Chapter Twenty-Six

Late afternoon sun peeked through the blinds, painting the bedroom wall with horizontal shadows. Tori glanced at her watch. It was almost time to leave for the p.m. shift.

She stuffed the last of her things into her overnight bag and zipped it closed. For the last two nights, she’d stayed at her father’s house, enjoying a couple of much-needed days off. Talking to her dad about what was going on in her life had been the plan, but when the moment had presented itself, she’d chickened out. Instead, they’d talked about the past and cleared away a lot of ugly cobwebs.

After meeting Deck, it seemed that some of his latent anger toward the DEA had lessened. He’d seen how much Deck cared for her, respected him for it, and couldn’t remain angry at one man for what an entire agency had done to him and their family over ten years ago.

Although her dad knew there was something else on her mind, in his typically patient way, he’d said nothing and given her space.

The rich smell of coffee plied her out of her misery. She carried her bag downstairs to find her dad pouring them each a cup and adding milk to a small creamer.

“Thought we both could use a little late-day jolt.” He set the mugs and creamer on the kitchen table.

“Thanks, Dad.” She put her bag by the door then pulled out a chair.

“I’m teaching a class today, and you have to get to work, soon, so…” He paused to pour cream into his mug. “I know you like spending time here with me, but I’m guessing you also came here for a specific reason.”

She picked up the creamer, adding it to her coffee and looking up to find him watching with a puzzled expression. She followed the direction of his gaze to the tiny pitcher in her hand. Creamer.

He knew she always took her coffee black, but ever since Deck had strong-armed her into trying that white chocolate mocha, she’d been enjoying her coffee with a bit of cream. She rolled her lips inward as unexpected tears backed up behind her lids.

“Did something happen between you and Deck?” When she nodded, he gave her forearm a gentle squeeze. “Tell me.”

So she did, starting with Deck’s sister, followed by a running chronology about everything that had happened between them. Well, almost everything. A father doesn’t really want to hear about his little girl having sex or being nearly killed.

“Hmm.” He pursed his lips. “So he feels you betrayed his personal and professional trust, and you don’t want to be with someone who has such a dangerous job.”

When she sniffled, he plucked a tissue from a pack he always carried in his breast pocket and handed it to her.

She took it and dabbed at her eyes. “That about covers it.”

“You know, I always wanted more exciting opportunities for you.” He leaned in, resting his forearms on the table. “It killed me not to be able to pay for your college tuition, but I couldn’t have been prouder of you for working so hard to make that happen anyway. But from that moment on, you always played things safe, never taking a single chance at doing something that might not turn out exactly the way you planned it or thought it should. You were…content.”

“What’s wrong with being content?”

“Nothing. But that’s not how it always was with you.” He sat back. “Before I lost my license, you used to try all kinds of new and exciting things. You went on overnight hikes into the mountains. You snowshoed across town during a blizzard just to see if you could. Do you remember?”

She nodded. He was right. “But why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because it’s your life to live as you choose. If you want to stay home in front of the fire every night and read a book, then that’s what you should do. But if you want to go cliff diving or bungee jumping, then that’s also what you should do.”

Tori let her dad’s metaphor hang there in the air. Funny how she’d said something to Deck about how she wasn’t into bungee jumping. In fact, all the decisions she’d made until now had been safe. Her dad had taken risks, and it had cost them everything. Not that she blamed him, he’d been following his heart, doing what he strongly believed in. Until now, she’d never had the guts to do that. She’d been so careful not to make the same mistakes or take any risks that she’d been living her life with her head down, not held high. Deck had forced her to look up.

“One day, he’ll realize he’s been living in his past. Despite what agency he works for, I must admit that he has character. Trust me, he’ll figure out soon enough that he’s a horse’s ass and that he never should have let you go.”

Perhaps, but she’d never be capable of ignoring someone in pain when there was something she could do to help them. Deck having a problem with that because of what happened with his sister wasn’t fair to her. “Even if he does, I’m not sure I’m ready to take that kind of leap.”

