24. Case in Point

24

Case in Point

Brighton

Thursday, June 1 st

12:19 p.m.

I forgot how disgusting hospital cafeteria food is. You'd figure after working here for years, I'd know better, but the long day and my lack of sleep have me staring at a half-eaten, soggy salad and a cup of fruit that tastes like it expired last week. I gag down another bite and push the remnants of my meal to the other side of the table.

I drop my head back to stare at the ceiling. I can't believe I'm such an idiot. First, Carrie, and now Jessie. I slide my phone across the table, sick of watching Jenks's broadcast of the identity of the latest victim. What a way to have my suspicions confirmed. I palm my breast pocket, double-checking to see if the USB drive is still there from earlier. Carrying it on me is the only way I get any peace of mind.

The conversation I had with Kline after our meeting replays in my head as I pinch my eyes closed. He couldn't have caught me at a worse time, not to mention I'm horrible at lying. If blubbering through why I was going back over the malpractice files didn't cause his suspicions, I can only imagine my questioning him did. I've never shown an interest in his life outside of the hospital before and asking about whether or not he ever dated Jessie had to be a dead giveaway I was digging.

How did I miss that Carrie and Jessie both worked on separate cases that are involved in the malpractice? Their signatures were on different tests in the files too, and somehow, I overlooked them. Until I knew what I was looking for. If Kline is targeting women he's dated, and those women are all linked to the malpractice through different patients, there's a chance I can figure out who's next. There's only a handful of doctors he's been dating who coincide with the malpractice. But that doesn't explain a motive.

Maybe I'm overthinking this. There's nothing directly tying Kline to the murders, just the victims. Is that enough? Is he trying to get to anyone involved with the malpractice before they can give their statements?

My attempt to rein in my thoughts is pointless. If I'm not sifting through possible motives, I'm analyzing the probability that I've missed something else, like I did with Carrie and Jessie's connection to the malpractice.

I know I can do this. I know there's something tying Kline to the murders and the malpractice. I just need to figure it out. To Kline, I've never been a threat, but he doesn't know that I'm tired of rolling over and accepting whatever he throws at me. Proving myself to him doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that I get to the bottom of this—that I figure it out, no matter the cost.

A rush of power and purpose courses through me at my decision. It's a bit intoxicating knowing that I have information no one else does, that I'm on the inside. And I might be the only one who can fix this.

But am I too late? Why can't I find anything else? And why does it feel like Kline is always one step ahead of me? Luca wants me to hand over what I have, but I'm not ready. Plus, I don't know exactly what I'm looking for. If I don't get more, I won't be able to clear my name. And that will be the end of everything.

A shadow falls over my eyelids, and my stomach clenches. I pause, waiting for it to disappear. When it doesn't, I take a deep breath and open my eyes, startled at the closeness of a face. I sit up quickly, nearly knocking into him.

"Kline?"

"I never thought I'd find you down here." His eyes search past me, and he squints, his arms wrapped behind him. "How are you holding up?"

I frown, questioning him with my eyes. Does he mean with work? Carrie and Jessie? My cases? He doesn't elaborate.

"I'm fine, why?"

"You seem a little off."

I glance toward my uneaten meal, trying to signify that I came to the cafeteria with a purpose, but he doesn't get my meaning and takes the direction of my gaze as an invitation.

"You gonna finish that?" He slides into the seat across from me and sets his elbows on the table. He loosens the top few buttons of his gray dress shirt and rolls up his sleeves as he brushes a hand over his hair, mussing it as he gives me a toothy grin.

"It's all yours." I shake my head, curious about his intentions. I push the salad closer toward him.

"You sure? I'm starving." He grabs the fork without hesitation and stabs a mouthful of Caesar-covered lettuce and chicken.

I grimace at his lack of awareness as I slouch into the seat. I'm not in the mood for chit-chat. I curl my arms across my chest and frown as my brows knit together. I try to force my face into neutral, but it gives me away before I can correct it.

"Are you mad?" he asks.

"No, should I be?"

Kline lifts his shoulders to his ears and murmurs through a mouthful. "Depends."

"On what?"

He shovels in another bite. "I wanted to ask you something."

I don't have the energy for a conversation right now. Kline ignores me as I turn to scoot out of the booth and push to stand with a yawn.

He glances up at me and gives me a cockeyed grin as his eyes scan over my body at a glacial pace. Margo said something about me being his type, but I don't ruminate over the thought long. A shiver races along my spine, and I swallow down my disgust.

I swallow my doubt and replay what happened, trying to convince myself I didn't see what I thought I saw.

He wipes a hand over his facial scruff, and he yawns. The shadow under his eyes is darker, and his skewed hair stands on end. Something's off.

". . . at his chart, but I figured you already knew."

"What?" I whip my head up, unsure of when I stopped listening.

"You've been keeping tabs on the kid's chart?"

I set a hand on the back of the booth and lower myself into the seat a fraction at a time. "I . . . yes."

"Then don't worry about it."

"No, what about Liam's chart? What am I supposed to know?"

"The findings of his CT. You've gone over them."

