Covert M.D. (12 page)

The implication was horrifying. Nia set the papers down and backed away. “But you said it yourself—we’re not missing organs. Illegal transplants might account for the missing drugs, but how could someone sell organs out of Boston General without it being obvious?”

“Maybe they’re not coming out of Boston General. Maybe they’re coming from somewhere else.”

The whole notion was something out of an urban legend, with patients waking up in strange hotel room bathtubs missing a kidney.

At the thought, Nia’s lower back twinged a protest.
She held up her hands. “That’s pure conjecture. Where’s your proof?” She gestured to the names. “What if these two died? It happens.” Too often.

“And what if they’re alive?”

“I don’t know.” Nia pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t comprehend the selling of body parts, though she knew it happened from time to time. What sort of person could be involved in such a thing? What evil could cause a doctor to auction off an organ that rightfully belonged to the next tissue match on the list? “What if we—”

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting.

An unaccountable chill swept across her nearly bare shoulders, and she thought of Hart’s eyes as he’d worked to save the patient’s life. He’d been cool as he worked. Almost dispassionate. At the time she’d attributed it to the reserve a surgeon needed to stay a step away from his patient’s pain. From the failures.

Now, she wondered.

A second knock sounded, then Hart said, “Nia? It’s me. Logan. Are you ready for dinner?”

“You don’t have to go,” Rathe said quietly. He closed the distance between them and ran a gentle finger down her cheek, leaving a new set of shivers behind. “You can say you’re sick, stressed, not in the mood. You’ve had a busy few days—he’ll understand.”

And Rathe would understand, too. She saw it in his eyes. He wouldn’t think her weak or womanly, or if he did, he’d never say it. Something had changed in him, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the acknowl
edged chemistry that pulsed between them or if he was truly beginning to accept her as a partner.

But it didn’t matter. This wasn’t about his opinion. This was about her job. About saving lives.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll go.”

Another knock. “Hello? Are you in there?”

Eyes locked with Rathe’s, Nia raised her voice. “Sorry, Logan. I’m running behind. I’ll be there in a minute!”

“Nia, please. Stay home. I have a bad feeling about this.” As though he had the right, Rathe cupped the curve of her hip with one wide, warm hand.

The rasp of cloth and sensation scraped along her nerve endings, and she fought not to jerk away. A pulse shot to her core, making her almost painfully aware of the naked skin above her garters and the narrow strip of silk between.

She stepped away. “Don’t patronize me. We both know this is our best chance of getting information. I’ll keep Logan busy while you search his office. Set your phone to vibrate—I’ll call when we’re ready to leave.” His eyes reflected a potent combination of indecision and dark heat, and she softened her voice. “It’s an awards ceremony. I’ll stay with the crowds, I swear. I’ll be fine.”

It was an empty promise and they both knew it, but after a moment Rathe nodded. “I’ll follow you there and wait until you’re inside. Buzz me twenty minutes before you’ll be ready to leave. I don’t want you alone with him.”

This time when he cupped her hips in both his hands, she didn’t pull away. Heat flared through the soft black material and Nia’s internal muscles pulled tight into a greedy, needy knot. A cough outside the heavy door reminded her they were not alone, and she lifted her hands to Rathe’s chest.

“Rathe. I’ve got to go.”

“I know.” But neither of them moved. Rustling and a shift of feet in the hallway carried to them clearly, making it feel as though their almost embrace was public. “Be careful.”

She tossed her head. “Of course.”

“No. I mean it. Be careful.” His eyes bore into hers. “If anything happened to you…”

Her stupid, feckless heart shuddered when he faltered. “Yes?”

“Aw, hell.” On an oath, he closed the distance, trapping her hands between them when she would have held him away. “Be careful.”

And he kissed her. Hard.

It was the third time he’d kissed her in so many days. It should have been familiar enough that she could break away and remind him that they were partners before she whirled and made a grand exit.

And she’d do that, Nia decided. In a minute.

Right then she was busy. Her fingers were busy tangling in his shirt, exposing a slice of warm, taut flesh. Her lips were busy parting beneath his, her tongue busy rubbing against his, exploring, tasting, learning. Logan coughed again in the hall and she wished him gone.

