Page 94 of Bad Blood

I retrace my steps to the hallway, and my phone vibrates. I fumble with the books as I try to finagle it from my back pocket.

It’s an unknown hospital number.

My heart seizes, and my lungs constrict. The screen goes black before I can answer. I lean against the wall and re-situate the books in my arms. A lump lodges in my throat as I wait to see if I have a voicemail. The longer I stare at my phone, the harder it is to admit I’m waiting for no reason.

There’s no message.

With the nagging feeling in the back of my mind, I don’t hesitate. I tap on the unknown number and put it on speaker, setting the phone on the books as I continue to my office. Someone picks up and mumbled voices fill my ear. I fumble, trying to push end.

I’m at a loss for words.

What the hell?

Was that Kline?

I walk down the rest of the never-ending hall before turning the corner. I take a few steps and see a sliver of light coming from his office across from mine.

Muted voices drift through the silence.

I freeze.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What’s he doing here? Who the heck is he talking to?

The hair on my arms stands on end, my intuition telling me something’s not right. Kline’s voice raises, and the sound of a fist connecting with a desk causes a break in the conversation.

I press myself against the wall, and the voices pick back up. I can’t make out who it is. Maybe Luca? Or one of the night shift nurses? I edge along the wall, trying to be quiet, when my shoe squeaks along the linoleum.

My heart plunges to the pit of my stomach as the heated discussion stops. My ears perk up, hoping this is a normal lull versus me giving myself away.

The voices return, and my heartbeat resumes a normal rhythm. I let out a steadying breath and continue the trek to my office as Kline’s door swings open, and he steps out.

I halt. Pinch my eyes closed. And send up a silent prayer, hoping he doesn’t see me.

But a book tumbles from my arms in slow motion and crashes to the floor.

“Brighton? What are you doing here?”

I readjust the books and grimace when another one somersaults to the floor. “Sorry,” I whisper-hiss. “I need to look over Blakely’s file.” And a couple of others. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine. We’re almost done.” He glances over his shoulder and pulls the door behind him until it’s barely open, guarding whoever is inside from my curious gaze. His eyes travel over me as he crosses his arms over his chest and watches me.

I bend to grab the book as I try to back away. “Good night. Sorry.”

He grabs my elbow as I turn to leave. I stumble into him, and his eyes flicker from my face to the crack in the doorway. He gulps when he sees he still has a hold of my arm. He clears his throat and lets go, avoiding direct eye contact as he presses his lips into a straight line.

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

“Huh? Everything’s fine. Why are you here?”

“I need to go over Liam’s chart.”

“Oh, right.” He glances over his shoulder, grabs the handle to his office, and furrows his brow. “Blakely’s?”

I nod.

He pushes the door open and enters, focused solely on whoever is inside and not on our conversation. I follow him, curious about who is behind his strange behavior. It’s Hudson and a squatty man, who I can only assume is his partner.

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