Her father leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Only you can answer that question. As for Deck, while I wasn’t exactly happy about it at first, I saw the way he looks at you. It’s the way a man looks at something—or someone—he wants really badly. Fathers are always right, so take my advice and noodle on this for a while.”

…

Tori sat at the traffic light, waiting for the light to change before turning into the hospital. Her little Subaru purred like a kitten, thanks to the new battery she’d had installed.

Thinking about the battery made her think of Deck. Actually, everything made her think of him.

The light changed, and she pulled into the lot, parking next to Wil’s blue Nissan. She’d taken her dad’s advice, noodling during the entire drive to work but was nowhere near being happy about the direction it had taken her. Her head hurt. More importantly, her heart still hurt. How can I be in love with someone I’m so completely incompatible with? Or who didn’t trust her enough to know she’d never risk hurting him, Thor, or his friends?

The painful, hollowed-out feeling was worsening by the second. She shut off the engine and sat there, wondering if there were anything she would have done differently and coming up blank. She’d get past this. Everyone who’s ever been jilted always does. Right then and there, it didn’t seem like she would.

She grabbed her purse and was about to go inside but stopped. Max Maynard pulled in, driving a brand-new silver car just like out of the movie Back to the Future, the one with doors that opened up like wings. A DeLorean. And just last week, Neil Shibowsky had driven up in his new black Ferrari, the one he’d bragged to Wil about. That was an awful lot of cash to drop on a car. Then again, they were surgeons.

Surgeons having flashy cars was nothing new, but it was an unwelcome reminder that her trusty Subaru and Wil’s practical Nissan labeled both of them as being something less-than in the doctor world.

As she stepped onto the curb, she noticed David Landry, the orderly, leaning on the open window of a blood-red sports car, the make and model of which she couldn’t identify from this distance. Maybe that was his brother, Pete. Judging by the car, it looked like Pete had gotten back on his feet pretty quickly.

Honestly. The ER parking lot was turning into a veritable whose-dick-is-bigger showroom.

Tori stared at the car. During the first search warrant she’d gone on, Deck had mentioned that the distributor they were looking for drove a fancy black sports car. These weren’t black, but perhaps the distributor had a collection. There had to be hundreds of fancy cars on the road in Denver at any given moment, let alone the entire state. The distributor could be anyone.

Reluctantly, she pushed through the door and went inside. It was barely four o’clock, and the front desk lounge was already crammed with patients’ relatives trying to find out how their loved ones were doing. She swiped into the ER, hoping to be so busy there wouldn’t be time to think about anything else but work.

Wil stood at the nurses’ station, reviewing a form. “How were your days off?” he asked, handing the form to one of the admins.

“Good.” Not. “Just…quiet.”

Wil’s brows rose. “Did you spend them with your DEA agent?”

“No.” In the last eight weeks, she and Wil hadn’t been on a single shift together. He probably didn’t even know that Deck had been badly injured. “We’re not working together anymore, and we’re no longer seeing each other, either.”

Wil’s lips pressed tightly into a grimace. “I’m sorry. I know you liked him. I’m here for you if you want to talk.”

“I know that. Thanks.”

“Dr. Barnett,” a nurse called out. “There’s a patient waiting for you in ER 4.”

“Coffee later?” Wil asked over his shoulder, already heading down the hall.

“Sounds good.” Anything to occupy her mind would be a welcome relief.

…

Six hours into her shift and Tori’s feet were killing her. A ten-car pileup on I-25 had kept the ER hopping nonstop. Finally, most of the cases had either been treated and released or sent to other floors for X-rays, MRIs, or surgery. Except for one.

Tori had examined an unconscious young woman who she suspected had neurological damage. Since Max Maynard was the neurosurgeon on call tonight, she’d requested him for a consult.

