45. Bright Idea

45

Bright Idea

Brighton

Saturday, June 10 th

10:27 a.m.

Most people don't care, and some secretly want you to fail. But that's not what it feels like sitting across from Hudson. He's worried. And he needs this more than I do.

I offer his phone back to him after watching the horrible replay of the live footage of my second-long interview with Jenks. If me shoving my hand in the camera and yelling at Jenks isn't enough to have people suspecting I'm the snitch at the hospital, then I don't know what is. I let my guard down when I was talking to Jenks and let him get the best of me. But it's too late now.

"Do you think Kline saw it?"

Hudson's eyes stay fixed on his menu as he answers. "He's the one who mentioned it." He clears his throat and smiles as the waitress stops at our table tucked in the back of a secluded diner in Hell's Kitchen.

I close my eyes when the burn of tears ignites behind them. I shouldn't have reacted without thinking, but considering everything else going on, I don't know if anyone would blame me. Sure, yelling at Jenks is not one of my finer moments, and telling him to fuck off on live TV is at the top of the list for the worst thing I've done in my lifetime. Was it an admission of guilt? Absolutely. But I can't take it back.

"She'll have the same." Hudson grabs the menu from my hands and stacks it behind his before offering it to the waitress. "Hope you like your eggs over easy and your coffee black."

I smile and give a half-hearted nod to show I'm paying attention.

Hudson watches as the waitress disappears behind the counter before he continues, "It was the first thing out of his mouth when we brought him in for questioning. He said he's worried you're involved in something way over your head and that you're getting too invested. We asked about where he was last night, but he has an alibi, and we have nothing . . ."

He keeps talking. I want him to stop. He doesn't.

I continue breathing through the choked feeling in my throat, with every inch of my reality shifting beneath me. If Kline suspects it's me, there's no telling what he would do. And I have no excuse for my reaction if he asks.

". . . Even if he's suspicious of you, he has nothing. Just a hunch."

"So?" I ask, making a futile attempt at acting as if everything is okay. "What do you suggest?"

"I don't want you helping anymore." He doesn't hide the concern from his face. "It's not worth it. You haven't found anything we didn't already know and—"

"I need more time." I swallow the rancid emotion curling in my throat, my voice thick with emotion. But I can't give him everything I've found yet. I shouldn't hold on to my pride, but I don't want to look like a fool if I can't prove what Kline's up to. And I'm so close.

He considers his next words for longer than I'd like. "I think we may have the wrong guy. We're backing off. All of us." He's including me in that statement. His voice holds a finality that says we're done talking about it, and he doesn't give me the option to contest his choice.

I take the folded sheet of names from my back pocket, knowing this is the single piece of evidence that could change things, and there's no going back once I decide to hand it over. I slide it across the table toward him, convinced this is what he's been waiting for.

He takes the well-worn paper, staring at me with an intensity that makes my blood run faster in my veins. He reads the list. "Fuck"—he runs a hand down his face—"is this what I think it is?"

There's a new tension in the air. His concern isn't unfounded, and we both know it. I don't know what I was thinking, taking the paper instead of leaving it in Kline's desk, but I've already dug my grave where this whole thing is concerned. I should have taken a photo—I know this now—but I wasn't thinking in the excitement of the moment.

When I saw the list, I knew what it was before I confirmed it with the patient's files. But Kline's leaving too much evidence strewn about. It's not like him to be sloppy, and I can't help but think there's something odd about me finding it.

Was it planted? Did he assume I'd find it?

The information in their charts is definitely enough to pin this on Kline, without a doubt, so why would he leave it where anyone could find it? Because he didn't think I was still looking—it's the only plausible explanation.

But now he knows. He has to. And he has to suspect me.

"Where did you get this?" Hudson's eyes continue to scan the sheet, confusion creasing his brow.

"His desk."

"This doesn't have to mean anything. Are you sure you aren't trying to make more out of this than there is?"

"Those are additional patient names confirming Kline committed insurance fraud, ones that are not a part of the malpractice lawsuit yet . These"—I reach across the table, running my finger down the list of names in my handwriting on the right—"are the names of the victims—Carrie, Jessie, Tara—they all worked on one or more of these cases with Kline. Except for this one." I stop with my finger on the last name, the one right above my own. "And me."

"Nell Harper."

"She's a cardiologist."

