Page 170 of Bad Blood

One Wrong Move

Brighton

Monday, June 12 th

8:30 a.m.

“Why the hell don’t I have access?” I chuck my badge across Kline’s desk. It hits him square in the chest, and I instantly regret letting my emotions overtake me.

“Looks like you’re here. Must have some access.” He doesn’t look up from the chart in front of him. He slides his glasses up the crook of his nose, grabs my badge from the top of the charts he’s working on; scribbles in someone’s chart and holds up my badge for me to take.

I rip it free from his grasp and swallow around a tight ball of emotion. “I can’t log in to the computer.” I bite out each word as I lean forward, placing my hands on his desk.

“You’re overstepping bounds.”

“And?” I want to wipe the satisfied smirk off his smug little face.

“You’re in over your head.” He pushes back from his desk, stands, and drops the apathetic façade as he passes me and enters the hall.

If he wants me to come out guns-a-blazing, he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. That’s it—there’s no way in hell I’m letting him anywhere near Liam.

“Coming?” He peeks his head back inside the door, waiting for me to follow. “It’s an easy fix.” He takes hold of the badge around my neck and grins.

I stride past him, not making eye contact as the force of my passing rips the lanyard from his hand. Footsteps trail after me, but I keep a distance between us as I try to keep my anger from boiling over.

“We felt you needed some time to think. Seems like you’ve been making rash decisions, not following protocol, acting without thinking.”

“Who the hell is we?” I bite out, stopping in the hall as I whirl around on him.

He holds up both hands, fighting a smirk. “Me and Eugene.” The implication is clear. He’s trying to remind me he’s in control and put me in my place.

“I knew it was you,” I say, stabbing a finger at his chest.

“I asked him to restrict your access, so you’d have to come see me.” He ignores my accusation. “This case you’re working, Blakely. I’m concerned.”

“Everything is fine.”

“Is it, though? Your decision-making shows otherwise. You leave your keys lying around. And your email open—”

“What decision?”

“Keeping Liam.”

“I’m not getting into this with you again. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not sure you do.” Kline opens the cream-colored folder in his hands and skims the pages as we walk down the hall toward the oncology floor. “Anything we need to discuss?”

Is this a trap? Is he trying to get me to confess to something? Or did Liam already stop by?

My silence pulls his attention from the folder.

“Is that a yes?” He skims a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair while he waits for my response.

I shake my head and try to keep what I’m thinking off my face. If he were observant, he’d see that my balled fists and stiff posture are a dead giveaway that he’s on to something.

“Liam came by a little while ago. You just missed him.” That explains things. He closes the chart, tucks it under his arm, and stops in the middle of the hall.

I swallow the lump in my throat. The urge to pull my phone from my pocket to call and tell Dax the plan is off has me spiraling as regret sinks low in my stomach.

---