She heard Rathe groan and wished him naked. Heat speared through her, lust arrowed to the strip of silk between her legs. It had been like this before, only now it was more so. Seven years more.

He broke the kiss and buried his face against her neck, breathing as though he’d outrun a lion. “Nia.”

He said nothing more, simply her name, but the sound of it shivered through her like a promise. She scraped her teeth along the point of his shoulder, where an old scar slashed across skin tanned from one too many assignments in torrid climates. His shirt hung half-off, affording her tantalizing access, frustrating barriers.

His hands shaped her waist and skimmed over the slight dip where the surgeons had removed a rib, though he didn’t know that. His palms slid up to cup her breasts through the fabric and she moaned.

“Nia?” Logan’s voice intruded from without. “Are you okay in there?”

“Just give me one more minute, Logan!”

Then she turned back to Rathe. “I’ve got to go,” she whispered against the side of his neck.

“No. Stay.”

“But you just agreed—”

He silenced her with a kiss, tongue delving deep into her mouth, into her heart. Sensation layered upon sensation as he dragged a thumb across one nipple and almost brought her to her knees. “I changed my mind—stay.”

She could send Logan away, plead a headache, fa
tigue, anything to make him go. The bed was a few short paces down the hall. The couch only a couple of feet. The floor nearer still.

As though sensing her acquiescence, Rathe cupped her buttocks and drew her forward and up, aligning the strip of wet silk between her legs with the hard length of his erection. The sensation was intense, incredible, and Nia hooked a leg around his waist, inviting, agreeing.

He slid a hand from her hip to her knee, beneath the dress, and murmured his approval when his fingers found the garter belt and the bare flesh above. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “I don’t think I could handle it if anything happened to you.”

And reality hit with a jab of pain and an ice-cold wash of shame. Maria. This was about Maria.

Abruptly, the heat cooled.

“Damn it!” She wrenched away from him, heart thundering, eyes stinging. She kept her voice low, acutely aware that her “date” still lingered in the hall. “Is that what this is about?”

“I beg your pardon?” Shirt half-off, hair disheveled, pupils dilated to dark pools of sensuality, Rathe still managed to evoke an air of command with the question.

But she was having none of it. “This.” She flipped a hand between the two of them and hoped he didn’t see her fingers tremble. “You. Me. Maria.”

“Maria?” He looked honestly confused, but it was an act. Any man who could morph from janitor to warrior in an instant would have the befuddled routine down pat.
Understanding dawned, and anger sparked in his eyes. “Do you honestly think—”

“That you would seduce me to keep me out of danger? Absolutely.” He might not even intend it as such, but the sacrifice could help ease his guilt over her father. Over Maria. Nia was having none of it, though her body still zinged from his touch and ached for fulfillment.

Well, she’d been unfulfilled for more months than she wanted to count. She’d survive a few more. But her career—and her self respect—wouldn’t survive if she succumbed to Rathe’s blatant manipulation.

He swiped the back of his hand across his lips. “Damn it, Nia—”

“No.” She held up a hand. “No more. I’m going to do my job now. You can follow if you like. Or you can go to hell for all I care.”

Though the lie tugged at her, she thought it an excellent exit line. She grabbed her wrap and purse, sailed to the door and slammed it behind her. Then she forced herself to smile up at Logan Hart, who was handsome in a tux and tie, and grumpy looking from the wait. She offered her arm. “Shall we go?”

He narrowed his eyes and glanced from her to the door and back. “You’re flushed. And I heard voices.”

“I took a nap and overslept. Then I had to rush to get ready.” She turned away and set off down the hall, forcing him to accompany her and putting distance between her and Rathe. His taste lingered on her tongue, but she knew she’d been right. He wanted her, yes.

But he wanted her as a female who fit into his narrowly defined roles, not as a lover or a partner.

Certainly not as both.

“And the voices?”

She shrugged and draped the dark wrap around her shoulders, forcing herself not to shiver when he helped and his fingers lingered on her bare neck. “The television.”

“I see.” His dark eyes expressionless, Logan took her elbow and ushered her into the elevator. When the doors slid shut, trapping her in the small space with the physically imposing doctor, Rathe’s words whispered in her mind.

Black market organs.

