Page 185 of Bad Blood

The hallway door slams open, creating a jarring sound that makes me recoil.

“Dr. Fields?” Kline’s booming voice fills the corridor, along with a muffled argument from Lauren, as the sound of scuffling feet and hurried footsteps starts the ball rolling without my consent.

“Dr. Matthews, stop!”

He darts through the doorway of the doctors’ lounge and freezes when he finds me with a smile on my face. I stay leaned against the counter, my arms and legs crossed, as if I’ve been waiting for him to arrive. His eyes bounce from my face to the open laptop behind me.

Lauren races to catch up and stops inside the doorway, out of breath and fuming. Kline turns on her, and she backs out of the lounge. Once she’s out of the doorway, he says, “We’ll be out in a few.”

She goes to argue, but I nod, letting her know it’s okay to leave. I don’t like this any more than she does, but he’s playing right into my hands.

He closes the door and leans his forehead against it, his shoulders quaking with anger.

“You didn’t think I knew, did you?” I try not to sound snarky, but I’m sure I fail. I need to pace myself. I don’t want to play my cards too early.

The question catches him off guard, and he takes three full seconds before he turns to face me. “You think you know what’s going on, but you have no idea.”

I stare at him, afraid to speak, blinking to make sure my brain isn’t making up this entire situation.

He rolls his sleeves as he lumbers toward me.

I have to fight the urge to run. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and start second-guessing my timeline and how long it will take for Hudson to show up. Maybe I should have waited.

Kline’s dark-rimmed eyes narrow, and his lips fall into a straight line as he lunges for me, and I turn, trying to escape his grasp. He clamps onto the waistband of my scrubs and yanks as I fight to rip free, and he collides with the cabinets.

The photos skitter across the floor. Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I hold up both hands, both our eyes glued to the polaroids.

“Stop. You don’t want to do this.” I hold up my hands in surrender as I walk backward. He crawls across the floor, gathering each picture.

“Where did you get these?”

“The back of your filing cabinet.”

He wipes a hand down his face, shaking his head. “You have it all wrong. Do you see the date? The X’s next to the ones who were murdered?” His questions stun me into silence as he flings them at me, and they scatter across the lounge. I’ve kept information from Hudson, hiding evidence I have on the investigation to use when I need it. And now I’m second-guessing if it was a good idea. “Did you think you’re the only one looking into this?”

That doesn’t make sense. Who hangs on to photos like this? A serial killer who has photos for trophies, that’s who.

He pulls himself up and sweeps a hand across the counter, flinging my laptop to the floor without breaking eye contact. The screen goes black as it skitters across the linoleum.

I continue to keep a distance between us, my shoulders stiffening as the knot in my throat tightens, and I try to come up with a way to gather the photos.

“They won’t believe you,” he says as he follows me around the room until he corners me next to the fridge and counter. He sniffles and rubs his eyes as he juts his lip out. I try to stay calm, err on the side of caution. The last thing I want is to provoke him too soon. He places both hands on the wall on either side of my head and stares at me.

“They don’t have to. They can see it with their own eyes.” I grit my teeth and twist away from him, trying to create space between us as I stare into the camera in the corner above the sink and hope that it’s working.

“Shut. Up.” He slaps a hand against the wall beside my head, and I freeze, pinching my eyes closed when he leans in; his face is barely an inch from mine.

I shove at his chest, but he pushes in closer instead of backing off. My phone chimes with an incoming text, and I pause as the sound draws Kline’s attention from me. He presses his body against mine, trapping me against the wall, while one hand covers my mouth and the other frantically searches for my phone.

“Is it your boyfriend?”

I gulp and smack at his hand as it trails up my waist and into the front pocket of my scrubs.

“What’s this?” He holds up the crumpled sheet of paper, his jaw clenching as the realization hits. He steps away from me, raking a hand through his hair.

I edge toward the door, knowing I’m not safe if I stay here. None of this has gone as planned, and I don’t think I can wait until someone arrives.

He catches my movement out of the corner of his eye and darts for me. I let out a yelp when his hand catches hold of my wrist, and whip around as I kick out, my foot connecting with his chest, throwing him off balance as he grabs my ankle and pulls me to him.

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