He glanced at the faxed report he’d received this morning and studied the unfocused picture of a sexy blonde in a blue dress. The image had been caught on a security camera as she ran from the scene of the crime last night. The police had lost her trail in a theater-hotel complex a few blocks away when a fire alarm went off. They’d been forced to evacuate the building. Details—and a better picture of the woman—were to follow sometime today.
Since murders were not a common thing in this area of the country, the press would be all over this. It wouldn’t surprise Taylor if the picture of this woman made the front page of the local and regional papers.
He took a sip of his coffee and automatically reached for a cigarette. He had it out of the pack and halfway to his mouth before he caught himself and returned it. He hated these things.
On impulse, he carried the pack to the trash can alongside the trail, squashed the cigarettes as if they were a hand-exercise ball and tossed them in the can. People were murdering each other in Branson, Missouri, the heart of the Bible Belt. He didn’t need any help to put himself in the grave.
Of course, he knew he’d probably break down and buy another pack tomorrow, but it felt good to make this gesture, expensive as that gesture had become lately.
He was just about to drive away, when he received another call, this one more typical for Hideaway. A child had bumped his head this morning, and the parents were concerned about a concussion. Taylor answered the call. He could get to their location in five minutes. Seemed as if he was on a roll with the concussion patients lately.
Karah Lee raised her face to the morning light—the sun had not yet appeared over the tall pine trees that stood sentinel over an outward-facing, redbrick town square. The majority of commerce in this thriving little town concentrated itself on a peninsula of land surrounded by the diamond-blue glitter of Table Rock Lake.
As she stepped across the street from the broad lawn to the sidewalk that encircled the square, she caught sight of the reflection of herself in the front window of the general store next to the brick-front clinic. She grimaced at the same tall woman with flyaway curls of red hair who watched her from the mirror every morning—and whose image she tried to avoid every chance she got.
She had never taken any delight in her appearance. She not only towered over other women, she was also taller than most men, and many of her male colleagues seemed intimidated by her.
This was her first job outside the supervision of the hospital or her trainer, and Karah Lee felt awkward. It wasn’t that she doubted her skills—her grades had always been good, her supervisors and trainers had always given her excellent reviews, and she’d breezed through med school and residency with surprising ease. If only social situations had been so easy.
When she was growing up—and up, and up—Mom had always encouraged her to hold her head high and be proud of her height. Even Dad had told her to “suck it up,” because someday she was going to be a beautiful woman.
So when did “someday” come? At thirty-four, Karah Lee did not feel attractive.
She knew what she looked like. One elderly patient a couple of months ago had called her “handsome,” whatever that meant. At least her facial features were even, and her waist was still slightly narrower than her hips. Slightly.
This morning she wanted to make a good first impression, instead of blurting out the first thing that entered her brain—which was a habit she hadn’t been able to break. People who knew her became accustomed to this tendency, but strangers didn’t always know what to think about her—last night with poor Ranger Jackson being a prime example.
She took a final breath of the sweet, cedar-scented air and pulled open the glass door on the right. The sign on the window beside it stated Hideaway Walk-in Clinic. For Emergencies, call 911.
She walked quietly across the tile floor as the door whisked shut behind her. The clinic brooded in dim silence, not quite open for business this morning. To the immediate right were two vending machines, one with candy and chips and one with drinks; they combined with the row of windows behind her to provide the sole source of illumination at the moment. Another set of doors stood open to an empty, seemingly deserted hallway that held the smell of an old building, scrubbed to a shine with a lemon cleanser.
Voices and laughter reached her from the left, and she turned and glanced through another open door to find a waiting room and reception window. Lights blinked on in the office behind the window as she watched. Good, she wasn’t late.
She took a step in that direction, but then she saw a movement in the shadows at the far side of the vending machines. There was a thump, and a grunt, and she recognized with amusement the posterior section of someone bent forward from the waist, squeezed between the machine and the wall.
She cleared her throat. There was another thump, and a low mutter of words she couldn’t decipher. Definitely male.
“Hello,” she called out to him.
“’Morning,” he said without straightening. Though muffled, his voice sounded deep and youthful.
“We need to call an electrician to get this outlet fixed,” he said. “Dane’d kill me if I tried to do it. The light was blinking when I came in. Is it okay now?”
Karah Lee turned her attention to the steady glow against the potato-chip wrappers. “Looks fine to me.”
“Great, maybe that’ll hold it until they can get over here. I’m glad the pop machine didn’t kick off in the night.” There was a shuffle of feet as he backed out toward her, then straightened to turn. “I’d hate to have to replace all those cans of—” He saw her, and his thick, black eyebrows raised in surprise.
The young guy was obviously in his teens. He had broad, muscular shoulders, ebony skin, and very short, kinky dark hair. He wore green scrubs that matched the color of the cedars outside. As all this registered with her, Karah Lee saw the realization dawn in his expressive brown eyes that he hadn’t exactly greeted her—a stranger—with dignity. He grimaced with dismay.
He recovered quickly and gave her a broad display of straight, even teeth. “Hi, you must be our new doctor.”
Karah Lee nodded and held out her hand. He took it, and she was pleased by the confident grip. “Karah Lee Fletcher.”
“Gavin Farmer, but nobody calls me by my real name. You can call me Blaze.”
She gestured to his clothing. “Are you a nurse or a tech?”
“Tech and chief flunky. I help out here when I’m not in school.” He gestured toward the machines. “I’ve just been placed in charge of potato chips and soda, and I’ve already failed.” He didn’t sound upset about it. In fact, he struck Karah Lee as one of those terminally cheerful morning people who tended to get on her nerves.
“College?” she asked.
His grin broadened with pleasure. “Really? I look like a college kid?”
She nodded.
“Not for another year. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the staff and show you around the place, if they’ll let me.” He led the way across the cozy waiting room toward the reception window where a woman sat with her back to the room, listening to an ambulance radio at the far side of the oblong
