Alec cocked his head questioningly. “Do medications come individually wrapped like this when you fill a prescription?”
“No.” The implication of what he was telling her hit with the force of a brick. “You’re saying those were stolen? From a hospital or clinic?”
“Yes.” His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “Would you know if anyone around here or anywhere else recently reported missing narcotics?”
Jillian opened her mouth and then closed it again without saying anything. Because the answer was yes.
Less than a week ago, twelve percocet tablets, just like the kind Alec held in his hand, had been discovered missing from the locked narcotic drawer right here in Trinity Medical Center’s ED.
CHAPTER TWO
ALEC’S stomach clenched as he and Dr. Jillian Davis stared at the individually wrapped percocet tablets lying across the palm of his hand. He’d pulled these out of the sixteen-year-old John Doe’s pocket, but for all he knew the kid had been selling them on the street to other kids. Younger ones. He’d found the young victims in Barclay Park after all. The idea of a child, like his six-year-old daughter Shelby, taking drugs of any kind made him feel sick.
“We can’t discuss this here,” Jillian said in a low tone. “Give me a minute to check on the status of our patients in the arena and then we can meet in my office.”
Alec gave a tight nod, trying to remain calm. Thoughts of anything happening to Shelby haunted him. He’d only known about his daughter for the past year, when Shelby’s mother had died and left a letter granting him custody. If he had known about Shelby sooner he would have been a part of her life from the beginning. Still, he was more than grateful he had his daughter now. Shelby had changed him for the better. He was more relaxed now, less intense.
Less lonely.
He and his daughter—the words still gave him a tiny thrill—had grown close over this past year. Seeing kids as victims was doubly hard now. He knew his heightened awareness was due to Shelby. He couldn’t imagine anything happening to his daughter.
Shelby was safe for today, though, in his sister Alaina’s care. Alaina was the sensible sibling in the family. Not the wild Monroe, like he had once been. He trusted his older sister with his life.
Shelby was his life.
Swallowing hard, he closed his hand over the individually wrapped pills and followed Jillian from the trauma room into the arena. He slid the evidence into his pocket and stood off to the side. To take his mind off the seriousness of the situation, he concentrated on watching the pretty doctor in action.
Jillian looked over a clipboard with one of the nurses, no doubt to review each patient’s planned disposition. Alec knew more than he wanted to about how emergency departments functioned. His brother Adam was a doctor and his younger sister Abby was a nurse, and at one point he’d been trained as a medic in the army with thoughts of following a similar career path.
Unfortunately, healing wasn’t his area of expertise.
Maybe that wasn’t entirely true, he amended. He’d helped to heal Shelby’s loss. When she’d first come to live with him she’d cried all the time, the sound of her quiet sobs breaking his heart. Now she hugged him easily and called him “Daddy” without hesitation.
A reluctant smile quirked the edge of his lips.
Maybe Shelby had helped heal him, too.
He fingered the pills in his pocket. Had the fight between the two teenagers been over the drugs? Or a girl? Or something else entirely?
He didn’t know. But either way he couldn’t do anything to bring the kid back, much as he wished he could. Shoving thoughts of the dead boy aside, his gaze followed Jillian’s lithe figure as she entered a patient’s room.
A few moments later she emerged from behind the curtain and returned to the nurses’ station. His gaze lingered on her, the cute way her forehead puckered in a slight frown as she reviewed a patient’s chart. Her serious expression made him wish he could make her laugh. Her hair, a rich chestnut color, was pulled back into a curly ponytail and he wondered how she’d look with her hair down, framing her face.
When he’d been brought into Trinity’s ED after one of his suspects had tried to slice him with a knife, he’d been thankful the pretty doctor had been assigned to take care of him. As she’d tended his wound he’d been hyper-aware of her dainty yet capable hands on his skin. For the first time since Shelby had come to live with him, he’d considered asking a woman out.
Luckily, it had been a fleeting thought. His life was complicated enough, he didn’t need to add another element that might disrupt Shelby’s newfound peace.
He straightened from the wall when Jillian walked toward him. Despite his mini-lecture to himself, his body responded when he caught a whiff of her scent. “Alec? My office is this way.”
She’d remembered his name. Stupid to be flattered, but he was. She led him to a tiny, compact office without so much as an outside window and waved him toward a seat as she settled in behind the modest desk.
Her medical school diplomas were framed and hung in prominent display on the wall behind her head. The reality of her extensive education punched him in the gut. Pretty as she may be, it was obvious Dr. Jillian Davis existed in a world very different from his.
“Could I see those percocets again?” Jillian asked. “I need to check the lot number.”
He dug into his pocket and drew out the evidence. He tossed them onto her desk. “Why? So you can match the lot number to that of the drugs missing from this hospital?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure if hospital administration would approve of me discussing the details with you,” Jillian admitted. She turned over the package and jotted a series of numbers on a pad of paper. “I think it’s best if I get you in touch with our risk management department.”
Alec frowned. He would have preferred to work with Jillian directly. In his experience, once hospital administrators were involved, the lines of communication became far less direct.
He leaned forward, pinning Jillian with a sharp gaze. “Dr. Davis, I really don’t have time to mess around with your hospital administration. First of all, it’s past seven on a Friday night and I’m sure most of the administrative staff has already gone home. If you make me wait until Monday, the trail will be cold. A sixteen-year-old kid died after exchanging gunfire with another, who is right now undergoing surgery. I need to know if these drugs cost this boy his life. Or, even worse, if other innocent kids are in danger.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth and a shot of desire stirred his groin. Dammit, he needed to stop thinking of the pretty doctor as an attractive woman. He had more important issues to deal with than his sudden awareness of a member of the opposite sex.
Not just any member of the opposite sex. Jillian was a doctor, with years of education and training behind her. He’d admired the way she’d managed the situation in the trauma room, taking charge, confronting the apathy of the surgeon on call.
Which reminded him of the moment when the forceps had dropped from her fingers. Jillian
