Chapter 9

"SO NOW when I walk in, Dr. Baxter says Here's Nurse Terri who's always very merry,'" Toni boasted of her one-sided romance with the head of obstetrics. "It's so cute."

Georgia lifted an eyebrow. "The man made up a ridiculous rhyme to go with a name that isn't even yours, and you call it progress?"

"Well, you're having phone sex with your boyfriend of ten months and you call that progress."

"Touché. Just do me a favor and tell the guy your name, okay?"

"But he'll be humiliated to find out he doesn't know who he's been talking to."

"What about you, the person he's calling by the wrong name?"

Toni sighed. " I just keep hoping he'll glance at my name tag." She focused on something behind Georgia. "Uh-oh, here comes Dr. Story. See ya."

Georgia frowned after her friend who scooted down the hall. Dr. Story, the attending E.R. physician for her shift, did not look pleased, his mouth pinched into a pucker and his glasses low on his nose. And he was making a beeline for her.

"Good morning, Dr. Story."

"Nurse Adams," he acknowledged without moving his lips. "I've been told that you accepted and cared for an animal yesterday in the E.R., but that couldn't possibly be correct because by taking in an animal, you would be putting our entire program in jeopardy, risking jobs, not to mention risking the lives of patients who, in an emergency, would prefer that the nearest facility not be closed due to health violations brought on by one willful nurse who is supposed to be setting an example for the entire nursing staff."

If he'd stopped for a breath, she would've defended herself. By the time he finished his tirade, however, she simply apologized and promised that the episode would not happen again.

"If it does," he warned, the end of his nose moving, "you will be fired on the spot."

His eyes qualified his threat—no severance, no letter of recommendation and no farewell party. He turned on his heel and marched away with clicking strides. Georgia swallowed hard. Second chances in this industry were rare, and she wouldn't blow it. At the moment, she resented Officer Medlock intensely for getting her involved with the mongrel—and for popping into her head last night while she and Rob were having... fun.

The memory warmed her still. Maybe Rob was the man with whom she could explore her fantasies, all of them. She smiled as she prepared the meds for rounds. Imagine—a man who, much like herself, presented a stoic face to the world, when deep down, he, too, was probably looking for someone to unlock his passions.

How remarkable that they'd found each other. She kept smiling and nodding to herself, trying to ignore the nagging image of Ken Medlock's face inches from hers after he'd wrapped his big arms around her and squeezed a hunk of bread from her throat. So the man was... obliging. Big deal. Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. So he'd saved a dog's life and hers in the space of a few hours. Wasn't that the man's job, for heaven's sake? She saved lives every day in the E.R., so if Officer Ken thought she owed him something for that pedestrian procedure he'd performed in the mall, he had another think coming, assuming there was much thinking going on between the big man's ears. She set her jaw and forced his face from her mind.

Thank goodness the day passed with relative ease. Especially nice since she'd be volunteering at the blood drive until late in the evening. She'd be ready to relax with Rob on the phone by the time she arrived home. A wonderful by-product of their sensual sessions was the great sleep afterward, despite the suffocating temperature in her apartment.

Georgia left the hospital around three in the afternoon, emerging in heat so oppressive, she was instantly worried about the turnout for the blood drive. Most people wanted to give, but many looked for a reason to "wait until next time." The heat was keeping people indoors under air conditioners, which had overburdened the power plants to the point of brownouts all over the city. An increasing number of the E.R. patient ailments were heat-related.

She fanned herself with a small notebook she found in her purse, conceding that hormones also rose with the temperature. That might explain why a strait-laced New Englander like herself was behaving strangely, having phone sex with one man while fantasizing about another. If it wasn't a felony, it was, at the very least, an extravagant sin.

She aimed for her normal seat on the end of the bus stop bench but halted in her tracks at the sight of a flapping yellow flyer on the post of a nearby sign. Lost dog. Mixed breed, male, long multicolored hair. Answers to the name Tralfaz. Georgia made a face. Tralfaz? No wonder the poor dog ran away.

After writing down the number listed at the bottom of the flyer, she pursed her mouth when a thought came to her. The police station was only a block or so away from the municipal building. Maybe she would drop the number off with Officer Medlock on the way. He'd probably taken the dog to an animal shelter, but she could at least make an effort—but only for the rather cute dog's sake, she told herself during the cramped bus ride.

She'd never been inside a police precinct before. Amazing how the mere presence of so many uniformed officers could make one feel so conspicuous, as if within these halls, one's transgressions were as apparent as a swallowed coin in an x-ray. (Her big sister had warned her, but she had to try it anyway.)

Inside, the place was chaotic—she hadn't realized so much criminal activity was going on in this adopted city of hers. She waited in line for twenty-five minutes to talk to an imposed-upon middle-aged man with eyebrows so bushy she couldn't help but stare.

"May I help you?" he barked.

"I'm looking for Officer Ken Medlock."

He looked her up and down, then gave her the most curious smile. "Is this about a police matter?"

Georgia glanced down at her white uniform, a fitted skirt and tailored blouse—she'd wanted to look her best this morning for her expected dressing-down from Dr. Story. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, rolled bun. She'd forgotten to remove her stethoscope, but otherwise she failed to see the humor in her appearance. "No, my business is personal."