“Good thing you called me in on this,” Max said, having just completed his examination. “She needs surgery to release the pressure on her brain.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll get her on the schedule right away.” Without another word, he left the room.

Tori entered a few notes into the patient’s computerized chart then headed to the doctors’ lounge to splash cold water on her face. Along the way, she heard a raised voice coming from ER 4. She poked her head in to see Wil and Ethan standing beside the examining table.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” A man of about forty, with a blood-soaked towel wrapped around his wrist, hopped off the bed, his face twisted in anger. “You nearly killed me with the shit you gave me in Sheridan. I should report your ass.”

He pointed at one of the men, but she couldn’t tell whether it was Wil or Ethan. The movement had tugged up his shirt sleeve, exposing what looked like tattoos—two rings of barbed wire around his biceps. “Get me another doctor. Anyone but you.”

“Relax.” Wil moved his hands in a calming gesture. “You came to the ER for help, and that’s what we’re trying to do. Help you.”

Tori cleared her throat. “Dr. Barnett. Dr. Dexter. Can I assist you?”

Wil spun, his eyes widening at the sight of her standing in the doorway. “No. Thank you, Dr. Sampson. We’ve got this.” With a move so subtle she barely caught it, he stuffed something—a syringe?—into the right side pocket of his coat. It happened so fast she couldn’t be sure. Normally, nurses administered injections in the ER, not doctors.

“Would you like me to get Nurse Torres?” They both knew Suzie had a natural way with people and was good at handling difficult patients. Like this one obviously was.

“No,” he practically spat out.

“Hey, wait.” The man pointed to her. “Is she a doctor? I’ll take her instead.”

Wil gave a subtle yet dismissive nod, the message of which was clear: Do not undermine me.

“Okay.” Reluctantly, she left the room. It wasn’t like Wil to be so curt, especially with her.

“Tori,” Suzie called out, pointing to another room. “You’ve got a customer.”

For the next ten minutes, Tori attended to a young patient who’d broken his arm on a trampoline. “We’ll send you upstairs for an X-ray then get you set up with a cast.”

Raised voices came from the corridor. Suzie and another nurse rushed past with a crash cart. As much as she wanted to run down the hall and help, she had her own patient who was counting on her. Tori patted the boy’s shoulder, giving his mother a meaningful look. “You’ll be fine, I promise. No more trampoline for a while.” If she ever had children, there’d never be a trampoline in their yard. Kids loved them, but they were responsible for an outrageous number of broken bones.

After finishing with her patient, she followed the direction of the crash cart and found ER 4 crammed with medical personnel. Ethan was no longer there, but Wil was. The man who’d been shouting lay on the table, unmoving. Leads from his chest led to a cardiac monitor. The flat green line indicated his heart had stopped.

Suzie and the other nurses looked to Wil, waiting for direction.

Wil glanced at the clock on the wall. “TOD six-oh-five.”

Time of death? Tori couldn’t believe it. The man had been fine less than thirty minutes ago. “What happened?”

“Heart attack,” Wil said, remorse evident in his eyes. “Came on out of nowhere.”

While Suzie unhooked the leads, Tori did a quick visual assessment of the man’s body. He was younger than she’d originally thought, maybe thirty-five tops, and in relatively good shape, judging by the muscles in his arms. The only thing seemingly wrong with him had been what looked like a relatively minor wrist injury.

Half an hour later, she was still disturbed by the man’s death. Something wasn’t right about the whole incident. And the argument she’d overhead between Ethan, Wil, and the now-dead man… The man had been given something in Sheridan? Something that had nearly killed him. But neither Ethan nor Wil practiced medicine outside North Metro, so what did that mean?

Tori stopped in at the nurses’ station. “What was the name of the man who just died?”

“Damon Sanchez,” someone said.

