15. False Pretenses

15

False Pretenses

Brighton

Friday, May 12 th

2:10 p.m.

"You explained one week on, one week off?" I pull my gaze from the paperwork I'm signing at the nurses' station and find Lauren behind the computer as she nibbles on a fingernail. I continue to stare, waiting for an answer. I clear my throat.

Her eyes leave the computer screen and stop when they meet mine. Her brow scrunches in question.

"Blakely." Pity replaces my mild annoyance when I get a good look at her face. Her puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks are a telltale sign of her general disposition. I'm not the only one still trying to keep it together after the murder.

Realization spreads across her face, and she holds up a finger. She sniffles, gazing back at the computer as she removes her glasses and leans toward the screen before reading the plan to me. "He's coming in on Monday for the CT read, and we'll schedule the port placement. The first cycle of chemo starts the next Monday at nine. No radiation therapy at this time."

"You discussed starting with VDC?" My voice cracks, and I pinch my eyes together. Hold it together, B.

"Yes, he's aware of the protocol." Her breaths stutter.

The chair rolling across the linoleum as Lauren pushes to the far end of the counter briefly stymies the sound of my pulse coursing through my ears. I tear my gaze from the spot again and force them to the papers in front of me, my eyes landing on my sketches from earlier—the words Carrie said haunting me, rolling around in my head like a loose marble. A zig-zag line of stairs, the letter N, and a bunch of question marks border the margins of the form, just like the pad on my desk.

Lauren slips a paper in front of my face, bringing me out of my daze. I glance up, and she gives me a hesitant smile. I need to get my shit together.

"Thank you." I flip to Liam's starting markers, ignoring the knot in my stomach. White blood cells, hemoglobin, and platelets are within normal range—considering. "Where's the CT?"

Creases line Lauren's forehead as her eyes bounce across the computer screen. "The read's not in his chart yet."

"Can you call radiology and see what the holdup is?"

"Of course. Do you want a copy?"

"That would be great." I straighten my charts and make sure I bury my doodles before pulling them to my chest.

"Patient is aware of the signs and symptoms to look for." She starts her normal speech. "His brother made notes on his phone." Her lip twists in consideration, and she wipes her nose with a tissue. "Or so I believe. He's aware of the two-month treatment cycle and surgery afterward. We got starting weight, symptoms, pain levels, etcetera. We have him on the schedule for the follow-up CT on week four. And he'll be in every other week for vitamin infusions."

I glance at my watch as I walk backward toward the elevators. "I'll make note of the info. Thanks. I gotta go. I have a meeting with HR—"

"Ten minutes ago," Luca chimes in, finishing my sentence as the elevator doors glide closed behind him. "You ready?"

I go rigid as Lauren gives me a sympathizing smile, and I turn to face him. "Sorry, it's been a crazy day."

He tucks his arms behind his back. "I'd offer to reschedule, but"—his gaze flicks to the spot, and grief fills his voice—"you understand."

There's a lot to unpack in that sentence. I trail after Luca onto the elevator in silence. I turn away when my eyes burn with tears and try to blink them back instead of losing them down my cheeks. A quick pinching of my eyes together does the trick as I clear my throat and bite my bottom lip. I don't want to show how much of a struggle it is for me to be here.

My stomach churns. I should have gotten to the stairwell faster. If I had gotten to Carrie sooner, maybe she'd still be here. There's squeezing in my chest like a tourniquet tightening on my ribcage. My temperature rises as it gets harder to pull in a breath past the knot in my throat.

Luca reaches for the button as I pull at my collar, and the walls close in as the doors glide together.

Don't do this, B. Please. Not now.

Luca's mouth starts moving, but the whirring in my ears quickly masks all other sounds, and the low ceilings intensify the claustrophobic feel.

I've held it together this long. What's an elevator ride worth of minutes to add to the last thirty-something hours?

Deep breath in. Hold it. Slowly release.

The ding of our arrival breaks me from my mental pleas as I battle the sob of relief threatening to spill from my mouth. The blast of cool air coils around me as I stumble from the elevator.

"You okay?" Luca places a hand on my back as I crumple forward, steadying myself with my hands on my knees.

I acknowledge him and nod, focusing on the air passing between my lips as it fills my lungs.

"Call for help." Luca grasps my arm, his grip tightening.

"I'm fine." I hold up a hand. "I just need a second." The flashes of light behind my eyelids start to fade as much-needed oxygen surges through me, and I remind myself that it's important to breathe. I stand, brushing the back of my hand over my mouth. "I'm okay."

Luca frowns, his nostrils flaring. "Dammit. I was afraid of this. Come on." He dismisses the gathering crowd as he pulls me after him toward his office. "Nothing to see here."

When we enter HR, Luca drops my arm, and I continue after him. His secretary stands, placing both hands on her desk as she gets a look at me, her mouth agape. "Is everything okay?"

Luca brushes her off with the tip of his head as he ushers me into his office from the doorway, where I'm standing with a deer-in-headlights expression, I'm sure. "Take a seat. You need water?" I use the files in my arms as a shield, pulling them over my chest. Shit. Why didn't I leave these? And why in the hell do I have them in the first place?

He leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head, the buttons on his white shirt straining against his chest and middle, his navy tie lolling to the side.

I sink into the chair closest to the door, angling it so I can escape as soon as this is over.

He lets out a sharp breath before he says, "We're looking into mandatory time off."

"What? No. I can't." My mind instantly flies to Liam. "I have a patient on Monday . . ."

He holds up a hand. "I knew you'd refuse. Will you at least hear me out?"

I ease back in the chair until my spine settles against the cushion.

