And why in Gods name was she thinking about that? She didnt need a man. Didnt need sex. She was a doctor. She saved lives. She didnt need a man to make her feel whole. That was a weakness, just like love. Like the need for rescue.
It was adrenaline, Ripley decided when the strangers brows drew together in a scowl that she felt all the way to her core. Thats all it was. Adrenaline and the shaky knowledge that hed saved her life.
She couldnt remember the last time a man had thought to rescue her from anything.
Fighting to keep her voice steady, she said, Mr. Harris needs compassion more than he needs jail time. She nodded toward the new widower, who was sobbing brokenly into his hands as a white-coated ER attending crouched down beside him and officers hovered above.
She could barely make out Harriss words over the growing din. Ida Mae. The phone call. Dr. Davis killed Ida Mae.
Ripley closed her eyes. These things happen, shed said over the phone when she told him his wifes heart had stopped without warning. Cheap words. The disbelief in his voice had wounded her, because she had barely believed it herself. His sobs tore at her now.
She had failed her patient. Her department.
Herself.
The stranger spat a curse. He could have killed you! What kind of hospital policy is that? What kind of safety do you people have here? The guys a nut. He should be punished!
Hes already been punished, Ripley snapped over Harriss rising howls. Hes lost his wife. Though she didnt believe in happily ever after for herself, it worked for some. It had worked for the Harrises. She thought of the rose stem in her pocket. Hed bought Ida Mae a glass flower to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. Now hed spend it alone.
The sting of guilt pierced like a thorn.
The stranger snarled, Thats bull and you know it. Grief doesnt give a man the right to hurt other people.
Give it up, pal, the officer suggested. We get these calls every few months. Boston General wont press charges and weve never had anyone seriously hurt. For better or worse, their system seems to work. Now, if I could have your names for my report, Ill get out of your hair.
Ripley gave her name and department. The stranger clenched his jaw when she mentioned Radiation Oncology, but he merely glared at the officer. My name is Zachary Cage. I think this is bull, Im soaking wet and Im late for a meeting. With a final glance at Ripley, he stalked away, dripping.
That was the new Radiation Safety Officer? Ripley stared at him in disbelief. The rumors had been right on about his attitude, but they hadnt said he was gorgeous.
Hell, she muttered, and lifted a hand to brush the hair away from her face. That was when she noticed the hand was still shaking. Her whole body was shaking. And she was going to throw up.
If you must fall apart, do it someplace private, Howard Daviss stern voice said in her mind. Davises must never be weak in public. Never.
She was halfway across the atrium on her way to the ladies room when she saw the ER attending give Harris a sedative jab in the upper arm. The weeping mans voice abruptly rose above the atrium din. The voice on the phone said Dr. Davis killed my wife! Then he slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Ripley made it to the bathroom, barely. But it was a long time before she stopped shaking.
JUST WHAT I NEED. Another damn doctor trying to save her own hide. Typical. Well, well see about that, wont we? Cage yanked the warm-up pants out of his gym bag and dragged them over his clammy legs. He cursed when his bad shoulder protested. The surgeons had repaired the joint as well as they could, but the ligaments just werent strong enough for underwater wrestling matches.
Whats that, boss? Whistler stuck his head around the corner but kept his butt firmly planted in the computer chair lest he lose the rhythm of his solitaire game.
Nothing. Come on, were late for the meeting.
You wearing that?
Cage scowled down at the faded baseball jersey, warm-up pants and scuffed sneakers. Not much choice, is there? My work clothes are soaked. Come on.
His nominal assistant obediently tagged along to the meeting Head Administrator Leo Gabney had set up.
Why the hell wont the hospital prosecute that guy? Cage snarled. He attacked one of your doctors with broken glass, for Gods sake. He had told Whistler the bare bones of the story. The radiation tech, twentyish and faintly geeky, had barely batted an eyelash. Then again, Whistler hadnt reacted to much yet, except to offer a small grin when Leo Gabney had announced that Cage was replacing George Dixon as Radiation Safety Officer.
The other five members of the team hadnt been as kind. Two had rolled their eyes, one had made a pointed reference to the failed Albany Memorial lawsuit, and the others hadnt bothered to look up from their card game. Cage had considered firing all of them on the spot.
