Page 18 of I'm Watching You

Awkwardness replaced worry. Nearly thirty and she still turned knock-kneed when a man got romantic. ‘Uh, Sam, we’ve been through this. I’ll be working late tonight.’

‘So we’ll have breakfast at the diner. We’ll grab coffee.’ When she hesitated, he added, ‘It wouldn’t kill you to live a little.’

Something she’d done very little of since she and Zack had separated. ‘I suppose not.’

‘That’s a yes?’

She nodded. ‘Yes to dinnertomorrownight.’

‘What time?’

‘Six.’

‘Done. I’ll pick you up at the shelter.’

‘Better make that my town house. The cops sealed the area off.’

‘Will do.’

Sam’s cell phone vibrated on his hip. Groaning, he yanked it off and flipped it open. ‘Dr Begley.’

Immediately, his light expression darkened. He glanced at Lindsay and cupped his hand over the phone. ‘I’ve got to take this, Lindsay. See you tomorrow night?’

‘Right.’ Lindsay slid off the table, thankful for the interruption.

He managed a strained smile.

‘Where is that woman you told me about?’ she whispered.

‘Number six.’ Already he was turning from her.

‘Thanks.’ She scooted around the curtain.

‘Yes, damn it, I’m still here.’ Sam’s angry whisper caught her attention and made her stop.

In the few months she’d known Sam, he’d never uttered a harsh word. He seemed to be the nicest guy on the planet.

‘I told you I’d do it and I will,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve got to go.’

Lindsay hurried down the hallway toward room six, surprised that there was something more to Dr Sam Begley than just his quick smile and great bedside manner.

Chapter Six

Monday, July 7, 11:45A.M.

Lindsay checked the name on the chart. She scanned Sam’s notes. Cracked ribs. Contusions on the arms. A sprained right wrist. The injuries were classic. Her stomach knotted. She closed the chart and shoved aside the curtain to cubicle six.

She found a petite woman sitting on the exam table wearing neatly pressed jeans, tennis shoes with double-knotted laces, and a white long-sleeved shirt. Small manicured fingers were clenched into tight fists.

Over the years, Lindsay had seen hundreds of battered women like this, but the sight always enraged her. Careful to keep her face neutral, she managed a smile. ‘Gail Saunders?’

The woman’s tired gaze held a hint of anger. ‘Yes. Do you have my discharge papers?’

Irritation was a good sign. It meant spirit. She hadn’t given up.

Lindsay closed the curtain behind her. ‘No, I’m not with the hospital. Dr Begley asked me to talk to you for a few minutes.’

Understanding dawned in Gail’s gray eyes. ‘You’re a social worker, aren’t you?’

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