He rests his elbows on his desk and steeples his fingers, watching me like I'm a gazelle that's about to bolt. "Lauren already cleared your schedule"—I go to protest, but he holds up a hand—"for the rest of the day. We have counselors prepared to—"

"No." Talking about my feelings and what's going through my mind is where I draw the line. I don't care how many times I run through scenarios of how it could have played out differently. There's no way I'm discussing it with anyone.

He pulls in a long breath. "I figured you'd say that too." He slides a paper across his desk. "I need you to sign at the bottom."

I hesitantly reach for it and scan the words, stopping where he's expecting a signature.

"It's the weekend—two days—you can at least give me that, right? You know how the board members get, and they insist. With the lawsuit and now this, they're trying to keep the hospital out of the limelight. I pulled some strings, but you've gotta help me out."

My head draws back. Of course they're looking out for the well-being of the hospital. Reputation first, everyone else last. I half-expected to be forced to take some time off after the lawsuit and all the attention it got, but as the days passed, it fell to the wayside.

I can handle two days.

I pull the pen from my breast pocket and scribble on the form before passing it to Luca.

He offers his approval with a dip of his chin. "Also, I know you have a lot going on, and I meant to call you in earlier in the week, but"—he hesitates for longer than what's acceptable, clears his throat, and averts his gaze—"I spoke to Kline."

My chest constricts with the strength of a boa constrictor. And I can't breathe. I wipe a palm across my lab coat, my eyes roving over the file Luca opens and spreads in front of me. Dammit. I should have expected this.

"I found some charts with some questionable changes of information."

I tear my gaze from his, settling the files I brought next to me in the chair. I take a couple of seconds to gather my composure, trying to remind my body to do the functions it should do automatically. But it reminds me I don't have the capacity to deal with anything else at the moment.

Luca readjusts in his seat, his steady gaze dissecting my every move.

I return my attention to the inside of the manila file.

Ramona Harrison.

Wrong lab tests. No MRI. Misinterpreted findings. A surgery for a mass that didn't exist.

"Does that look familiar?"

I slide the folder back toward him. I should have known he would guess the note was from me.

His brow furrows with frustration. "Is that a yes?"

My jaw clenches of its own accord. I nod.

"And this?" He tosses a file in front of me and another, too quick for me to catch the names. "Four. There are four."

"Yes, sir." I take the charts, tapping them on my thighs to straighten them. I glance at the tags, noting the letter stickers signifying the first and last names of the patients. I come to the fourth and final file. "But not this one."

Luca tilts his head to the side and takes the offered file. "What do you mean?"

"I don't recognize this one." And Bill Lee isn't in the stack. I blink. That can't be right. I left his file. I fan through the charts again. Where is he?

"Can you explain?"

"I don't know anything, sir." Besides assisting when requested, I'm not in the loop. Kline has done nothing but protect me, but something doesn't feel right. "Can I see that again?"

He hands me Ms. Harrison's file.

I peruse the pages, flipping between prior findings, lab tests, and surgical procedures. I grab another file. And another. And another.

Shit.

My stomach sinks. This one doesn't have my signature. If Luca has a patient I didn't find, how many more are there? And who gave this to him?

A follow-up with an infection that led to death. A tumor overlooked on CT. Surgery with incomplete removal.

Why doesn't Luca have Bill's file? He's the guy who was on the stairs, the one I mentioned to the detective. I fan through the files one more time, hoping I missed his. But I didn't. Because it's not here. I know I left it. I know I did. Did Kline find it?

"Sir, are these the files your secretary gave you?"

Two lines form between his gray-speckled brows. "Kline brought me these. Tuesday afternoon."

No, no, no. Did Luca's secretary give them to Kline? I knew I should have handed them to Luca directly. I can see it all play out in my head: Kline drops by after I leave the charts, sweet-talks the secretary into going over what I left, and takes what doesn't serve him. But that doesn't make sense. Why would he add a file that places him in the crosshairs?

Luca's eyes rove over the sheet of paper in his hands, reading off the script. "Were you aware this was happening before or after we got hit with the litigation?"

"I didn't know about this until you called me, sir." I've been following this alongside everyone else. I slide all four of the files back across the desk. Kline did this on purpose. But I only know half of it because he covered his tracks—to the naked eye.

Unfortunately for him, I know what I'm looking for, and the patients' lawyers will figure it out too when they call in an expert. It's right there—he's lying. Taking their lives in his hands and snuffing them out.

"Dr. Fields." Luca's anger-filled voice draws me from my conclusion. "I know how hard this is."

It's a moot point.

"Sir?"

He pushes the intercom to Bea in the waiting area. "Send him in."

Luca's door opens as I turn in my seat, eyeballing the man, who I assume to be a hospital attorney, who comes dressed to the nines, briefcase and all.

"Dr. Fields," he says, tilting his head toward me. "You're being subpoenaed for deposition as a witness on behalf of Mount Sinai West." He sets his briefcase on the edge of Luca's desk and pops it open, pulling an envelope from inside before he offers it to me. "Next time you have this conversation, you'll be under oath."

My lungs seize, and I turn in my seat and ask Luca, "What? I thought this was to clear everything up. Why am I being subpoenaed?"

Luca nods goodbye to the attorney, and he waits until the door closes before he says, "It's protocol. We need to cover our bases."

"But I don't know what's going on."

"You're a witness. I tried to keep you out of this, but I could only do so much. Your signature is present, but I think this gives us an explanation. I know you aren't involved in this. We have new information on the files pertaining to the litigation. I wish I would have gotten this sooner."

I sit taller in the chair, knowing the information he's talking about is what I gave him, even if Kline somehow messed with it. "I had no idea he was doing this." Until Monday.

"That's what I told them." Relief washes across his face. "I'll see you next week." He bobs his head in dismissal and tucks the four files into a pile on the corner of his desk as I leave. I knew something was up long before he got caught, but I didn't realize the extent.

Or that he would involve me.