"Don't tell me—he's been dating her?" His mouth pulls into a sterile smile as he slides the list back to me. "The three hospital murders were all victims of gunshot wounds. I don't see the victim from the bridge on your list. Something else for us to confirm she's not connected."

I fold it before stuffing it in my back pocket.

"This complicates things." There's a new intensity behind his eyes, as if he knows what I'm thinking.

"You still want me to stop digging?" My carefully constructed answer lingers between us.

He runs a hand over his face. "Do you know what this means?"

"I still need to talk to Phillip." And I need a confession from Kline.

We sit in silence for a few seconds, the waitress's timing perfect as she slides our breakfast plates in front of us with a smile. "Can I get you anything else?"

"We're good, thank you," Hudson says, deep in thought, as he hacks through his eggs with his fork and butter knife like he's a butcher slicing through meat.

"Can I get strawberry jelly, please?"

Hudson's eyes snap up to mine, guarded and cold. His frustration is rolling off him like a heatwave. I don't know what he's thinking, but having her return to our table again was not on the list. He dumps two packets of sugar into his coffee and stirs while we wait in awkward silence.

I sneak a glance past him when the bell over the door signifies an incoming patron. A brief glance at the couple causes a slow churn in the pit of my stomach. Something about them feels familiar, but I can't put my finger on it. Do I recognize him? Or maybe it's her? I picked this location because there's no way we could be caught, but the jittery feeling in my chest tells me it's time to go.

The waitress drops off the jelly without a word, the tension at our table evident. I slather the red goop onto my toast and go to take a bite when he finally clears his throat.

"You have forty-eight hours," he says with an authority that doesn't leave room to argue.

My teeth sink into the bread, jelly smearing across my top lip. I don't know what Hudson thinks I can get done in two days, but it's not a lot, considering I just found the list, and Kline's going to figure out that it's missing.

"Give me longer than that." I scoop a bite full of egg onto my fork and shove it into my mouth, looking up to see him watching me.

"That's not possible."

"Why not?"

"There are only two of you left on that list. And if you're right, you could be next."

"But we've never dated," I say after I wash down the toast with my coffee. "And I don't fit the bill."

"You have dark-brown hair, hazel eyes, you're a doctor"—he ticks off the list finger by finger—"you worked on most of his cases, and he's suspicious that you're on to him. I don't like the odds."

He has relevant points. A lot of them.

"I can handle myself." The squeeze of Kline's hand on my ankle and the threat in his eyes resurfaces in my mind. Once he finds out his list is gone, what will he do?

"That doesn't matter." He settles his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers beneath his chin. There's no mistaking the worry in his eyes. "This is getting out of hand."

His comment doesn't scratch the surface, but I can't give him what I've found out yet. I don't need him jumping the gun until I get a confirmation. I can't change what happened to the victims, but I can make sure to get all I can to back up my theory.

"Kline went out with Carrie, Jessie, and Tara within a couple of days of their murders. And he's mentioned the shooting range on more than one occasion." Goosebumps snake over my skin like the trail of a hot flame—my taking that list means everything could be jeopardized.

"We already have that information."

I take a slice of bacon and scoot to the edge of the booth. "But I have a plan." More like bits and pieces, but it's a start.

Hudson grabs my arm as I stand, and I get that stomach-dropping feeling. "And I can't promise to keep you safe anymore."

"I can get you what you need." I swallow the knot in my throat as he uses me to pull himself to stand, our meals forgotten. My eyes stay glued to his hand before they trail down his jeans and back to his face. I can appreciate that he isn't dressed in his detective attire, but something about his lack of khakis makes him a little more intimidating.

"I don't like the look on your face." His fingers loosen, and he frowns.

"You're going to have to trust me. Phillip's loyalty to Kline is more than I bargained for, but I can get him to talk. Give me ‘til Wednesday."

The combination of Kline's need for money and the timing of his divorce provides a compelling explanation for his reason behind the malpractice. I'm convinced I can find a motive that ties the murders to the malpractice and directly implicates him in the crimes.

"Please tell me you don't intend on putting yourself in danger." His frown doubles in size.

"I just need to get Kline to think I know more than I do."

"And then what?"

"I'll figure it out once I get there."

He leans his shoulder against the wall behind him after he drops a twenty on the table. "Wednesday."

I bite the inside of my cheek. I don't know if it's long enough. But I think I can pull this off.

Everything depends on Kline.

And his temper.