"Top to bottom, two or three times. Did you have questions?" Another reference to Liam's scan. He's worried about how I'm handling his care and wants to make sure everything's going as expected. I haven't given him anything to make him doubt my abilities, and I wish he'd back off. "Why are you here?"

"I told you . . . I wanted to make sure you're fine with everything." He returns to shoveling in more salad. A couple of seconds pass before he fixes me at the center of his attention.

I lean across the table, copying his posture and hand position. "Couldn't be better."

He narrows his gaze and stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Interesting."

I grab my leather bag from the seat, turn, and stalk out of the cafeteria, struggling with the fact that he didn't say anything else. That's uncharacteristic of him, especially considering the fact that he brought up Liam. Again.

I'm starting to doubt he feels comfortable with the choice he made to let me keep him. But I'll fight for Liam, tooth and nail, to show his case is worth it. And to prove myself.

"Keep me updated on the next couple of weeks of chemo," he hollers from behind me.

I stop mid-step and go rigid but don't turn. "You got it." Why does it feel like I'm being disciplined for a mistake I haven't made? I round the corner and dash to the elevator, jamming my thumb into the button. "Hurry . . . Hurry . . ."

There is only so much time in the day, and the last thing I want to do is spend it talking to Kline about things we've already gone over.

The numbers light up in the display above the doors, and I bounce back and forth on my heels as it stops two floors up.

I whip my head around again, checking to make sure I'm alone, and pause when Kline steps out of the cafeteria, shaking hands with a couple of men who head in the opposite direction.

Why me?

He stops beside me, lacing his fingers together behind his back. "I glanced over Liam's chart after his vitamin infusion. I have to admit, I'm worried."

I tear my eyes from the elevator and glare at him. I don't have the desire or time to go back over the intricacies of Liam's case with Kline.

"You need to hear this," he continues, "straight from my mouth—I don't like it."

My stubbornness gets the better of me, and I shove a hand onto my hip. "What? Me treating Liam?"

"Exactly. You know, common sense—it's a slippery slope."

I throw my hands in the air. I can't believe Kline has the audacity to mention him, let alone try to dictate anything about the way I run the care of my patients.

I'm so confused by his intentions that I laugh. Hard. I can't do this. Not right now.

"My patients are none of your business," I reiterate.

He makes a sour face. "Stop being so negative."

"I'm being realistic."

The elevator chimes its arrival in the nick of time, and relief washes over me. I stride forward and ram the round button to go upstairs and bind my arms over my chest, waiting for the doors to close as I glare at Kline.

He narrows his eyes and drops his gaze as I push the button again to reinforce my need for it to hurry and close. The doors glide along the track, and the hairs on my arms prickle with relief.

My eyes meet Kline's as he gives me a wicked smile.

His white knuckles wrench the doors open enough so he can make his way inside.

They glide apart.

I'm gonna be sick.

He stands beside me and turns to face the exit before pushing the button to the oncology floor, even though it's already lit up. He leans in closer, acting as if he wasn't a condescending prick. "We need to talk."

"I think you've said enough." The hairs on my neck stand on end. I flee to the back of the elevator as the doors press together. I pull my bag into my arms and try to melt into the corner.

"Actually, I got sidetracked. I wanted to talk to you about something else—not your patient."

The display circles glow orange as we climb the floors to oncology in stilted silence.

"We have nothing else to discuss."

"I wanted to remind you . . ." He rushes toward me and corners me against the wall. I cry out in alarm, my breath erupting out of me. His putrid breath cascades over my face as he closes the distance between us, and I turn away, breathing only through my mouth. "My business is my business. Do you understand?"

I swallow the lump in my throat, struggling to find my voice. "Of course."

"I don't need those damn detectives asking more questions."

What do the detectives have to do with any of this?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"They called and asked about my dating history. Did you say something to them?"

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and gulp.

"Because that wouldn't be a good idea." My hesitation draws his attention, and he leans closer.

"No . . . I never."

He rakes his fingers through his hair, giving me space as he paces.

I struggle to catch my breath.

"Goddammit. Who the fuck?" He slams a palm into the wall next to the panel of lights.

"Everybody on our floor knows what's going on," I say, trying to dispel his anger. Why's it directed at me? Does this have to do with the murders or something else?

"Fuck!" He grabs fistfuls of hair, pulling it in every direction. "Remember—keep your mouth shut."

I nod, hoping to end this conversation by being agreeable and to get him to calm down.

"Glad we're clear." He leans against the wall and wraps his arms across his chest, his breaths coming out ragged and clipped.

I drop my eyes to the floor, trying to stop my lips and chin from trembling.

"No one needs to know about my personal shit. No. One . I already have the malpractice to deal with. I don't need more questions about my personal life." He points at me. "Don't say anything."

Strangled air forces itself out of my lungs as the elevator doors drift open on the fourth floor. Kline steps off, mumbling to himself as he disappears.

I freeze in wait as they slither to a close. I convince myself to drop it even though it's not my best idea.

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out.

I don't know what to do with what just happened.

But I don't scare that easily.