Page 124 of Bad Blood

“Maybe someone in HR?” I suggest.

He ponders over this for a few seconds. “That would be where I would start. They have all your data stored. Seems like the culprit would need to have easy access.”

Luca flashes into my mind. But there’s no way he would be involved. I told him I would bring him what I have; I just haven’t made it that far yet.

“What were you saying about not needing to find my emails?” I note IT guy’s nameplate positioned under his pocket protector, a smile creasing at the corner of my mouth. Eugene. Seems appropriate.

He stands a little taller, a confident gleam in his eye as he explains, “All our files and personnel information are backed up to an outside, HIPAA-compliant, privacy-certified server. Those files are available to us for use but stored on a database that requires multifactorial authentication for login purposes, including three diff—”

“Is that something anyone at the hospital can do?”

“If you’d let me continue.”

I remind myself it’s rude to roll my eyes. I’m not built for thinking outside the box, and I don’t have time for this. I want straightforward answers, but Eugene believes every detail is essential.

“It requires three supervisors from three different hospital locations. This is something that would need to be scheduled and their credentials certified. It’s no easy feat. And something that would take time to put into motion. It doesn’t happen often, if ever.”

“How often do they get backed up?”

“Every day.”

“Once per day?”

“Twice. All changes are recorded in the files. Anything that has ever been done to a patient’s file will be logged. Would you like me to set up a time to—”

I hold up a hand. “I appreciate it, but I think you’ve given me all I need. Someone will be in touch if we need more.” I pat his arm, and he goes rigid, his eyes growing to the size of golf balls as they trail down his arm to where my hand touches his skin.

“You know where to find me,” he says as he reaches next to his computer screen and hands me a business card with a bashful smile. I’m convinced this is the first time he’s had the privilege of handing one out.

“Thank you for the information.” I make my way down the hallway to the elevator, confirming why I’ve never been to the IT department before. Something about it reminds me of a dungeon. I rub my hands over my arms. I don’t get why they like to keep it so cold.

Three floors later, I exit onto the HR floor and make my way off the elevator and through the crowd toward Luca’s office.

“Dr. Fields?”

The sound of my name coming from an unfamiliar voice has the hairs on my arms standing on end. I take my time turning, reminding myself that not every situation requires all my senses to kick into overdrive, but I’m jumpy.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Tara smiles, slowing her jog once she catches up to me.

A million questions enter my mind at the sight of her, but one rolls off my tongue without permission. “Why’d you suggest a change to one of my patients without consulting me?”

Her brow furrows. “I . . . what?”

“Blakely. You told Kline to move his CT scan. You had concerns?”

She crosses her arms over her signature red scrubs and gives me a petulant scowl. “We went out for drinks, and Kline asked me about Liam. It wasn’t the other way around. I never recommended anything.”

“But he said you . . . you went for drinks?” Of course my mind would catch on to this part of what she says. I didn’t know what Margo was talking about until I see it for myself. Tara looks like the victims, like me. Dark hair, hazel eyes—Kline does have a type. “When?”

“Saturday night.” She drops her arms, stuffing her hands into her pockets. When she rocks back on her heels, the light from overhead glints off the row of caduceus pins she has fastened across the bottom hem of her top. All six of them. “I figured if I finally said yes, he’d leave me alone. That hasn’t been the case. We’ve gone out a couple of times now. He’s not as uptight outside of work.”

I can’t tear my eyes from the pins. Why does she have so many? How did I never notice them before? Didn’t she mention having a man in her life? “I’m sorry. What?”

“You asked about Kline.” She follows my stare and grabs the lineup of pins, holding it up before she continues, “We’re just friends.”

“What did he say about Liam?” I redirect our conversation, unsure of why I’m over-analyzing everything.

“He mentioned some discrepancies in his care. He asked my opinion on scans and the time between treatments. I told him the usual: with ES, we wait until the end of the second week of treatment and infusions. He dropped it after that.”

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