27. Drag Me Under

27

Drag Me Under

Brighton

Friday, June 2 nd

10:03 p.m.

The weight of Kline's fake concern seeps into the depths of my irritation, and I snort out a dismissive laugh. I can't show that he has me on edge. I won't give him that satisfaction. Where does he get the audacity to think he can talk to me like that?

I get a little smile before he rolls his chair to the filing cabinet on the wall behind him. He reaches for a wire basket with tiered levels of beige folders, pulling one free from the top bin. He tosses it on top of the pile of books on his desk.

"Take a look at that," he says, narrowing his bloodshot eyes.

My shoulders tighten, and the ache in my chest increases. I try to lean forward, but my body locks in place.

A yellow Post-it note covers the letter labels at the top of the chart. I reach for the file, noting the white oncology tab above the yellow B sticker for Blakely before my eyes settle on the red D sticker below it.

I lift the Post-it.

My chest heaves.

Why does Dax have his own file? This information should be in Liam's chart.

I swallow the bile in my throat and flip to the back of the chart, where a single sheet of paper sticks out at an odd angle.

My eyes skim the findings, landing at the bottom of the page: Dax's HLA result for the DNA testing is inconclusive because his test is missing. I gaze up as I try to rein in my temper. "You knew about this?"

Kline gives me a cockeyed grin. "And you didn't."

"For how long?"

"Couple days." He leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head.

"Why would you keep this from me? From them?"

"It's irrelevant." He stares at me blankly, acting like this is no big deal.

"He needs to do another test."

"It doesn't change anything."

I fall into the seat, my voice barely above a whisper, as I pull the chart to my chest. "How did this happen?"

"Discrepancies show up in charts all the time. It's probably mixed up in other paperwork. Maybe the wrong file."

"His test is lost." I can't believe I have to spell this out for him. "And we're in the middle of a malpractice. This doesn't look good."

"He can do another swab. It's not a big deal."

"For you. Liam needs it."

"This is not my problem. If you had referred the kid, we wouldn't be here. This is on you." He jabs a finger at me.

I feel betrayed.

But I have a plan. And Kline's decision to hide this from me just made it a hell of a lot easier.

"I'm watching you." My voice quakes, betraying my need to show confidence. With deliberate movement, I stand and hold my ground.

"What did you say?" He leaps to his feet and leans over his desk, both hands planted on his paperwork.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove, but I'm not going to let you—"

He busts out in laughter. "Let me? You're not going to let me what?"

"Get away with this," I say through gritted teeth.

His mouth turns up with a smirk as I set Dax's file on top of the stack of books. "I already have."

I scoot backward, never taking my eyes off him. "That's what you think."

He slams his hands onto the desktop. "Don't make me remind you that your signature—"

"Is on the documents too. I know." But that doesn't matter because I found a way around that little tidbit of information. When something matters to me—really matters to me—I always find a way.

"You need to watch yourself. This has nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me? I have Grady's file." I throw out the damning information I stumbled across while in the file room. I scowl as I pull his file from between the stack of books on the edge of Kline's desk and shake it in front of him.

"And?" His voice is full of spite as he stares at me.

It's all been an act.

He doesn't care about his patients.

He did this on purpose. He's a monster.

But this is done. I'm not going to let him do this to anyone else.

And I can finally breathe.

Because this isn't the end—it's just the beginning.

He doesn't know all I have, and until this moment—until his reaction—neither did I.

I set Grady's chart on top of the books, grab my pile, and take this as my cue to leave.

Kline stares at me, his lips in a thin line as I back away, inching out of his office and closer to mine. I'm mere steps away from safety. But I never take my eyes off his door.

I slink inside my office and collapse against the wall, slumping to the floor. My hands tremble as I drop the books and files at my side and watch them spill across the linoleum.

Wings beat against the inside of my stomach as I press my palms into my eyes.

My ears perk up to the sound of footsteps, and my lungs seize.

The deliberate strides stop.

I crawl to the door.

Try to close it.

Tears sting behind my eyes.

Something's in the way.

There's a throaty chuckle.

I rise to my knees, shoving at the door with both hands.

And come eye-to-eye with Kline.

"You. Can't. Prove. Anything."

I tumble onto my ass, scrambling to get away. I scoot backward, my feet slipping as I kick against the floor.

His hand wraps around my ankle.

He pulls me to him.

I spin onto my stomach, scraping my fingernails across the linoleum.

He flips me over.

I stare at him.

He works his jaw.

"I have evidence," I hiss. I kick and thrash in vain.

He leans over me, whispering into my ear. "Use it. I dare you."