Heritage Hospital’s administrator. Her stomach roiled at the news. The smell of almonds on Gary’s breath hadn’t come from the flavoring in the cupcakes but from poison.
Despite her and the staff’s best efforts, Gary had died. Her heart ached at the loss. She tucked her sadness away in the deep depths of her heart. Compartmentalizing came with the job. “How? Why?”
“I don’t have all the details.” Nearer to seventy than sixty, Ned Landsem was still a dashing man with thick white hair and a robust personality that made working for him a joy. “The police suspect the cupcakes that were delivered to you were laced with cyanide. Once toxicology comes back, they’ll have confirmation.”
Realization slammed into her like a gale-force wind coming off Lake Michigan in the winter. Someone had tried to kill her. Shock stole the breath from her lungs.
She shuddered as anxiety and fear dug deep talons through her, leaving weeping wounds. Someone wanted her dead.
And had murdered Gary instead.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. A senseless death.
“The police don’t have the resources to give you round-the-clock security, so the hospital has hired a protection specialist from Trent Associates.”
She drew back. “‘Protection Specialist,’ as in bodyguard?”
“We had to move quickly. Trent Associates has an exemplary reputation. They were able to send someone out right away.”
She sat forward. “I don’t get a say in this?”
Though she logically understood the need for a bodyguard and could see the value, she hated not being in control of her own destiny. And having someone out there who wanted her dead made her feel vulnerable in a way she’d never felt before. She didn’t like it one bit.
His expression turned parental. “You’re an important member of our staff, Brenda. Your safety is our priority. We care about you.”
As good as the sentiment felt, she had no illusions about her worth. Her skills in the operating room made her a high-priced commodity, one other hospitals and private practices sought after.
But on a personal level, she wasn’t that close to the staff. Relationships only complicated matters. It was easier to keep people at a distance than to risk disappointment. Theirs and hers.
“I’m sure the staff would appreciate the extra security.” The weight of responsibility pressed on her shoulders. Someone had already been hurt because of her; the least she could do was accept the hospital’s generous gesture.
Ned nodded his approval. “I’m glad you understand. This will be in everyone’s best interest—”
A knock interrupted him. “Come in.”
The door to the office opened. She looked over her shoulder to see the newcomer. Her breath stalled out.
Ned rose and came around the desk, his hand outstretched. “Mr. Martin, I trust your trip went well.”
A tall, lean and drop-dead gorgeous man strode forward and halted beside her chair. He wore khaki cargo pants and a loose-fitting shirt more appropriate for a pool party than a professional meeting. And he wore flip-flops on his feet. Did he plan to head to the lakeshore when he was done here?
“Yes, without a hitch. You must be Dr. Landsem.” The two men shook hands.
Surely this wasn’t her bodyguard. Brenda frowned in confusion. Weren’t bodyguards supposed to look tough and intimidating? Like James Bond or something?
This guy with his shaggy blond hair belonged on a movie set for a beach flick or a photo shoot for a male hottie-of-the-month calendar. Not that she didn’t appreciate his handsomeness. She was a woman with a pulse. She rather liked his angular jawline and full lips.
Lively sky-blue eyes met hers. His gaze slowly raked over her in silent appraisal. Would he see the flaws she worked hard to hide?
The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile as if pleased with what he saw. Her pulse skyrocketed.
She sat up straighter. Oh, no. No, no, no. This guy couldn’t be the protection specialist the hospital hired. He was too...too much. Too young. Too good-looking. Not a man to be easily ignored.
Ned gestured to the man and said, “Dr. Brenda Storm, I’d like you to meet Kyle Martin. Your bodyguard.”
* * *
“Hi there, Dr. Storm, I’ve heard good things about you.” Kyle Martin extended his hand toward the brunette beauty sitting perfectly straight in the leather armchair.
She didn’t move. Her lips pressed into a firm line. She couldn’t disapprove of him already, could she? No matter, she wouldn’t be the last.
Odd that she’d wear all black beneath her white lab coat on a hot late-September day. Black slacks, black buttoned-up blouse. Okay, not everything was black. Her red pumps sporting little embroidered roses were in vivid contrast to the stark outfit. Not as somber as she wanted others to believe? Interesting. And intriguing.
Her dark hair was twisted up in a fancy bun in the back. He wondered what she’d do if he undid the pins holding her hair. She’d look softer with all that mass spilling about her shoulders.
Probably slug him. His lips twitched with a suppressed chuckle.
“Okay, we’ll skip the pleasantries,” he said. “I hear you’ve had a tough time lately.” He’d read the dossier on her during the plane ride from Boston. A lot of facts but no real hint of her personality.
She slanted him a glance. Were those tears shimmering in her dark eyes? “If you mean someone trying to poison me and instead killing a sweet man who’d done nothing wrong except indulge in a pretty cupcake, then yeah, I’d say a tough time.”
She was not impressed. Tough. Like it or not, she was stuck with him.
“And being sued for malpractice. I’d say that qualifies, as well.”
With a quick glance at her boss, she said, “Well, you can hardly protect me from that, now can you?”
“You’d be surprised what I can do,” Kyle quipped.
She jumped to her feet, her dark eyes no longer filled with tears. Now they flashed with indignation. “I do not need you.”
Kyle grinned. “Yes, you do need me. I’ll be sticking to you like surf wax to a surfboard until the police catch the person who tried to harm you. No one’s getting near you without going through me.”
Her eyes widened. Her mouth clamped shut. She swung her gaze to the boss man. “This won’t work. I can’t have him—” she waved a hand in Kyle’s direction “—with me in the O.R. The man has on flip-flops. Please, Ned. This isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea.” Ned tipped his chin in Kyle’s direction. “Mr. Martin will take very good care of you.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she argued. “I need to get back