She came around the desk and sat in front of a computer. After entering her username and password, she pulled up Sanchez’s chart. He’d come in for a deep laceration in his wrist. For someone so young, he was taking small amounts of potassium chloride. Officially, he was Ethan’s patient, with Wil supervising as the ER’s attending physician. Every doctor knew that potassium supplements were often prescribed to prevent or treat hypokalemia, low blood levels of potassium. If not controlled, too little or too much potassium in the blood could result in a heart attack.

She scrolled down to see what he’d been given in the ER. The portion of the record prior to going into cardiac arrest was blank. If Wil had been holding a syringe and used it, Ethan would have entered the injection in the man’s chart.

Worry buzzed in her head like a mosquito that refused to fly away.

Tori looked up to see Wil leaving ER 2.

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be grabbing coffee in the lounge,” she overheard him tell the nurses. “And when you see Dr. Dexter, tell him to join me.”

Tori watched him disappear down the corridor. Had Ethan made another mistake? Regardless, that wouldn’t stop Sanchez’s family from digging into what happened. She needed to talk to Wil when Ethan wasn’t around.

She scooted back the chair and headed for the lounge. When she pushed through the door, Wil was pouring coffee into a mug. He turned abruptly, sloshing coffee onto the front of his coat.

“Shit.” He jumped back. More coffee spilled from the cup, splattering the tips of his shoes. He set down the cup then yanked off his coat and began running the stained portion under cold water at the sink. “Great.” Taking the dripping coat with him, he headed to the doctors’ locker room.

Tori leaned against the counter, waiting for him to return. A locker slammed shut, then Wil came back, shrugging into a clean coat and refilling his cup as if nothing was wrong. As if a man hadn’t just died for no explicable reason.

She crossed to the locker room, cracking open the door to verify they were alone, then returned to the kitchenette. “We should talk.”

“About what?” To her astonishment, he actually looked as if he had no idea what she wanted to discuss.

“Isn’t it obvious? About the man who just died.”

He took a sip of coffee. “What about him?”

Wil had to be joking. “I just looked at his chart. There was no medical reason for him to die of a heart attack. He came in to have a laceration sewn up. That’s it.”

“You looked at his chart?” Her friend frowned. “He was Ethan’s patient, not yours.”

“I was concerned. I’m worried for Ethan, and I’m worried for you.”

“Why?”

She still couldn’t be certain she hadn’t seen a syringe in his hand. “There’s no record of Ethan giving him anything.”

“That’s because he didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why would you ask such a thing? The man had a history of arrythmia. Sometimes, it just happens.”

“Did you give him anything?” Either way, there was nothing in the chart.

“No, dammit!” His voice rose. “What is this, an inquisition?”

Arrythmias could have been why he was taking potassium chloride, but there were still too many unanswered questions. “What did he mean when he said you nearly killed him in Sheridan?”

“I have no idea.” Wil dumped the remains of his cup into the sink. “He was getting worked up, and I think he mistook us for someone else.”

“Wil.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Is it possible Ethan missed something? The ME’s office will ask questions. Given the patient’s age and relatively good health, they’ll send an investigator to look into his death. As Ethan’s attending, you could both be liable. I only want to help you. You know how things like this can spiral downhill quickly.”

“I do, but if you keep making noise about it, you’ll only call attention to it. So let it go.” He brushed past, leaving her alone in the lounge.

She stared after him, her mouth agape as she wondered what to do next. This was beyond weird. Despite his adamant statement to the contrary, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Accidentally or unintentionally? Accidentally, of course. Neither Wil nor Ethan would intentionally hurt anyone. They were doctors, for chrissake.

For several seconds, she stared at the door to the locker room then blew out a breath. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do.

She pushed open the door to the locker room. Just to be sure, she checked the bathroom stalls, verifying they were indeed unoccupied. Using the small wood wedge to hold the door open, she toed it between the door and the frame, just enough so that she could hear if anyone came into the lounge. Or if Wil came back.

A blue lock hung from Wil’s locker, the same one that was always there. The same one I may still have the combination to. Unless he’d changed it.

