Chapter 12

WTF, Tucker? rang through my head.

I translated that into the more polite, “What are you talking about?”

Even Elvis just stared at him, confused.

Tucker spread his hands like this was all normal procedure. “Dr. Sze, you said you want to concentrate on medicine right now. You’ve already risked your life twice. You don’t need to do it any more. However, Elvis has requested help to investigate any irregularities with his stunt. I can do that.”

Says who? I caught Tucker’s eye and jerked my head toward the hallway. We needed to talk. Pronto.

“No offense,” said Archer, crossing his arms, “but we have no idea who you are.”

“My name is Dr. John Tucker. I’m a medical doctor studying family medicine. I’m 27 years old. I’m a Montreal native, which means I know the city, the subway system, the hospital network, and the ecosystem almost as well as Elvis knows his way around his pair of handcuffs. I helped solve a hit-and-run case in August, interviewing a key witness and tracking down the psychiatrist involved in the case. Last, but not least, I’m an amateur magician myself.”

“Whoa,” said Archer. He turned to Elvis and lifted his eyebrows.

Elvis’s nostrils flared. He didn’t speak.

Even I would have been impressed if I hadn’t been ready to strangle Tucker.

“Excuse me. I’d like to speak to Dr. Tucker for just a moment, please.” I took a firm hold of his sleeve and directed him toward the hallway.

“Of course. Excuse us for just a second.” He shone his pearly whites at Elvis before I firmly closed the door behind us. I couldn’t close it for long—the nurses would wonder what was up in Elvis’ room—but I needed a few seconds of privacy to screw Tucker’s head back on.

I told him, “Tucker, you can’t just steal my case.”

“I’m not stealing it. You passed on it and I’m picking it up. Big difference.”

“Tucker—”

“Hope, you were absolutely right. You almost died twice. That’s worse than most of our cancer patients! You’ve been through the wringer. You deserve an out.”

I hesitated. He was technically agreeing with me. So why did that annoy me so much? I changed my tack. “If I deserve an out, why should you get the in?”

“I’m not going to do anything risky. I’m going to try and piece together what happened. Elvis has a theory that someone sabotaged his event. I’ll gather as much information as I can to test that theory.”

“And get a behind-the-scenes look at your superhero.”

Tucker shrugged and grinned. “Well, there are perks.”

I remembered Tucker’s eye glued to his giant camera. “Would you film him?”

Tucker looked surprised. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Would you learn all his tricks and do an exposé of them?”

“No!” He seemed genuinely outraged. “Magic is only interesting because of the mystery of it. If I did that, I could ruin him.”

“Or you could set up your own show.” But he shook his head so vehemently, I regretted the words as soon as they flew out of my mouth. “Sorry I’m being so cynical. I guess I don’t want you to take on my case and run with it. I mean, if it’s not cool for me to risk my life, why should you be free and clear to do it? Just because you’ve got testicles?”

“Glad you noticed the testes,” said Tucker, poker- faced. “I’ve been pointing them out to you at every opportunity. But I’m not trying to be a sexist pig. I just don’t want you to end up in the hospital anymore. I want to protect you. I’d want to do that if you were a man, woman, child, or warthog.”

“A warthog?” I repeated. Where did that come from? All I could think of was the fat, singing warthog from The Lion King.

“Okay, maybe that came out wrong. But we’re on the same page, Hope. You don’t want to investigate anymore, and I do. Especially when it’s a magician I respect. This is a win-win situation, okay?”

I didn’t answer for a long moment. I knew I had to. I knew I had to open Elvis’s door before a nurse asked us what we were doing, nosing around patient charts and shutting their doors. But before I could shape my mind around the correct response, Tucker ruined it all by adding, “Especially if you end up moving to Ottawa.”

Suddenly, I could hear the clock ticking in a neighbouring patient’s room. I swallowed hard and licked my lips. “I…never said I was moving.”

“But are you?” said Tucker. All humour had fled his eyes. I’d never paid attention to the inches he had on me—almost every adult was my height or taller—but now it seemed like he was looming over me.

“I—” I shook my head. “I haven’t decided.”

“But you’re talking about it. You’re thinking about it. You’ve been in touch with the dean in Ottawa. Am I right?”

“Just her office,” I said quietly. “It’s a possibility. I feel safer there.” I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone in Montreal, not even Tori. Maybe Tucker was a better detective than I’d given him credit for.

“Right.” Tucker ran a hand through his gelled hair, but for once, I didn’t feel like laughing at how it hardly stirred. “So. Another thing to add to my résumé: I’m staying in Montreal.”

I realized that, when it comes to relationships, I’m the last one to get a clue. Tucker was seriously pissed, and he dealt with it by making jokes 90 percent of the time, but this was not one of those times.

I still didn’t buy that he was taking the case completely to protect me, or any warthog. He was getting a little of his own back here. And I couldn’t exactly blame him.

So even though my heart thundered in my ears and it made me feel slightly nauseous, I said, “You should go back in there and hear what they’re cooking up. Good luck with the case.” And I stormed down the hall just as Lucia tapped toward us on stilettos.