse’s station, her tablet in her hand. She’d just asked Dr. Netore to review her paperwork when he walked in. On the warpath.

  “Beck. Having trouble reading the board tonight?” There was bite in his tone and she knew she was in for it. Jillian tried to think over everything she’d done in the last nine hours. She couldn’t think of anything lately.

  Jillian waited for Nikki to sign off on her paperwork, then she tossed it in the tray for the next step in the process.

  “Nothing new there. Been struggling with reading my whole life, after all. Dr. Holden-Deane, how are you this evening? It’s a bit wet outside, isn’t it?” She was stuck, and she knew it. His ridiculously big body, all hard and muscled, blocked her path.

  “Why was Dr. Netore signing off on your paperwork again?”

  “She just was. It’s the way we do things around here. See you all tomorrow.” She wasn’t about to tell him why.

  His snarky-ass comment about her reading was not going to set her off. She didn’t take it personally—she doubted he actually knew about her dyslexia. Or dysgraphia. Not like she shouted it from the roof or anything.

  It was just Rage Old-&-Mean being his regular nasty self. And if that was the extent of it after what had happened between them, she could deal. It was mild in comparison to the other arguments he’d started between them.

  Not like she hadn’t been snarked at over reading before. She had enough confidence in herself that he was not going to knock her down because of what she couldn’t change.