Youre going to disregard what I saw in the van? Her fingers tightened enough to dent the cardboard cup.
No. Rathe shook his head. Not disregard. File and continue. He held up a finger. Rule oneDont fall in love with your own theory. When that happens, youll overlook clues that dont fit.
He waited for the argument, but she surprised him by nodding. She sipped, then gestured to encompass the hospital. Its like making a diagnosis. Dont pick a disease until youve gathered all the facts.
Right. Only, think of the entire hospital, or maybe the Transplant Department, as the patient. As a doctor, youre already used to that sort of investigation. This is simply on a grander scale. A more dangerous one, though he was determined not to let her experience that firsthand. In the wee hours of the morning, when hed tried to catnap in the basement break room, hed decided on that course, with one addition: he was going to do his damnedest to convince her that HFH in generaland investigations in particularwasnt for her.
It was what Tony wouldve wanted him to do.
So our symptoms are as follows, she began, ticking the points off on her fingers. First, theres an increase in transplant deaths. Second, supply shortages are reported to Transplant Director Talbot and Assistant Director Hart.
Rathe thought she might have lingered on the second mans name and he scowled. That was another thing about working with women. They couldnt keep their minds on business.
She blew on her coffee again, and Rathe forced himself to glance around the near-empty café. They werent being overheard. And he was a hypocrite, watching her make love to a cardboard cup while he preached to himself about women and their inability to focus on the job.
He gritted his teeth and gestured for her to continue.
Theyre missing antirejection drugs. Suture kits. That sort of thing. Another finger joined the first two. And third, I saw two men leave Transplant with a full laundry cart, even though the linens hadnt been changed out. They loaded the cart into a van rigged with life support and then She glared at him. Thanks to you, I dont know what happened to the hamper from there.
Annoyed, Rathe fired back, Thanks to me, you didnt break your neck trying some damn fool stunt in an attempt to He stopped himself. Never mind. Weve already covered that and you promised not to go down there again without me. He fixed her with a look. Right?
Sure. Whatever. She glanced at her watch. Im scheduled to observe a rare-type kidney transplant in a little less than an hour. If were done here, Im going up to my office to read over the rest of the material Talbot left for me.
Done? They hadnt even started yet, but Rathe didnt argue the point. It was probably a good thing their covers would keep them separated for the most part. At night he could investigate the depths of the hospital, where he was positive the real machinations were occurring. During the day, he could keep watch over her and make sure she didnt get too close to the danger he could feel fermenting below the surface of this case.
And sleep? Hed never needed much of that. Like Tony had always said, Ill sleep plenty when Im dead.
Dream well, old friend, Rathe murmured to himself, forgetting for the moment that Tonys daughter sat opposite him.
What was that?
Rathe shook his head. Nothing. He stood. Well meet after the transplant, compare notes and divvy up which one of us will follow which line of inquiry. Thatll save us from duplicating efforts. And allow him to keep her on the outskirts of the heavy lifting.
Fine. She tipped her head, considering. But we shouldnt meet in public again. It would look strange, dont you think?
Irritated that he hadnt thought of that first, which just went to show that mixed-sex partnerships were needlessly distracting, Rathe scowled. Youre right. Theres no reason for a visiting lecturer to socialize with a janitor. He tried not to let their respective roles annoy him, but Jack Wainwright had no doubt laughed long and loud when hed decided on their cover stories.
Rathe McKay, legend-turned-janitor.
Oh, well. That made it a hell of a cover.
We could meet in my office this afternoon, she suggested tongue in cheek. You could bring your mop and pretend
I got it, he growled, trying not to see the absurd humor in it. But your office wont work every dayitll look suspicious. Why dont we meet at your apartment at change of shift, instead?
No. Absolutely not. She tipped her chin down, eyes suddenly dark.
Rathe shrugged, trying not to care. Fine. Well figure it out later. You go do your thing, Doc. Ill be around.
He watched her walk away and saw a hint of the young woman whod once sat down beside him on the beach and showed him a book about Bateo. Like that teenager, Nia was still unsatisfied with who she was, where she was, always looking for the next thing that was just out of reach.
They were, Rathe acknowledged with a wry grimace, entirely too alike.
