Knock-knock.
Kathryn had a need to escape, shed her guilt, and visit a friend. This detour hit all three. Knocking was a deeply ingrained courtesy, and the only way to avoid possibly seeing a naked man on the other side of a hospital room door.
Without waiting for an answer, Kathryn pushed open the door and made her way in. “Everyone decent?” she asked, double-checking just in case.
“Not hardly.” Detective Scott Delaney was his usual ex-military self, his naturally perfect posture evident even as he was laid up in a bed with one leg in a cast. Smiling, he set down the newspaper, letting Kathryn catch a glance at his sudoku block.
“Eight,” she said, pointing to the third square.
He narrowed his eyes, unamused until he glanced at the page. After scribbling an eight into the block in question, he tucked the paper away. “Kathryn, what, uh, are you doing here?”
“Madeline said you were in the hospital. With her in the middle of depositions all day, and Jake out of town, I was in the area and had nothing better to do with my time than engage in a little freelance stalking.”
She’d barely uttered her last word when a Styrofoam cup of water fell to the floor, spilling across the tile. It was then that Kathryn noticed the man in the other bed. The nurse in her was ready to swoop in and collect it, stopped by an insistent grab of her arm. Scott’s grip wasn’t exactly gentle. The patient was practically twice her size, but his subtle wince was noticeable.
“Kathryn,” he said a little louder than necessary, considering the size of the room, “meet my bunkmate, Troy. Troy, Kathryn is a good friend. An investigator.”
The small shakiness of Troy’s hand stilled as he balled it to a controlled fist. Nodding, he lifted a brow. “Private investigator?” he asked, almost sounding hopeful.
Flattered, she shook her head. “I’m into the high-adrenaline world of insurance fraud,” she joked, and yet Troy’s lips remained in a straight line. Tough crowd. “In for bad behavior like this one?” Kathryn asked, thumping the cast on Scott’s leg. The hollow sound drew her attention, and she gave it a second glance.
“Something like that,” Troy said, grumbling the words low.
There was a strange familiarity to the rough lines of his face, his high cheekbones and dark brown eyes. But it was the pensive faraway stare Kathryn recognized most. Despite Troy’s impressive build and stoic brow, worry bled through his expression like watercolor across paper. A likely consequence of whatever medical procedure he had coming.
Three loud knocks and the door again opened wide, this time to allow two men to enter, one rolling a gurney.
They began the usual drill, asking Troy to confirm his date of birth and compared it to his wristband, which meant he was probably heading for imaging or surgery. They asked about the procedure he’d be having. Another failsafe of the system to confirm the right guy gets the right procedure, and not an unnecessary appendectomy. Or vasectomy.
Respecting the man’s privacy, Kathryn slipped out into the hall, but not entirely out of earshot. Apparently, Troy was getting a knee replacement.
She knew it well. Take a standard-issue soldier, add thirty pounds of body armor, strap a hundred more pounds of equipment to his or her back, then send them on a ten-mile hike. Voilà. Instant knee demolition.
As the gurney was pushed out of the room, she caught Troy’s pained expression.
“You’ll be out before you know it,” she said, followed by a comforting wink and a practiced smile, a natural reassurance she’d given to her own patients hundreds of times before.
Kathryn slipped back into the room and shut the door. “So?” she asked, popping an expectant brow, ready for Scott to give her the 411 on whatever was going on.
Scott hardened his expression. He pantomimed locking his lips, tossed the invisible key over his shoulder, and crossed his arms. Tightly.
Kathryn knew the drill. Fake cast. No chart at the end of the bed. The patient lying in bed before her wasn’t her old pal Scott. Nope. This was Detective Delaney, and it was obvious he was undercover.
Instead of pestering Scott relentlessly like she normally would, threatening to expose his secret love of The Bachelor, or making his life a living hell by relentlessly tickling his foot below the fake cast, she plopped her butt on the bed, fully prepared to engage in whatever idle chitchat would relieve him from his boredom. Because faking disinterest is definitely a superpower.
“All right, all right, I give.” Scott’s hands flew up in surrender. For a guy used to grilling insidious masterminds and hard-core criminals alike, he cracked like a walnut. “I’m on a case. Protecting Troy Brooks from a stalker.”
Wide-eyed, Kathryn leaned in and lowered her voice. “That was Troy Brooks? Pro basketball point guard? Don’t tell Julian, or the poor man will have two stalkers. Isn’t he dating supermodel Alexis Kennedy?”
“He was. With everything that’s been happening, they publicly called it off. Privately, he’s got a bodyguard covering her around the clock.”
“And you? Is this you moonlighting?”
“If only. Then maybe Madeline would get that trip to Turks and Caicos she’s always wanted. His stalker is guilty of a dozen crimes, and is always one goddamned step ahead of us.”
Curious, Kathryn had to know. “What happened to his knee?”
Scott shook his head with regret. “We offered assistance and gave him tons of solid advice, but men are the worst victims. Precautions fly out the window because they believe women aren’t a threat. The psycho chick who shot him in the leg was actually trying to kidnap him.”
“Nothing says love like Stockholm Syndrome.”
Not wanting to waste a perfectly good Sharpie, Kathryn picked it up from the nightstand and began doodling on Scott’s cast. The resin wasn’t exactly taking to the ink like it should, but that’s the great thing about Sharpies. They mark anything.
“Careful.” Scott jolted, lowering his voice. “That cast is hiding a gun.”
She settled him back with a smartass grin. “Oh, I’ll be gentle. Tell me everything. Doodling helps me think.”
Scott relaxed into the fluffy pillows at his back. “His stalker had him at gunpoint, and Troy went for the gun. Frankly, he’s lucky to be alive. And this was the second attempt. First time, his sports drink had been laced with sedatives. She was halfway through tying him up when he came to.”
“At least he has you,” Kathryn said while doodling flowers around the phrase yoga kicked my ass.
“But it’s not over. Twice now, we’ve intercepted notes coming to his room. This is the third time we’ve had to move him in twenty-four hours.”
Scott’s stare weighed on her but she paid it no mind, keeping herself dutifully immersed in scrawling the phrase, when your wife is vacuuming and says move your feet, you should listen!
By the time she’d finished drawing the fifth heart around it, she couldn’t keep ignoring his persistent stare. “What?”
“You’re perfect.”
Suspicious, she gave him a sideways glance. “Funny, you don’t look like Jake.”
“No, I mean for this job. You’re a top-notch investigator who knows your way around a hospital. We need someone who can observe things unnoticed. Like I said, you’re perfect.”
“You can’t bribe me with flattery, Scott. The minimum buy-in is booze and a plate of Madeline’s pecan-chocolate-chip cookies.”
“Done and done.”
“I’d like to help you out, but I’m already beyond swamped.” Shyly, Kathryn said, “I’m considering a career change . . .”