The day had gone downhill from there, culminating in him stumbling upon a woman being held at knifepoint in the hospital lobby. He could still feel the echo of rage. Though Cage knew exactly how the widower felt, there was no excuse for physically harming a woman.
Even if she was a doctor.
If the guy freaked out because his wife died unexpectedly, theyll hush it up, Whistler said with a sidelong glance.
Why is that?
The administration doesnt want a malpractice suit. Theyre bad for business and for BoGens chances at Hospital of the Year.
Cage stiffened, and when the memory tried to come, he stuffed it deep down, hidden where it belonged. He growled, Malpractice my ass. Doctors shouldnt practice on anyone. They should know what the hell theyre doing before they start mucking around.
Whistler shrugged. Dont see much of it here. Boston General has an excellent record. The administration has seen to it, one way or another. He pushed open the door to the Radiation Oncology conference room and gestured Cage through.
Youre late. Head Administrator Leo Gabney pounced just inside the conference room. His scowl lacked some of its intended punch because he barely topped five-foot-six. And what the hell are you wearing?
Cage brushed past him. Long story. But for the record, your security sucks.
Lucky for you, our security isnt your problem. Youll adjust to the way we do things here soon enough. Gabney shooed Cage up to the front of the room. Lets get on with it, the natives are restless.
That was an understatement, Cage decided as he took the podium. Fifty or so faces stared at him with varying degrees of annoyance, anger and downright hostility. Nothing unexpected. A few coffee-shop conversations and a scan of the files had shown him that his predecessor had been neither well liked nor particularly effective. It seemed that George Dixon had been more interested in women than radiation safetywhether or not the women returned his affections.
Well, Cage thought, the female population at Boston General was in no danger from him. His priority was the job. Period.
But as he adjusted the microphone to chin height and scanned the room, an unfamiliar tingling skittered through Cages chest, and he couldnt help glancing at the only face that reflected something other than hostility.
She was here.
The woman hadnt been far from his mind, he realized, since the incident in the atrium. Shed brushed it off and hidden behind hospital policy, but he had saved her life and they both knew it. The adrenaline still thrummed through his veins as he peered past the podium and focused on her face.
Dr. Ripley Davis. The statistics in her personnel file hadnt prepared him for that first meeting. Hadnt prepared him to see her as a woman instead of a doctor. A suspect.
In those first few seconds, hed seen only a beautiful woman with dark, springy curls fastened behind her head, a few left free to brush her jaw and long, elegant neck. The moment their eyes had met, the water hed been standing in hadnt felt cold anymore. Neither had his body.
It had been a long time since sex had been a part of his vocabulary; even the need for it had been burned out of him. But desire had flowed through him then, as it flowed through him now when their eyes locked in the auditorium and the electricity surged again.
Dr. Ripley Davis. Radiation Oncology. He didnt trust R-ONCs as far as he could pitch them, and hed already heard rumors of suspicious doings in her department. His investigation was already underway. The fact that she was a beautiful woman shouldnt matter one bit.
It wouldnt matter, he told himself firmly. If she was responsible for the hidden radioactive material Dixon had supposedly found in the R-ONC broom closet, Cage would bring Dr. Davis down and be glad of it. He had no patience for sloppy doctors. Especially R-ONCs. And it was beyond unacceptable for unlogged radioactive materials to be scattered throughout the hospital.
Cursing the rev of his body when she smiled tentatively and mouthed, Thank you, Cage gritted his teeth and glared out at the rest of the assembly. He could deal with their animosity more easily than he could deal with Ripley Daviss smile.
Attention. Everyone, please! The Head Administrator waved the crowd to silence. As you know, Gabney began, the final ballots for Hospital of the Year will be cast at the end of the week, and Boston General is up for the title and the ten-million-dollar grant. This money would not only go far in easing our recent budget concerns, it would also fund the new Gabney Childrens Wing. There was little reaction from the room, but the administrator beamed and nodded as though there had been a standing ovation. Now, as part of my continued commitment to improving Boston General, Id like to introduce Zachary Cage, who is replacing George Dixon as Radiation Safety Officer.
There was a quick, speculative buzz, but it died when Cage cleared his throat and leaned toward the microphone. I know there have been complaints about fines levied by the previous RSO, and I promise to look into those incidents.
