Page 7 of Bad Blood

“Hang on a minute!” The heel of a boot wedges between them.

I turn to glare at the unwanted occupant and am met by a glint of shrewd presumption. The doors seal him inside with me, plunging the elevator into an awkward scramble before silence settles between us.

“You’re named in the lawsuit alongside Dr. Matthews,” he says with an air of nonchalance as if he were bringing up the weather. “What can you tell us about the allegations?” He pulls out his cell phone and presses record, holding the phone in the air to catch whatever he thinks I may say. The weight of his scrutiny intensifies as my jaw ticks with the strain of silence.

Confirmation of the allegations from someone else’s mouth is the final straw. Jenks’ words strike like lightning, sending shockwaves through my brain. My reticence could imply guilt, but I have no intention of confirming his suspicions.

He seems to sense my weakness like it’s plastered across my forehead. “The people have a right to know.”

Jenks’ smile deepens in response to my visible discomfort, a tyrant celebrating my vulnerability. “The allegations involve patients under your care. Can you at least confirm or deny your involvement?”

I hold up a hand to stop him in his tracks. “I take every patient’s well-being seriously”—I cover myself with a layer of indifference—“I won’t discuss specifics because of the ongoing investigation.”

Should I have ignored him? Probably. Does my need to put him in his place outweigh my instincts? Absolutely. Rage creeps up my neck, my sweating palms crimping the edges of the folders caught in my grip.

“I’m going to get the information I want from someone. That could be you, or . . .”

My heart pounds and my weak attempts at composure are failing me when I need them most. “I won’t comment on individual cases. Patient confidentiality is—”

“This could tarnish your spotless reputation, Dr. Fields. What would you like to say to those who doubt your competence?” He thrusts his phone into my face, his grin turning predatory.

My jaw clenches, and I tighten my grip on the folders to guarantee I don’t do something stupid. “No comment.”

Being nationally renowned for unconventional treatment of cancers and the use of groundbreaking protocols got me on the map. And my drive and dedication toward finding answers got me into the ever-looming mess with Kline. It has nothing to do with my competence.

The elevator pings its arrival on the seventh floor. The doors glide open, and I step out, Jenks following me like a shadow.

I freeze. Lauren, my nurse, leans against the nurses’ station, poised for my arrival. She greets me with a curt smile and a look of confusion. “You’re late.”

“What are you doing here?” I never get red carpet treatment.

“It’s out of character. I’ve been worried.” She rushes to my side, falling in step beside me. She drops her voice to a whisper. “The meeting starts in fifteen. I figured you’d be early. You okay?”

I gaze over my shoulder, finding Jenks watching from where he stopped beside the elevator.

“I’ll be ready for answers as soon as you’re ready to give them,” he calls to me and waves before he steps back into the elevator.

The nerve.

Lauren ushers me toward the door leading into the back hallway.

My hand isn’t steady as I swipe my badge across the square pad on the wall. It gives me a red light. I swipe again, trying to tamp down the trembling in my hand. Red again.

Lauren leans forward, swiping her badge across the pad. It flashes green, and she guides me into the hall.

With each step, the realization that the malpractice lawsuit is not merely a legal ordeal but rather a storm threatening to dismantle the foundation of my career settles into my brain.

My bag slips from my shoulder and slides down my arm into the files and laptop in my hand. A myriad of emotions course through me—disbelief, anger, and fear—along with an overwhelming need to find answers. The idea that Kline is behind this fuels my determination to unravel the accusations surrounding the situation.

I can’t believe this is happening. I take a steadying breath as I try to get my rising temper under control.

My chest tightens. I can’t breathe. My vision blurs, sounds muffle. Colleagues offer sympathetic glances as we weave our way down the hall. Conversations go silent.

“I need a few minutes,” I say, turning to Lauren as we stop at the L-shaped junction of the halls.

Her face crinkles in confusion. “But the meeting—”

“Will be better if I get my information in order.”

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