Chapter 69

I didn't even realizeI drifted to sleep until the ringing of my phone jogs me awake. I'm sitting up in bed, my laptop resting on my legs, still in the clothes I had been wearing last night. I recall a dream I had been having about Frank, although I can't remember the details. I fumble for the phone and hold it to my ear.

"Hello?" I mumble.

"Mason? It's Erin. Where are you?"

Erin… shit! I completely forgot we were supposed to get together for an early lunch today at a coffee shop that's a five-minute drive from my dorm. I look at my watch and realize I'm fifteen minutes late.

"I'm sorry, I…" I try to come up with an excuse, and my mind goes blank. "I'll be there in five minutes, okay?"

Erin reluctantly agrees, and I shove my feet into my shoes. No time to change clothes. I pull on a light jacket as I hurry out the door, since the weather has started to get pretty nippy lately. I can't believe I managed to stand up my first real date since starting med school. Lately, I'm finding it increasingly difficult to focus.

When I pull up to the coffee shop, I spot Erin through the window, sitting in a booth and glancing down at her watch as she pouts. This is not a girl who is used to being stood up. I again search my brain for a plausible excuse for not showing up. I can't think of one. And I can't exactly tell her I forgot all about her.

I yank the door open and nearly trip over a chair hurrying over to her table.

"Hi, Erin," I say breathlessly. "Sorry I'm late…"

She looks up at me, obviously ready to give me a piece of her mind, but her jaw falls open slightly when she sees me. I didn't look in a mirror before leaving the apartment, and now I'm sorry—I probably look like a mess. I self-consciously run a hand through my hair in a half-hearted effort to comb it out.

I slide into the seat across from her.

"I'm really sorry," I say again.

"You know, some guys will put on clean clothes for a girl," Erin says. "And shave."

I touch the stubble on my chin and try to recall the last time I took a razor to my face.

"Sorry," I say again.

Although I'm beginning to realize I'm not all that sorry. I couldn't care less about Erin. She's pretty, yeah. But so what? There are thousands of pretty girls out there.

And anyway, she's got nothing on Sasha. I still can't believe I blew that.

I wouldn't have been surprised if Erin had gotten up and walked out on me. But instead, she leans forward and crosses her arms.

"So how was your big exam?"

I struggle to come up with an answer to her question. The anatomy exam was two days ago, and I'm only slightly distressed by the fact that I barely remember it. It doesn't seem important anymore. My life is in danger. Doesn't she get that?

No, I guess she doesn't.

As Erin babbles about something or other, my mind wanders. I can't help but think that Frank is the key to all of this. Frank was a cop, and I bet he knew something. He must have been investigating the drug sales, and he figured out what's going on. That's why Conlon had him killed. And Conlon is willing to get rid of anyone who's on the verge of figuring out his secret. And now, that includes me.

"Who's Frank?" Erin asks.

I stare at her. "What?"

"You just said something about ‘the case Frank was investigating,'" she says.

I hadn't realized I had spoken out loud. Wow, that's a little scary.

"What are you talking about?" she asks.

"Believe me, you don't want to know."

Erin is giving me a strange look. "Are you okay?"

Okay? No, I'm not okay! My anatomy professor is a drug dealer and a murderer, and I'm probably next on his hit list.

She squints at me. "You look like you're on drugs."

"On drugs?" I repeat. "You have no idea how far off you are."

But the weird thing is that as she says it, I start to wonder. My thoughts have been racing lately in a way that they never have before. And Conlon clearly has access to an arsenal of substances. What if he's been slipping me something? I'm not sure how he'd do it, but I've eaten plenty of meals in the hospital cafeteria. I'm sure he could pay someone off to get access to my food.

"If you're going to talk nonsense, I'm leaving," she says. She punctuates her statement by standing up.

I look up at her as she stands there for a moment, her arms folded across her chest. I could stop her. I could maybe say something charming, and she might agree to stay and have lunch.

But instead, I just let her leave.