“Everything okay?” Logan’s voice echoed oddly, and Nia jolted.

“Fine.” She focused on him, on her job, and forced a shaky laugh. “It’s been a crazy few days.”

“Of course.” He glanced at his watch. “If you’re not in the mood for this awards deal, if you’d rather not have to think about the case for a few hours, we could go somewhere quiet. Private.”

His eyes telegraphed messages that her mind refused to interpret. For the first time she began to feel as though she was in this case way over her head.

And sinking fast.

She shook her head and forced a smile. “No, this is fine. I’ve been looking forward to seeing Director Talbot at the awards ceremony. I’d rather attend.”

His lips quirked. “Of course you would.”

“OVERSENSITIVE, HEADSTRONG, hypercritical, suspicious twit.” Rathe drummed his fingertips against the steering wheel, mostly to rid them of the tingling memory of the soft skin above Nia’s stockings. “You want to go out with our main suspect? Fine. But don’t expect me to keep saving your butt.”

Despite his words, he parked Nia’s Jetta around the corner from the hotel where the awards ceremony was being held, and slipped through a side door. From the wings beside the presentation stage, he scanned the ballroom and saw her immediately.

Dark head bent to catch the words of an older, slightly rounder woman, Nia stood out from the crowd. Wearing a little black dress in a sea of such dresses, she couldn’t have gone unnoticed if she’d tried. When she tossed back her head and laughed, Rathe heard it as though she was standing beside him. And when she turned and accepted a flute of champagne from Logan, jealousy and anger knifed in his gut.

“She can take care of herself. Do your damn job.” But Rathe couldn’t seem to make his feet move.

Finally he yanked his phone from his pocket, dialed her matching cell and buzzed her with the prearranged signal. Two rings, then a hang up. He saw her jolt slightly and wondered where she’d put the phone.

Whether she’d set it to vibrate, as he had.

Whether her body still revved from their kisses, as his did.

With a word to Logan, and the woman Rathe now
recognized as Nurse Marissa Doyle, Nia excused herself and disappeared. A moment later his phone buzzed.

He answered. “What is it?”

“You called me.” She sounded annoyed with him, but that was fine. Annoyed was better than in trouble. “Where are you?”

“Around.” He didn’t want to admit he was watching her. Didn’t want to have the conversation that began,
If I were a man, you wouldn’t be watching me. You’d be searching Hart’s office.
It was true, but it wasn’t just because she was a woman.

It was because she was Nia.

Silence hummed across the connection. She wasn’t giving him an inch. Finally he sighed. “Stay with Marissa as much as you can. Don’t go off with him alone. Buzz me before you leave. Got it?”

“I’ve got it. I’m not an idiot.” Was that pure temper in her voice, or was there a layer of hurt, as well? He couldn’t tell. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

He moved to shut the phone, but the hesitation in her voice stopped him. “Rathe?”

He paused. “Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

Those two words were almost enough to propel him back in time, to the years when Tony, his wife and daughter had cared for him, cared whether he lived or died.

His fingers tightened on the small, high-tech handset. “Yeah. You, too.”

Then he hung up, because what more was there to say?

He watched her return to the ballroom and he grimaced when Hart handed her another flute of champagne. “Go easy on that, honey,” he murmured, but knew it wasn’t necessary.

Nia French was all about the job.

So he turned away and jogged down the stairs to the street level. He’d search Hart’s office first. The janitor’s outfit would camouflage him well enough for casual eyes. And Nia…he’d have to trust her to stay in populated, well-lit, safe areas.

Knowing her, he almost turned back.

“No. Get in the car and go. Just go,” he told himself, deliberately pushing through the doors and trying to ignore the sour feeling in his gut. The pavement was rain wet and smelled of city—a cloying mélange that varied from place to place but was always underpinned by the smell of rubber, car fumes and humanity.

The funk turned Rathe’s stomach. He reached for the car door and jolted as his instincts flared to life.

Nia!
She was in danger. He was sure of it. He spun and took two running steps towards the hotel, when a dark figure detached itself from the deep shadows in an alley. A streetlight picked out the sharp angles of the man’s colorless face, the corpselike hang of his skin and the bandages neatly wrapped around both hands, where he’d burned them on the incinerator. “The boss wants to see you.”