5. Betrayal and Blame

5

Betrayal and Blame

Brighton

Tuesday, May 9 th

8:57 a.m.

The sound of the door ricocheting off the wall doesn't pull Kline's attention from the papers he's glancing over.

I kick out the leg of the seat in front of his desk and clear my throat, dropping into it.

He continues to act as if I'm not glaring at him and pushes his smudged glasses up the crook of his nose.

"You can fuck with me, but you better not think about messing with my career." I don't give him the chance to explain. I toss the files I found across his desk, the papers spilling onto the floor.

He got me wrapped up in this mess, and I'll be damned if I don't figure a way out.

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He leans back in his chair and humphs . "I wondered how long it would take for you to stand up for yourself."

I narrow my gaze. "And you thought you'd pull this shit?" I motion toward the door and the meeting I left.

"It's not what you think." He laces his fingers behind his head and yawns.

"Tell me, what do I think?" I'm trying to keep my attitude in check, but he messed with the wrong person.

"It wasn't on purpose."

I cross one leg over the other and wrap my arms across my chest. "The charts say otherwise."

He gathers the papers at his feet, shuffling them together as he straightens them on his desk. "I don't know what you think you found, but there's nothing in these." He sets them in a tidy pile in front of me.

The condescending tone has me biting the inside of my cheek. I don't want to say something I'll regret later.

"Look, I should have warned you."

I fly back in my seat. "Warned me? You knew?" My mouth drops open. I can't believe the bullshit I'm hearing.

"Nelson passed during surgery." He narrows his brow and rakes a hand through his already messy hair. "Of course, I knew. Malpractice lawsuits are inevitable when there's a death."

My anger toward him starts to dissipate. He has a relevant point. "What about Banks?"

"Crotchety old bitch." He rocks back in his chair, both hands on the armrests on either side of him as he fights to keep the smile from his lips.

A shocked noise slips from my mouth. He's right. She was crotchety, but still. "That's no excuse."

"It was a couple of complaints that got ignored. Luca is aware. The misdiagnosis isn't as straightforward as Robert's trying to portray." He sits up straight in his chair, grabbing the files he set in front of me. "Wait, you think I did this on purpose?"

"It crossed my mind," I reply with a single shoulder shrug.

"I can't believe you think so low of me. After everything?"

He has a point. Although he has damaging information to hold over me, he's never once threatened to use it against me. It's my guilty conscience that usually gets in the way and has me doing stupid things.

He yawns, and I fight the need to do the same. The likelihood he got as little, if not less, sleep as I did is an actual possibility. He runs a hand over the stubble on his chin as I examine him closer. I'm pretty sure he's wearing the scrubs he had on yesterday. "Is that ketchup?"

Kline drops his chin to his chest and pulls out the hem of his green scrub top. He chuckles. "Guilty as charged."

He knows his charm doesn't work on me, but it's hard to stay angry at the good-looking bastard when he smiles like that.

"You need to fix this. Take responsibility for what happened." I scoop the charts and the loose papers off his desk, settling them into the crook of my arm.

"I've already talked to Luca. He knows you're not involved. We're sorting out the details."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I'm not following you." He covers another yawn with the back of his hand.

"If Luca knows, why the meeting?"

"You know they have to cover their asses. Don't take it personally."

He's right, but something feels off. "That doesn't explain what I found," I say, waving the files overhead.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. If I didn't know any better, I'd think my claims didn't affect him. It's the small tells I've learned over the years of working with him. The sniffle, the way he rubs his eyes—I'm on to something, and he's trying to brush it off like it's no big deal.

"Can I see those charts again?" He reaches for them, but I keep them out of his grasp. "Who are they?"

"Cases from the last six months."

He blows out an exasperated breath. "A little more info?"

"The surgeries we worked together."

He juts his lips out in concentration—another tell. "Nothing stands out."

Fine. He wants to play it like that? I'll just keep finding more files. I don't know what he's up to, but I'm damn sure going to clear my name of it.

"Never mind." I reach for the door handle when he scoots his seat back and stands.

"Can I review those?" He steps from behind his desk and closes in on me.

I have no other option. Yes, I worked the surgeries on these patients with him. No, there's nothing incriminating inside them. I took them to the meeting to show we work together all the time and that the two cases they have are anomalies.

And I want Kline to think I know more than I do. His sudden interest piques my suspicions. What is he trying to cover up?

I step out of the doorway, pulling the charts to my chest. "Not yet."

There's a scowl that's quickly replaced with a laugh as he drops his head to stare at his feet and swipes a hand through his hair. "Toss them on my desk when you're done going over them."

I continue into the hallway and to my office across from his without another word. He's interested. But why? I flip through the displaced papers and stick them in the appropriate patient's files, glancing over my shoulder every couple of seconds to make sure I'm not being watched.

The filing cabinet squeals in protest as I pull out the top drawer, stuffing the three files in between the J and K tabs so it's harder to find them. One more peek over my shoulder confirms I'm still alone, but my racing heart has me convinced otherwise. I push the drawer closed, dreading the final squeak, and return to my door, checking the hallway in both directions, finding no one.

This is ridiculous. No one's going to come searching my office for normal files. Unless they aren't normal.

"Hey."

I jump what feels like ten feet in the air as I whirl around to find Kline leaning on the wall outside of his office.

"Holy shit."

He chuckles. "You okay?"

"What?" I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice but fail miserably.

"Are you okay?" He enunciates each word.

"Fine. Late." I check my watch. "But fine."

"Can you put these in the records room basket?" He offers me an armload of more patient files, not waiting for me to agree. "You're headed up front, right?"

"Sure."

He tilts his head to the side. "You sure you're okay? Lauren seems flustered after the meeting. You have any more questions?"

I give him a tight smile. "I'm good. Just busy." I straighten the stethoscope around my neck and pull my office door closed behind me, double-checking to make sure it's locked before I trail down the hall.

"You left your light on."

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"Toss me your keys. I can grab it for you." He holds up both hands, a little too eager to get into my office.

"It's fine. Thanks."

His face falls, and he shrugs. "Whatever."

I turn and continue to walk backward until I meet the L-junction, and he's no longer in sight. He's trying too hard. All for some files I thought were clean. Maybe I'm wrong. As soon as I turn the corner, I pick up my pace and jog into the records room, dropping his files in the basket next to the door before I race back to my office.

The lock takes me a minute to finagle. I can't count how many times I've asked maintenance to fix it.

Kline humming comes from behind his closed door. Dammit. Why won't this freaking thing open?

I throw myself against the wood and wrench on the handle, the lock finally giving way. I rub my shoulder. That was a stupid idea. I close the door as quietly as possible and lock it from the inside. I need to take a closer look at the files to see why Kline is so interested.

A quick glance at the first file doesn't give me anything. The clock on the wall continues to tick away. I don't have much time. I flip through the next file and the next, gaze up at the clock. Dammit. My patients are waiting. The next file seems innocent enough until I turn to the last page, the surgery.

It's there, plain as day.

I'm starting to doubt myself. How did I miss this?

My heart trips over its next beat.

What Kline's doing—it's been intentional.