hallway.
Her gaze darted to the door leading to the back rooms. When did Dr. B hear the intruder? If he had a gun, why didn’t he just shoot him when the guy came into his office? Maybe the murderer came in with his gun pulled first. Thank God he didn’t shoot her…or Nick.
Holding her breath, she crept through the door. The fax machine started churning, and she jumped. She watched a piece of paper slide into the fax tray. She froze. What if the killer faxed her a set of eyes?
She tiptoed to the fax machine and lifted the paper. An ad for a medical supply company. She shook her head and crumpled the single sheet. Get a grip.
Avoiding Dr. B’s office, she entered the supply room. Shards of glass from the cabinets littered the floor, and a caustic aroma rose from the sink, cluttered with broken bottles of medicine. Time to make that list of missing drugs for Detective Chu.
She returned to the reception area and pulled out the chair at her desk, perching on its edge. She’d never feel comfortable in this office again, which didn’t pose much of a problem since she’d probably never come back.
Dr. B worked alone, no partners. His two surgical nurses had been with him for years, as had his bookkeeper. Lacey had spoken to both of his nurses, Debbie Chase and Jill Zombrotto, last night. Detective Chu had already notified them, so the initial shock had worn off—at least for Debbie, the stoic one. Jill had always been more emotional, and she was still crying when Lacey spoke to her.
Their dedication to Dr. B never wavered, and Lacey wasn’t quite sure what they got in return. They probably could’ve earned more money at a busier practice, and they didn’t stick around for Dr. B’s jovial personality.
Dr. B valued privacy, especially after his wife, Rose, died. Lacey’s mom and Rose shared the same oncologist and became friendly in the waiting room. When Mom found out Rose’s husband needed a receptionist, she suggested Lacey. Rose had asked them to dinner a few times, so Lacey could meet Dr. B. She needed the job while she finished her last year of the hospice program, which she began after Mom’s cancer came back.
Mom passed away first, and Rose followed six months later. Dr. B didn’t need Lacey for emotional support after his wife died, but he still needed her office and nursing skills. He always kept to himself and frustrated her efforts at caretaking…even at the very end. She couldn’t do a thing to save him.
She powered on her computer and opened the database containing all of Dr. B’s patients, except the top-secret ones. Jill and Debbie could handle those.
After printing out an inventory of drugs in the office, she made several calls to give his patients the bad news. Many of them had already heard about the murder on TV or read about it in the newspaper. When they asked for a referral, she gave them Dr. Nick Marino’s name. He’d offered, hadn’t he?
She took care of other details to close down the office. His daughter could handle the logistics of his practice…and her sister. Dr. B’s other daughter, Abby, had Down syndrome and resided in a group home in Santa Cruz. She hoped the police would leave it to her sister to tell Abby the news.
She reached for her keys in the purse she’d hung on the back of her chair. Damn, she never did lock her desk last night. If she hadn’t forgotten, she never would’ve come back up here. The guy never would’ve attacked her. Nick never would’ve saved her.
She jerked open the middle desk drawer and frowned. She’d left the appointment book right on top last night. Not that she needed it. The book simply duplicated the database, because Dr. B preferred reviewing his appointments on paper rather than logging on to his computer. And Dr. B wouldn’t be reviewing appointments anymore.
“I’m going to grab some lunch downstairs. Are you okay?” The uniformed officer poked his head in the door. “Do you want me to get something for you?”
The thought of eating anything in this office turned her stomach. She declined his offer and searched the next drawer for the appointment book. Maybe Dr. B took it to his office last night.
She took a deep breath and pushed out of her chair. It felt as if her ankles had chains attached to them as she dragged her feet to Dr. B’s office.
The red stain on the carpet in front of his desk still looked damp. She edged around the other side, nudging his chair out of the way with her knee. The filing cabinet next to his desk, the one he kept locked, had been pried open. It contained the blue file folders for the doctor’s special patients, the ones who didn’t want to be identified. She ran her fingers along the tabs, but couldn’t tell if the intruder took anything from the cabinet.
She turned toward his desk and opened each drawer, searching through the contents. Dr. B kept a messy desk, but the disorder in the drawers topped anything she’d seen before.
The killer had searched the filing cabinet and the desk. If he wanted drugs, why look here? Maybe he wanted money or a prescription pad, too.
“Looking for something?”
She jumped, jerking the drawer out, its contents spilling on the floor. Nick’s large frame filled the doorway as he propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. His white coat billowed open to reveal another expensive shirt and silk tie. The man could grace the cover of GQ.
“You scared me.” She crouched to gather the junk from the drawer off the floor. “How’d you get in here?”
“The officer in the hallway let me in. Seems he and my nurse, Petra, have formed a close bond.”
She thumbed through the papers and notebooks before dropping them back in the drawer and picking up another stack. No appointment book.
“Petra works fast.”
“So do you.”
She sliced her finger on a paper edge. “What?”
“You’re back in here so soon after the murder to take care of everything. Where are Dr. Buonfoglio’s surgical nurses?”
“They were with him a long time.” She shoved the drawer back into the desk and stood up, sucking on her finger. “I spoke with them last night, and they’re shocked. They need a few days to recover before coming in here.” Especially Jill.
“Did you hurt your finger?” He stepped forward and held out his hand.
“It’s just a paper cut, Doc.”
“Let me see it, anyway.” He cupped his outstretched hand and gestured her forward.
Might as well humor the guy. He obviously had no problem taking charge of a situation, and recalling the way he flew through the door of the office last night to attack the intruder, she didn’t have a problem with it, either.
She held out her hand, and he wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and peered at the slice on her finger that sported a tiny drop of blood. He had beautiful hands—surgeon’s hands—strong, capable, deft. She stopped. The surgeon’s hands last night delivered punishing blows, showing strength of another kind…brute strength.
“Dab some antiseptic on this and get a Band-Aid. The man last night didn’t steal all your Band-Aids, did he?”
She snatched her hand back. “I’m sure we have some in the examination room.”
“So