His remarkable eyebrows climbed. "Oh?" Then his eyes widened. " Oh. Just a moment." He picked up the phone and spoke into it, then hung up, grinning. "Right this way."

She followed the man through a maze of hallways and bullpens but grew increasingly uncomfortable when she realized they were picking up a crowd of officers along the way. What the devil was going on?

"Ken," the man bellowed. "Happy Birthday, man!"

Ken Medlock turned, caught her eye, then unfolded himself slowly from his desk, his face a mask of surprise. Georgia swallowed in dismay—the man was just as attractive as she remembered, darn it. His hair looked as if he'd been running his hands through it.

Lucky hands.

"Well?" The bushy-eyebrowed man gestured toward her. "Didn't you bring your own music?"

She squinted at the man. Was he senile?

"What's going on?" Ken asked the people circling around.

"Klone got you a stripper for your birthday!" the man shouted. The group broke into raucous applause and whoops of encouragement.

Georgia froze. A stripper? They thought she was a stripper? She glared at Ken, whose eyes bugged, although he clearly wasn't as bothered by the idea as she.

She crossed her arms and mouthed, "Do something."

"Time out, guys," he shouted, T-ing his hands. When everyone quieted, he said, "Miss Adams here is a registered nurse at County."

Shocked silence fell around them. The man who had greeted her mumbled an apology, then melted away with the rest of the shuffling group. Her skin tingled with embarrassment, and she was certain her cheeks were scarlet. Were her encounters with this man destined to be awkward?

When they were alone by his desk, he wiped an amused smile from his face with his hand. "Hi."

She was considerably less amused. "Hello."

"Sorry about that, ma'am. The guys around here can get a little carried away. Do you want some coffee or something?"

Ugh, that "ma'am" thing was killing her. She wet her lips. "No. I came to give you a phone number."

His grin curled halfway up his handsome face.

"Not mine." Polite, presumptuous beast. "I saw a flyer advertising a lost dog that sounded like the one you hit."

"Accidentally," he added wryly.

"Whatever," she said, fishing in her purse to retrieve the scrap of paper she'd written on. "Here."

"Thanks."

He didn't look too grateful, though. "Did you take him to the animal shelter?"

"No, I took him home with me."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh. Well. How nice."

"Did I get you in trouble at the hospital?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry about that, ma'am."

"No, you're not. I told you plainly I wasn't allowed to tend the dog, but you wouldn't leave."

"He might've died."

She shook her head. "Look, I like dogs as much as the next person, but how would you feel if you came into the E.R. with a heart attack and saw a dog lying in the bed next to yours?"

"That depends. Are you my nurse?"

"Goodbye, Officer Medlock."

"Wait. I was about to go on break. Want to grab a bite to eat?"

She did need to eat before going on duty for the blood bank, but she didn't want to eat with him. "No."

"Oh, come on," he cajoled. "No matter what you say, I saved your life yesterday. You owe me a hot dog or something. Besides, it's my birthday."

At the sight of his shining brown eyes, she wavered. He was impossibly appealing, that was certain. And although she could've saved herself yesterday, he had stepped in. "Well—"

"Ken," a man behind her yelled. "Happy Birthday, man!"

They were back, the entire crowd, escorting a blonde dressed in a traditional nurse's uniform. If nurses wore white miniskirts, that is. And five-inch heels. But the little cap that secured her bound hair was very convincing, and the black-rimmed glasses made the woman look almost smart enough to wade through the schoolwork necessary to become an R.N.

Georgia shrank back as the woman advanced and set a boom box on his desk, then pressed a button and began to undulate to a stylized version of "Happy Birthday" set to bump and grind music. Georgia's tongue settled into her cheek.

The woman tore off her nurse's cap, releasing her golden hair, swinging it in her customer's face. When the blonde began to unbutton her blouse, Georgia stumbled backward to the entrance, battling an onslaught of emotion. Some dark side of her wanted to see how the man would respond to the blatant display.

Officer Medlock was loving it. Not in a lecherous, lip-smacking kind of way, but in a good-natured, teasing kind of way. The woman was down to bikini top and skirt, wrapping her arms around Ken's neck as she danced around him. Georgia's eyes drooped as she imagined herself in the woman's place, peeling off her clothes for an audience of one.

But for whom?

Her eyes popped open. What was she thinking? When the woman pushed Ken into his chair and climbed onto his lap, she fled.

Georgia was glad to have a block to walk off her discomfiture before reporting for her volunteer work. Her steps were deliberately slow in the cloying heat, and she ducked under awnings whenever possible to escape the intense rays of the sun. But her breathing accelerated when she thought of the scene she'd just left. The good thing was that the performer's appearance had spared her Ken Medlock's company. Georgia worked her mouth from side to side.

The bad thing was that the performer's appearance had spared her Ken Medlock's company.

She shook herself, dismayed at her train of thought. At the sight of the blonde, he had instantly forgotten his invitation. Georgia pushed down the troubling images of sharing an intimate snack, then grabbed a jumbo pretzel from a street vendor, and hurried into the municipal building in anticipation of occupying her hands and her mind.

Since she'd given him the phone number of the likely owner of the dog, they had no further ties. In fact, Georgia could think of no circumstances whatsoever under which she and Officer Ken Medlock would be speaking in the future.