Page 172 of Bad Blood

“I have the proof.”

“I don’t know what you think you have, but it’s not enough.” He doesn’t mention the list. But why? Could someone else have planted it for me to find?

“Why are you doing this?” I ball my hands into fists as we step off the elevator and make our way to IT.

“To prove a point. It’s my word against yours.”

“You did this on purpose.”

“I did this? No, no, no. You did this,” he says, spit flying out of his mouth as he leans in, his beet-red face inches from mine.

I can’t get my mind to work in conjunction with my mouth as it flies through a million different scenarios.

The disheveled appearance.

The mood swings.

Margo’s random presence.

I start to fit the pieces together of how Kline plays into everything—but I’m two seconds too late.

Eugene swings open the door, his surprise etched across his face at finding us outside. “I wasn’t expecting you two. Dr. Matthews, Dr. Fields.” His eyes bounce between the two of us. “Is everything okay?”

I want to scream that it’s not, but the look I get from Kline tells me I’d be wiser not to. Bile builds up in my throat as I struggle to understand his intentions.

“Fine,” Kline says, directing me to take a seat in front of Eugene’s desk. “We’re here to restore access. I appreciate you taking care of that for me.”

“Of course. Glad you two figured everything out. I was worried about the breach.” Eugene offers a timid smile, dropping his eyes to the computer screen as he takes a seat. My suspicions about Kline’s involvement were correct.

Kline towers above me, placing his hands on my shoulders, telling me to stay quiet.

“This explains your email mishap. It would be best if you didn’t hand out your password. It’s against HIPAA . . .” Eugene says as his fingers fly across the keyboard. His mouth continues moving, but nothing overrides the static in my ears.

Kline’s trying to destroy my career.

49

Play the Game

Dax

Monday, June 12 th

9:31 a.m.

I used to always say, “One day this,” and, “One day that,” but now I see that one day is now.

I’m not ready for this.

All the tubes and lines running out of Liam’s arm. The constant beep of his monitor. The ashen color of his face. He looks nothing like he did before. And it scares the fucking shit out of me.

I continue to pace beside his seat and check the clock for the sixth or seventh time in ten minutes, counting down until Dr. Matthews makes an appearance.

“Sit. Down,” Liam mutters out of the side of his mouth, his eyes still closed. “You’re gonna ruin our plan.”

“Where is he?” I lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I have no idea, but he’s going to get suspicious if you keep patrolling the room like a caged lion.”

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