Last year, he’d forgotten his phone in the locker and asked her to get it for him. He lived in one of the condos near Green Mountain and on her direct route home. So he’d given her the combo. She’d been doing rounds when he’d called, so she’d entered the combo into his contact page on her phone.

She rolled her eyes. And here I am, breaking into his locker. Some friend I am.

Tori opened up Wil’s contact page. For a moment, she stared at the combination then began adjusting the numbered dials with her thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes, biting her lip before tugging down to see if it opened. She didn’t know if she wanted it to. It did, the clicking sound echoing within the narrow confines of the locker room.

Tori jerked her head to the door, peering through the crack. The lounge was still empty. She unhooked the lock and pulled open the locker. Wil’s stained coat hung on a hook, still dripping coffee-tinged water onto the floor of the locker. She took the coat out, praying she was wrong about this. She looked inside the right-side pocket, the same one he’d put his hand into.

Empty.

“Thank you,” she whispered to herself. Maybe she should trust Wil and just let it go. Then again, he could have tossed the syringe into the sharps container. The fact that his pocket was empty didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t administered an injection.

She rehung the jacket inside the locker. Something thunked against the metal side. She pulled on the jacket enough to peer into the other pocket.

A medicine vial.

She reached for the tiny bottle, turning it in her hand. When she read the label, her blood went as cold as dry ice.

Potassium chloride.

The bottle was nearly empty. Only a few drops remained. If Ethan had given Sanchez too much potassium chloride…it could have been what killed the man. Or, as Wil said, it could have just happened. She’d been an ER doctor long enough to know unexpected things did “just happen.”

She wrapped her fingers tightly around the vial. There had to be an explanation. Sanchez wasn’t the only patient Ethan had seen tonight. It was possible the potassium chloride was unrelated to Sanchez, and who knew how long the vial had been in Wil’s pocket? Sure, all the med vials were periodically counted and audited, but he could have forgotten it was in there.

She had to talk to Wil again. But how to do that without letting on that she’d broken into his locker? She couldn’t undo what was already done.

Tori stuffed the vial into her own coat pocket then closed the door and reinserted the lock. Before stepping back into the lounge, she again peered through the crack, verifying no one else was there.

For a long moment, she stood there, thinking about the similarities between her relationships with Wil and Deck. What she was about to do would most likely kill her friendship with Wil. After losing Deck the way she had, this hit home just as hard. There were elements of trust involved with both situations, though her problems with Deck were more complicated than that. If she was wrong about this, Wil would never trust her again. At least one day, Deck would figure out she hadn’t betrayed him to a drug dealer.

She pulled the door open and headed into the lounge. She hadn’t told a—

Soul, she’d been about to think to herself then froze in mid-step.

She had told someone.

While she probably shouldn’t have, she and Wil had discussed the warrant briefly. That had been after the fact, though. But right before Deck had picked her up to go to Loveland, Wil had called. It had been such a quick call she’d completely forgotten about it. She’d told him she had to cancel their dinner plans because she was going somewhere with Deck. On a warrant. In Loveland.

No. She shook her head, refusing to go down the track her thoughts were taking.

From everything she’d seen on the news and read about, bigtime drug dealers were rich and flaunted it.

Wil drove a Nissan, a practical, inexpensive car. He didn’t live in a McMansion or wear expensive watches. The only thing he talked about spending money on were his vacations, and he often joked he had to save up for those, even with his salary. Still, a patient was dead, and Wil may have lied to her. Whether it was about his involvement or to cover for Ethan, she didn’t know. And then there was what she’d overheard outside Deck’s hospital room. Someone nicknamed “the doc” had informed the Loveland dealer that the DEA was coming. This was the same person who had put the hit out on Deck.

But that didn’t automatically mean that Wil was the leak. The doctor, if they even were one, was more likely someone who’d gotten their doctorate in chemistry or pharmacology or toxicology or any other field actually useful to creating and manufacturing designer drugs.

Neil and Max, however, certainly fit the flashy rich doctor role.

