Page 93 of Bad Blood

“Like that would happen.”

“I don’t want to chance it. Stay home.” I freeze when the doors open to the cafeteria floor, freaked at the idea Dani could somehow appear out of thin air. But the coast is clear.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Liam says. The sound of the PA system beeps to life, and a monotone voice echoes behind his voice.

“It’s not you that I’m worried about. I mean, it is, but—stay home. It’ll make me feel better.”

“Got it. No interactions with Dax’s psycho ex. Check.”

“She’s not my ex.” I stuff my free hand into my front pocket and head towards the ice machine.

“Right. My bad. Get my ice.”

“Be there in five.”

26

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Brighton

Friday, June 2 nd

9:47 p.m.

It’s eerie walking through the silent hospital. The place usually feels like it has a heartbeat of its own. But not this late. The drive did little to distract me from my disappointment and frustration. It was supposed to clear my mind from the latest murder, but as I step off the elevator onto the oncology floor, I still wipe tears from my face.

I don’t know what it was, but something told me it was Jessie. And I was right.

The dim lights over the nurses’ station draw my attention to the hall leading toward my office. I need to get Liam’s chart and lock myself away before I run into anyone.

A head full of brown curls appears behind the counter, and my hopes drop to the pit of my stomach. The night shift nurse smiles over the computer screen, pushing her horn-rimmed glasses higher on the crook of her nose.

I get a sleepy nod, reciprocate the gesture, and am thankful there’s no pretense of being more friendly. Why I care about the acceptance of the nurse, I don’t really know. I continue past her toward the hall.

Ah, crap. Liam has chemo on Monday, and his chart is probably up here. So much for no contact.

I stop short of the door and return to the counter. The nurse lifts her head at the sound of my footsteps.

“Do you have the files for chemo next week?” I whisper.

She rolls her chair across the linoleum to the opposite side of the counter and rummages through a few piles of charts. Her brow creases, and she turns to face me, shaking her head. “I don’t have any of yours.”

I offer a tight-lipped smile and a sigh, returning to the hall. “They’re probably still on my desk. Thanks.”

The look she gives me sets me on edge. Something is nagging me. Something is off. Something is different. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense—I’m missing something big. And Kline doesn’t want me to find it.

A quick swipe of my badge, and I’m in complete darkness in the doctors’ hallway as my eyes try to adjust. I run my hand across the wall in search of the switch and take a few steps until I find it. I hate how the automatic sensors only work half the time.

I head along the hallway and past the doctors’ lounge before I stop in front of the records room. I flip on the light and explore the shelves, running my finger over the alphabetized files.

There’s a chance Liam’s chart is in with the others to be re-shelved. But it’s not here. That means it has to be on my desk. I pull a couple more patients’ charts to compare and grab a specific one to ensure I didn’t miss anything the last time I went over it.

I skim the findings like I have a million times as I continue the length of the hall, stop at the conference room, and try the handle.

That’s weird. Some paperwork from the chart is missing, but I can’t put my finger on it. A scan? I’ve stared at the contents of this file more times than I care to remember. Why can’t I figure out what’s missing? I push the doubt out of my mind and try to ignore the intrusive thoughts.

I stare at the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, undoubtedly the obvious place to find answers. I don’t know where to start. I scan the spines and grab three textbooks from random shelves and a few medical journals from the cabinet near the door.

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