Page 109 of Bad Blood

Maybe I can record our interactions. Or search his office. I can check with Phillip to see when he met with Carrie or Jessie. Perhaps Margo would be willing to help.

“I don’t want my ex involved,” I reiterate, the mere thought of Margo causing thoughts of the douchebag to resurface.

“I can’t promise that.”

“Then no deal.” I explicitly agreed under the condition that my ex wouldn’t know I was involved.

“He’s working the case and—”

“You’ll figure it out,” I say, walking away.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop.

“And I’ll talk to Kline.” I stare at his hand as he slowly removes it. I can’t believe I agreed to this. I may have just sealed my fate and the end of my career as I know it.

This whole situation is damaged beyond repair.

What have I done?

“Take notes.” He claps me on the shoulder, optimism filling his eyes before he strolls out of my office and down the hall. I watch until I can no longer see him and slump against the doorframe.

I want answers. I had no idea I’d be going about it like this. And now I’m stuck.

I have a list of to-dos from Hudson:

Find out details about Kline’s whereabouts.

Find out about his history with the victims.

Find out if he has a motive.

And get more info on the malpractice—the probable reason behind his murderous crime spree—to see if it goes beyond oversight and insurance fraud.

I shiver at the idea.

Maybe this isn’t as bad as it seems. I have more tools at my disposal now. And more information at my fingertips. If I can’t get anything from Phillip, I can ask the other nurses. Tara is Kline’s type, and he seems to like her. Maybe she’ll give me something to go off of. I’ll ask her as a last resort.

I turn, stumbling over the remaining mess of books and files, almost falling as they slip and slide under my weight. I catch myself against the wall and glare at them.

All my thoughts return to one thing.

The missed call.

My eyes land on my desk. I hoist myself up, steadying my feet on the linoleum.

Why would someone call this late? And what’s with the unknown numbers?

I race across the office and yank open the drawer, pulling out my phone. The screen shows the waiting voicemail, and I tap on the icon, watching as the message plays, a buzz of silence before the person hangs up.

I hit redial before I think better of it.

It rings once.

“Please tell me you backed up the information from the files you found.”

“Luca?”

“Just say yes.”

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