Neil in particular had been talking with Leslie Batista before the warrant, and Leslie had been Deck’s source for information about the dealer, Jack. Neil had said they were “just chatting,” but he could have been pumping Leslie for information about her drug source. He could have warned the dealer to close up shop until further notice.

But how would he have known Deck was planning on talking to Leslie in the first place? She’d never told Neil she’d been assisting the DEA. Then again, hospitals were like real-life soap operas. Within these white walls, gossip traveled at light speed. Would Wil have said anything to anyone? She didn’t believe he’d do anything directly or indirectly to hurt her. He’d been a great friend to her and Suzie.

Suzie, with her expensive new ring Tori knew her friend and her fiancé couldn’t afford.

Worry and uncertainty roiled in her belly to the point of nausea. These were medical professionals, all of them. They’d dedicated their lives to helping make people better, not harming them.

Paranoia crept through her, but at least she recognized it for what it was. She needed to be rational about all this. If she was totally wrong, everything would be fine. If she kept her mouth shut and didn’t vent her suspicions, the results could be catastrophic. She was in no position to handle this, nor could she stomach investigating her own friends and colleagues. She had to leave it to the professionals.

She had to tell Deck.

Tori charged for the door, opening it and slamming into someone. Neil Shibowsky.

He clutched her upper arms, steadying her. She tried twisting away, but he wouldn’t let her. Over his shoulder, she caught David Landry pushing a stretcher. On top of that stretcher was a sheet-covered body. Damon Sanchez. David smiled in greeting but kept going.

“Tori,” Neil said cheerfully. “What a coincidence. I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you about one of the patients you helped Wil with. Leslie Batista.”

His fingers dug deeper into her arms. What interest could Neil have in Leslie Batista? Except finding out what she’d told Deck about her drug source.

“Not now,” she managed. “I-I’m not feeling well. I just need some air.”

“I’ll go with you,” he insisted. “We can talk outside.”

“No.” She shrugged from his grasp. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Really, I’m fine.” She speed-walked down the corridor, hitting the button for the door leading to the registration desk then kept right on going outside to the parking lot. What she needed was a place to be alone and think.

She headed for her car. Some thoughtless idiot had parked too close to the driver’s side for her to squeeze in. She went to the passenger side and pulled out her keys. Luckily, she kept her car key on the same ring as her hospital key chain. She hit the button to unlock the door and opened it.

Swallowing hard, she cued up Deck’s number. After their last conversation, he might not take her call. Four rings later, his voicemail kicked in.

“Deck, it’s Tori. I’m at work, but I need to tell you some things.” Starting with how sorry she was. Two nurses walked past, waving. She waved then turned her back to the hospital doors, moving more into the shadow next to her Subaru. “I can’t be sure, but I think you should look into some of the doctors on staff here at North Metro and one of the orderlies. One of them may be the drug source you’re looking for. The first is Dr. Neil Shibowsky. He was the doctor talking to Leslie Batista when we walked in on them, and there was no reason he should have been there. He could have gotten information about the Loveland warrant from her.”

A lump of grief formed in her throat, so big she could barely get the words out. “And something strange happened in the ER tonight. I overheard an injured patient accuse two other doctors of giving him something that nearly killed him in Sheridan. That patient died from a heart attack not half an hour later, and he shouldn’t have. His name is Damon Sanchez. I think you should check it out. I hope I’m wrong, I really do. I, um…inadvertently told one of these doctors about the Loveland warrant. His name is—”

Tori’s stomach clenched to the point of pain. Am I really doing this? She moved her hand to her abdomen when her charm bracelet caught on a corner of the open door and broke, falling to the pavement. She bent to retrieve it but stopped as something sharp pricked her neck.

“Ouch.” She pressed two fingers to the sting. The Subaru wavered before her eyes. She reached out to regain her balance. “Deck…”

The phone was no longer in her hand.

She blinked and started to fall. Then the world faded to black.