Page 19 of Against the Wind

DANIEL

Wind and rain battered the clinic building, but it was nothing compared to the chill anger radiating from Gabi. She was a woman of great passion in all things. It was something I’d always appreciated about her. If I’d just pissed her off, she’d have let me know in no uncertain terms. In a heartbeat, I’d have taken the blistering heat of her Latina temper over this cool indifference.

She sat at a table across the room, determinedly not looking in my direction or otherwise acknowledging my presence. That alone let me know exactly how badly I’d fucked things up. She hadn’t said a word for the past three hours. Not since we’d more or less made a nest for ourselves on opposite sides of the break room, which was the center-most, windowless space in the building. We’d grabbed mattresses from a couple of the patient beds and brought them in to lie on, if we ever actually tried to sleep.

I’d been racking my brain, trying to think of something to break the ice. Sure, an apology was on up there, but just blurting it out didn’t seem like it would get me far. I needed to build up to that, so I was sure she at least heard me, even if she didn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth.

So far, the power had held, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the lines snapped, and we were plunged into the twilight of lanterns and candles. I could break out the supplies I’d brought and try to feed her. Given how busy she’d been during the stretch I’d observed her working, I suspected she hadn’t eaten in hours. That had often happened during her residency in New Orleans. Back there, bringing her a meal was often the only time we got to spend together, and I’d always taken great pleasure in feeding her.

From across the room, her belly growled.

Okay, Universe, message received.

I grabbed one of the bags I’d kept stowed on the Zodiac and began unpacking the contents. Cured meats, cheeses, crackers, applesauce pouches, dried fruit, tortilla chips, and salsa. It had started out part charcuterie board and ended up part camping fare as I’d grabbed whatever I could think of that would be nonperishable out of the stores at my quarters before I’d left Nag’s Head. The salsa would be below her standards—she made a hell of a homemade one—but either way, it wasn’t a bad spread. Again, she said nothing as I opened containers and began loading a paper plate. Maybe she was still avoiding even looking at me.

But when I crossed over and thrust the plate toward her, she looked up with a frown. “What is this?”

“Food. I’m guessin’ you haven’t eaten in hours.”

Her gaze strayed to the nearby bag, where I spotted some protein bars sticking out of a pocket.

I shimmied the plate a little. “It’s not boudin balls, but it’s gonna be better than that.”

Her eyes snapped to mine at the reminder of one of her favorite dishes from my kitchen. I thought for a moment she’d turn the food down out of sheer spite, but at last she accepted the plate. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I returned to the table to build my own plate. “I’m surprised you didn’t have a more elaborate setup yourself. As I recall, you absolutely know how to throw a hurricane party. Even if it’s just for one.”

I glanced back in time to see her shoulders hunch.

“I’d originally intended to ride out the storm with my sister and her kids over at her in-laws’ house.”

“Why didn’t you? I mean, I know Hoyt had to work.”

That earned me another sharp look.

“I’ve been liaising with the fire department since I got here. Met him yesterday morning.”

“Ah.” She popped a dried apricot into her mouth. “I changed my mind because there was an attempted break-in at the clinic yesterday.”

I remembered the scratches on the back door that I’d noted while I was waiting for her this afternoon. “Somebody tried to jimmy the door out back?”

Her tone dropped another few degrees. “Did my staff get chatty?”

“Nope. Noticed it while I was waiting on you to get back.”

She hummed a noncommittal note.

“There been any previous break-ins?”

“Not since I’ve been here. And neither Dr. Sibley nor anyone else on the staff have mentioned it. Plus, if someone had tried, it would have gotten all over the island, and my sister would’ve told me.”

Not a regular target then.

“So you decided to ride the storm out by yourself, in case they came back?” I prompted.

“Partly.”

“What exactly are you planning on doing if somebody does come back?” I tried to keep the judgment out of my tone, but I didn’t at all like the idea that some kind of tweaker might behanging around. Or worse, that some of the traffickers might’ve decided to target the clinic for an easy score during the chaos of the storm. It wasn’t their usual MO, but we weren’t dealing with the cream of society here. Crimes of opportunity were a thing for a reason.

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