Page 61 of Bad Blood

He glances around and lowers his voice, “Convincing her to keep my secrets.”

“Don’t have secrets.” I freeze, knowing he has more than he’s willing to portray. I swallow my discomfort, hoping I’m not caught.

His head tilts to the side, and a smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. He narrows his gaze. “You had a meeting with Luca?”

“Yes.” My palms go sweaty. A heat rushes up my neck. “Last week.”

“Interesting.” Confusion streaks across his face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

He gets lost in contemplation. His brows knit together. “It was last week?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes, after . . . Carrie.”

“Why would he say he just talked to you?” He doesn’t direct the question at me. “Things aren’t adding up. Are you going to talk again?”

“He hasn’t mentioned another meeting.”

His eyes narrow, and he swipes his tongue across his top teeth. “Hmmm. Are you going to be deposed?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any questions?”

A million. I shake my head. “No, everything looks pretty clear.”

“You get what they’re trying to do, right?”

“They have evidence.” I grimace. Is he trying to suggest he’s not at fault? “A lot.” Of course he focuses on the lawsuit and doesn’t bother to ask if the meeting had anything to do with the murder. I know I shouldn’t be discussing this with him, but I don’t see another way to get him to talk. And I hate the idea of missing the opportunity to get him to slip up through normal, everyday conversation.

He humphs under his breath, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “You can’t have evidence for something that didn’t happen.”

I step back as if I’ve been slapped. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You saw something.”

There is no actual possibility he could think I’m stupid enough to be played for a fool. I’m sick and tired of him expecting me to go along with whatever he says.

“I saw the inaccuracies in the charts.”

He wanders down the hall toward his office, takes a few steps, and returns. “How many?”

“How many?” I lean in, unsure of what he’s referencing. My brain halts. When our eyes meet, it hits me. “Patients?”

Does he want to know how many Luca has or how many I know of?

“Four,” he says, looking for confirmation in my face.

I don’t give it to him. Because I know he took the one. He had to. I still can’t figure out why he would replace it with another incriminating chart.

He tilts his head to the side. His eyes dart to the charts in my arms. Why’s he acting as if he didn’t hand the files to Luca himself?

“I have a patient waiting.” I jerk my chin toward the oncology floor, my mouth dry. Here’s my opportunity to dig. Find out how deep this goes. But a small part of me isn’t ready to know all the details. I want more information, and I don’t want it coming from Kline.

“Hey, on a side note, it’d be best if you keep whatever I say between us.”

“Noted. Have you talked to Luca?”

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