never learned. I preferred to play beach volleyball.”
“There are plenty of people willing to teach you.” At the sudden question in her eyes, he added, “For a fee. Ask the local shops.”
“Maybe,” she said, noncommittal.
Julian crossed to her. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Her thick waves were restrained by an elastic band. He had the inane thought that he’d never seen her hair down and wondered how long it was.
She thrust the sack at him. “I, um, hope you like at least one of them.”
He accepted the offering, set it on the counter and leaned against a bar stool. “Mahalo.”
“How’s your pain level?” She gestured to the gauze encasing his arm and wrist. “Are you taking the prescribed antibiotics?”
“It’s tolerable. And yes, Nurse Harris, I’m following orders. You could say I’ve grown accustomed to that.”
“Right.” Her gaze swept the length of him, taking in his marine-issued green T-shirt, black pants and socks. This wasn’t a flirtatious or interested inspection. Audrey Harris was worried about him. Or worried about her job?
“You were there when I went into cardiac arrest, weren’t you?”
Startled by the abrupt question, she sagged against his desk, her hip perilously close to the puzzle he’d been laboring over for weeks.
“What happened in the recovery room, Audrey?” he asked. “Why is it that, more than thirty-six hours after I was supposed to have had a routine procedure and discharge, I still don’t have answers?”
“I can’t say,” she whispered.
He resisted the urge to use his physical stature to intimidate her. His goal wasn’t to frighten her. “Did you make a mistake?” He kept his tone casual. “Did you give me the wrong medicine?”
There. A telltale flicker of guilt. “No.”
Unable to contain his impatience, he straightened and took a single step toward her. “I almost died thanks to hospital error. I deserve to know the truth.”
“It wasn’t hospital error,” she blurted, popping up from the desk.
“Oh?”
“Someone masquerading as hospital staff entered recovery and administered a lethal dose of epinephrine.”
“What?”
“We don’t know his identity. The police weren’t able to get fingerprints off the syringe. They’re combing through security footage, but there are many areas of the building that aren’t covered.” Her dark brows snapped together. “I’m sorry, Julian.”
Vague memories of a man wearing a surgical mask emerged. He hadn’t spoken, but the intent in his eyes had unsettled Julian. He’d worn latex gloves and had a short ponytail.
“I saw him.”
“You did? What does he look like? If you can give a description—”
“His face was obscured. The curtain was drawn and the light behind my bed turned off.”
“I turned it off so you could rest,” she admitted, biting her lip.
He paced to the window. There wasn’t much activity in the parking lot below or the public park bordering their Jacksonville complex. This was the dinner hour, when people would be sharing meals with their families. He ignored the pang of loneliness. What right did he have to feel lonely? His team members, his brothers—Paulson, Akins, Rossello and Cook—didn’t have the luxury.
“I don’t have enemies.” His adversaries inhabited foreign soil. They didn’t know him by name. They only knew his organization—United States Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance. “This can’t be connected to me.”
“I should go. I’ve already said too much.”
Her shoulders were hunched and her mouth pinched. She was hiding something. Blocking her exit, he said, “Where were you when the intruder got to me?”
The color drained from her face. “I had another patient. She was ill. I stepped out to get her a cup of ice.” Her lashes swept down. “When I returned, I saw the curtain drawn. I saw his outline. I tried to stop him and would’ve gone after him, but you’d gone into V-tach. I had to begin CPR at once—”
“You saved my life?” Julian attempted to picture her springing into heroine mode. She hadn’t caused his brush with death. She’d kept him from succumbing to it.
“I did what I was trained to do.”
He recognized the refusal to take credit. Audrey Harris, RN, didn’t view her job as extraordinary. Sometimes force-recon marines got their names in the paper or received medals from government officials. Like Audrey, Julian had been trained for specific tasks and taught to react to emergencies. He didn’t think of himself as special because of it.
Her phone beeped. She took it from her pocket and, reading the screen, frowned. “I have to go.”
“I have more questions.”
“I’m in apartment 478, on the other side of the elevators and vending machines. If you have any questions regarding your recovery, come by anytime.”
The emergence of stubborn resolve surprised him. He hadn’t seen past the very real apprehension cloaking her. But she was the daughter of a career marine. What had he expected? A wilting flower?
Deliberately stepping around him, she reached for the doorknob.
“You should know I don’t give up easily,” he said.
Audrey paused. “Get some rest, Sergeant Tan.”
In other words, focus on complete healing instead of pursuing this mystery.
When she’d left, he returned to his puzzle but had trouble concentrating. Audrey knew more than she was willing to share. Was she worried about compromising her position at the hospital? Or was it something far more serious?
Either way, he was determined to discover the truth.
Audrey tugged at the wet material clinging to her skin and grimaced. Her foot had gotten caught on the hospital bed wheel, and she’d stumbled, spilling apple juice down her front. If it had been water, she would’ve let it air-dry. But the juice would start to smell foul. And it was sticky.
She headed for the door. “I’m going to get a new set of scrubs from supply.”
Veronica, who’d hovered like a thundercloud since the incident, looked up from her handheld device. Her garish red lips formed a disgruntled slash. “Hurry up.” She tilted her head at the unoccupied beds. “Our ten o’clock