He swept her empty coffee cup off the table and crumpled it in one hand as he hesitated at the café door. He could return to the warren of corridors and small rooms in the basement that were the realm of the maintenance workers, the laundry crews and the other tradespeople who came and went through the large hospital. Rife with gossip and the occasional scoundrel, that was where hed find the information he sought. He was sure of it.
He glanced over at the big bank of brushed-steel elevator doors that would carry him up into the ivory towers, to the wide, straight corridors and large airy rooms of the treatment and research floors where Nia belonged.
He muttered a curse and turned his back on the temptation. She would have to keep herself out of trouble for an hour. She could do it. She was a big girl now.
Or so she kept insisting.
OVER THE NEXT HOUR, Nia couldnt cobble the information into a decent theory no matter how hard she tried. The failure grated on her as she shut and locked her office and headed down to the café. She barely had time to grab a quick snack before she observed Dr. Talbot transplant a healthy donor kidney into a young woman who had been born with small, subfunctional organs.
Nia rubbed at the faint scar above her hipbone while she waited for the elevator, her mind still on the mystery she was supposed to be unraveling. She had plenty of questions, but her theories were anemic at best.
The missing supplies made some sensealmost any medical item could be sold on the black market. And it was possible, if not likely, that the laundry hamper was being used to transport the pharmaceuticals down to the loading dock and out of the hospital. That would assume at least one thief had access to the locked supplies. Short Whiny Guy and Cadaver Man were her first guesses. Surely she and Rathe could find the pair.
Rathe. No, she refused to think about him. They had agreed to leave the past where it belonged. He hadnt wanted the family that had loved him as a son, and he hadnt wanted the woman who had loved him as a man. In the seven years since shed last seen him, she had outgrown both her love and her desire to follow in his footsteps across the globe and back.
Shed decided to blaze her own trail instead.
Focus, she told herself sternly, glad she was alone in the descending elevator. This isnt about you or Rathe. Its about the patients and the hospital.
Shed decided to blaze her own trail instead.
Focus, she told herself sternly, glad she was alone in the descending elevator. This isnt about you or Rathe. Its about the patients and the hospital.
But none of this added up. How did the missing supplies account for the increase in transplant deaths? Were the two even related?
The doors slid open, and Nia stepped out into the big, open atrium at the center of the hospital, where all the wings intersected. A flash of navy blue caught her eye and she glanced over, half expecting to see Rathe waiting for her, ready to tell her where she could go, who she could see and what she could do.
But it was someone else, a stoop-shouldered old man in a janitors dark-blue uniform, listlessly swabbing at a puddle of something she didnt care to know about.
Ignoring the single twitch of that restless muscle at the corner of her eye, Nia hurried to the café and bought a muffin to make up for the breakfast shed been too keyed up to eat. She reversed direction and headed back to the elevators, biting into the muffin as her stomach growled.
A heavy blow from behind drove her to her knees.
Gonna getcha, bitch! The high-pitched, almost giggling voice near her ear lodged quick panic in her throat.
She hit the floor, the muffin bounced away, and her left eye nearly locked itself shut. Her attacker followed her down and lay crosswise atop her.
Nia squirmed desperately and tried to scream, but the huge, smothering weight drove the breath from her lungs. Faintly she heard cries of alarm. Running feet.
Her heart hammered in her ears, and terror sweated from her palms. Every self-defense move shed learned was useless. She had no leverage. She pushed against the floor, but to no avail.
Wheres your money? Where is it? Rough hands groped at her pockets, at her body. She fought back, jabbing with her feet and elbows whenever her attackers weight shifted enough to allow it. But her blows sank into heavy, hot blubber and she still couldnt breathe.
Where is it? The man flipped her over, looming large in her oxygen-starved vision. His face was pocked with scars, some from acne, some from injuries. His hair was greasy and limp, his face covered with rank sweat. Where is your money?
She didnt need to see the needle tracks on his upraised arm to know he was beyond reason. He raised his arm higher, and a switchblade glittered in a ray of sunlight.
Running feet thundered. A woman screamed.
And the knife descended in a killing arc.
Chapter Three
Time seemed to slow, picking out Nias last few moments in exquisite detail. She saw the distended, bulging veins in her attackers forearm, saw an onlookers mouth form a perfect O of horror. She smelled sour, unwashed man and the sharp taint of her own fear. She felt the weight of him, like that of a lover, pressing her into the hard floor, shifting atop her as the blade descended.