There were a few nods and a faint smile or two. These were wiped clean as Cage continued, Butthe radiation safety here is a joke. You know it, and I know it. I intend to bring each and every doctor in this hospital back into strict accordance with federal radiation safety guidelines. There will be no exceptions, no allowances. You will comply or you will be shut down until the guidelines are met. An angry hum skittered through the crowd and Cage saw Leo frown. Undaunted, he barked, Radioactivity is not a toy, ladies and gentlemen. It is a weapon.
A quick memory of angry red burns on soft skin had his stomach clenching. He glanced down at the notes he didnt need and ignored the hands that shot up around the room. He ignored the chocolate-brown eyes he could feel on his face like a touch and tried to imagine wounded blue ones in their place.
Heather. He was doing this for Heather. He hadnt been able to save her. Hadnt been able to punish her killers. But he could make the hospitals safer for other women. For other mens wives. The widowers cry echoed in his head. Dr. Davis killed my wife!
Cage leaned forward into the microphone and made the final pronouncement, the one that was likely to be the most unpopular. I will be performing a full audit of your radiation use for the last two years, starting in the labs with the most recent fines and infractions. He glanced up and was caught in her eyes. The sudden angry babble faded into the background when he saw the surprise on her face.
And the sudden flash ofworry?
He glanced down at the unnecessary notes again, needing to sever the contact. My team and I will start our audit tomorrow. He paused and his eyes found Ripley Davis again. It was as though he was speaking only to her. Well begin with Radiation Oncology.
This time, the fear was unmistakable and Cage felt an unaccountable thread of disappointment knife through him. Ripley Davis had something to hide.
She was just like all the others.
The meeting wound down quickly after that. Cage saw Dr. Davis slide from her seat as he opened the floor to questions, but she didnt meet his eyes. She hurried from the room while he answered a query about waste containment systems and Cage had a sudden, mad impulse to follow her.
As quickly as he could, he turned the microphone over to the Head Administrator and walked to the door. There was no sign of her in the hallway. Gabney droned in the background, I will be personally overseeing the public affairs events scheduled over the next two weeks as the Hospital of the Year voting draws near
Cage slipped out of the conference room and headed for the Radiation Safety office, intent on rereading her personnel file. Ripley Davis had piqued his interest. Not because of the way she looked, or because of how shed handled the situation in the atrium, he assured himself, but because she was a doctor. A R-ONC. And because George Dixon had told several people about finding a jar of radioactive material in the R-ONC broom closet. Unlabeled. Unshielded. Unauthorized.
Unacceptable.
Now it was Cages job to figure out where the jar had come from. Where it had gone. And why.
He found the Rad Safety office deserted and he grimaced. Dixon had run a sloppy office in more ways than one. Those technicians had better step up to the plate, or theyll find themselves looking for new jobs, he muttered into the echoing emptiness.
He crossed to the cardboard box that held his paperwork, pulled out the stack of files hed requested from personnel, and thumbed through until he reached Davis, Ripley. He froze.
That morning, the folder had been thick with commendations and biographical material. But not anymore.
He pulled the now-thin folder from the box and opened it.
The file was empty.
Chapter Two
Ripley spent that night going over Ida Mae Harriss lab workups backward and forward until the notations blurred together. Then she staggered to bed and slept a few hours, plagued by a tangle of waterfalls, hot black eyes and unfamiliar aches. The shrill ring of the alarm was almost a relief, but when she reached her office at Boston General, the tension shed felt after Harriss attack returned in force.
A book she remembered leaving open to a page on cardiac complications was closed. Her chair, which she usually pushed all the way under the desk, was askew.
Had someone been in her office? She glanced at the door. It had been locked as usual. She shook her head.
She was still rattled from the day before, that was all. She was shaky from being assaulted, and worried by Mr. Harriss strange choice of words. The voice on the phone said Dr. Davis killed my wife. Had he meant her phone call when Ida Mae died? It seemed the likeliest answer, but the phrasing bothered Ripley. What if someone else had called Mr. Harris and told him R-ONC was responsible for his wifes death?
Shed be looking at a malpractice suit, and even worse, it meant that someone in her dwindling department couldnt be trusted.