And she wished, with a burning intensity that was close to pain, that she had been a better daughter.
Then the knife completed its arc and the world sped up again. Navy blue flashed before Nias eyes. Her attacker jolted and fell to the side. The switchblade hit the polished marble, chimed like a bell and skipped harmlessly away.
Free! She was free!
Not stopping to question it, she scrambled to a crouch, ready to escape if possible, fight if necessary. But she didnt need to do either. Her attackers attention had shifted to the old, stoop-shouldered maintenance man whod come to her rescue.
Only it wasnt an old janitor.
Navy ball cap missing, and a broken-off mop handle in his hands, Rathe faced the bear-size junkie, who swayed on his feet and shook his head as though to clear it. But the rheumy eyes were disconcertingly sharp as they focused with deadly intent.
You got money? I need a fix, man. Just gimme a fix and Ill go away. I dont want to hurt you, man. The drug-crazed giant belied this by taking a swipe at Rathe, who darted out of reach.
McKay, look out! Nia cried, then belatedly remembered their cover. She wasnt supposed to know him.
His eyes flicked to her, and the junkie charged with a roar, nearly catching the janitor by surprise.
Rathe stepped back and spun the mop handle in a neat one-two-three tattoo that caught the man on the ribs, throat and just behind the ear. Seemingly undeterred, the attacker lurched forward, hamlike arms reaching. But his drug-induced invincibility propelled him straight into a whistling arc of wood as Rathe teed off on his attackers temple. And this time, he put some muscle into it. The mop handle met flesh with a thud and a crack as the beleaguered wood broke under pressure. The enormous man dropped like a rock.
And stayed down.
Nobody moved for a beat, then scattered applause broke out in the atrium. Voices murmured. Gentle, helping hands tugged at Nia, pulling her to her feet and checking her for injury. But the voices seemed muted, the touches faraway. Her whole attention was centered on the man who stood above his fallen enemy, making the navy janitors garb look like a warriors armor.
Rathe, she whispered, and though he was twenty feet away, his head snapped up. His eyes found hers, and the energy surged between them as it had once before, hot and wanting, sharp and ready. Then, like a suddenly stilled heart, the connection was broken as he looked away. His shoulders sagged. He seemed to shrink. His eyes dulled to those of a bored laborer whose mind was on other things. He bent and retrieved his ball cap, looking more washed out than hed been seven years earlier, near dead with fever.
Hed been holed up in an airport hotel, having landed near collapse and been unable to make it further. Twenty-one-year-old Nadia, halfway through her accelerated M.D., had gotten the message before her father. This was it, shed thought. This was her way of proving to her father that she was cut out for HFH. Her way of proving to Rathe that she was worthy of
Maam? Excuse me, maam? The officers are here. Maam? Are you okay? The gentle hands shook her out of the past and back to a present that included a mess of hospital security guards, an unconscious junkie and a switchblade lying, seemingly harmless, on the floor.
Eyes fixed on the knife, Nia began to shake.
Over the roaring in her ears, she heard someone say, Hey, grab her, shes going to faint! just as another voice, farther away, asked, Whered that janitor go? He was here a minute ago.
Rathe. The name steadied her, reminded her she was alive, thanks to him. Reminded her that she had a job to do. The reputation of her sex to uphold. She could imagine him scoffing at her. This is why women shouldnt be in dangerous field situations. They fall apart.
Well, damn it. Not her. Not today.
Im fine. She batted away the helping hands and turned toward the knot of security guards, who gave way to a pair of men in street clothes.
The younger of the two, handsome in a neat brown suit and crisp white shirt, held out his hand. Detective Peters, maam. He indicated his partner with his other hand, and a wedding band glinted gold in the light. For some reason Nia found the symbol comforting. And my partner, Detective Sturgeon. We were in the neighborhood.
The older detective, long-jowled and smelling faintly of peppermints, nodded gravely. Maam. What can you tell us about the incident?
He said he wanted my money, she answered, scrambling to put the kaleidoscopic memories of the last few minutes into some sort of order. He had needle marks on his arms and his eyes She trailed off, realizing something for the first time.