Love M.D. (20 page)

“Better, Doctor Drake. I can’t wait
to get back up on my feet again.”

“You
are
better. I see that clever
little mouth of yours is making its return. Gone are the days when you would…
how should I say… be a lot less
tamed
in your response. And I see Doctor
Drake is making a comeback, too. With you it’s like one step forward and two
steps back.”

So much for being funny. I try the
direct approach.

“Why are you being like this?” I
whisper. “Why are you so angry with me? I don’t want you uncomfortable in your
own surroundings. Neither do I want to be a burden. I can make other arrangements.”

Pausing, he looks at me. His face
softens. “I’m sorry, Zoë. It’s not you. I’m sorry if I’ve taken it out on you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing to do with you. Work
stuff.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see in about a
half hour when I get to the hospital.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Just get well. And stay out of
direct sunlight. Your skin is still very sensitive. Is there anything you’d
like me to pick up for you on my way home?”

“No thanks. I just want you to have
a great day.”

He smiles, taking my burned hand in
his and examining it. “Your hand is doing much better. Please be careful with
the temperature of the water, even just washing your hands. You can irritate
your skin with both extremes. Test it first.”

“I will. I promise,” I respond.
“Will there be scars? Will the marks go away?”

“You were lucky. They were only
second-degree burns. Generally, there is no scarring, but the pigmentation of
the burned area might change. However, that will be minimal.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You’re tough. You’ll be okay.” He
finishes with my hand and kisses me on my cheek. “I’ll be back in a while. Call
the house if you need anything, and Marguerite will come right up.”

“Sure. Thank you, Morgan.”

He smiles at my response and leaves.
The mood is not perfect, but it’s better than it was before. I take some
comfort in that.

As I drive
away from the house, I worry about leaving
Zoë alone. Despite having security there to protect her, I can’t get the fact
that someone made an attempt on her life off my mind. Her being out of my
sight, even for a second, has me in an antsy mood. I’m eager to see my patients
and return home to her. Hopefully Lucas and his security team will do their job
and protect her. He’s an ex-Marine and from all my research and everything I’ve
been told, he’s supposed to be the best.

Perusing through some
paperwork in my office, a
gentle tap sounds on my office door. I look up to see Deandre poking his head
through.

“Hey. You have a minute?” he asks.

“Sure. I have surgery in a bit, but
I can spare a few. What’s up?”

He closes the door behind him and
says, “I have the final report on that young woman that died a few weeks ago. I
sent you a copy. Did you look at it yet?”

“I was just going through all this
stuff on my desk. I’ve been out the last few days. Why? What caused her death?”

“Read the toxicology report.”

As Deandre says that, I look for
the file on my desk.

He continues, “There was a foreign
substance in her system. It looks like that’s what caused her to go into anaphylactic
shock in the first place. The toxicologist is still trying to identify what
that substance is.”

“Is that what killed her?”

“It looks so. It looks like it
caused her throat to swell up. An emergency tracheotomy was performed to try to
get her breathing again, but she died soon after.”

“How can you tell if you don’t know
what the substance was?”

“There were burns in her throat,
indicating she came into contact with something. So the evidence is there. We
just aren’t able to figure out what that chemical is.”

“I have to let the hospital
administrator know about this. Have you seen anything even remotely similar in
any other patients?”

“No.”

“I should have a copy of the one
from Adrian Jenkins in here too, right?”

“No. The results of that one aren’t
yet complete. I got behind, but I’m working on it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I did some work on it
this morning. I haven’t written up the results for those yet. Why?”

Raking my fingers through my hair,
I respond, “Something is off here. Either I misunderstood, or his sister didn’t
understand what it was, but she told me she had a copy of the results. She said
the cause of death was listed as anaphylactic shock.”

“I don’t know what she has, but I
can tell you it did not come from me or my office.”

“You think this is criminal, don’t
you?”

Sighing, he nods, looking at me in
disappointment, “I do. At least with regard to Catherine Modene. The other case
could just be a misunderstanding.”

“Have you discussed this with
anyone yet?”

Shaking his head, he responds, “No,
I wanted to talk to you about it first to see if you had any clue what this
substance was.”

“I have no clue. I have to run into
surgery now. When I’m done I think we need to pay the hospital administrator a
visit.”

“I’ll be in my office. When you’re
done, check me on the way.”

After I leave
the OR, I head to my office. I call Zoë
to make sure she’s okay, speak with the guards at the house, get a copy of the
autopsy results then Deandre and I head to the hospital administrator’s office.

Dr. Indra Singh sees us soon after
we arrive.

“Doctor Drake, what’s so urgent
that you two demanded that we meet on such short notice?”

“About a month ago a patient of
mine died a day after showing positive signs of recovery. Her death was
completely unexpected, so I ordered an autopsy. That’s where Doctor Jackson
comes in.”

Deandre continues, “I found something
foreign in the patient’s system that sent her into anaphylactic shock. An emergency
tracheotomy was performed, but it was too late.”

“You’re certain of this?” she asks.

“Yes. There was no natural cause of
death, and the rest of the drugs in her system would not harm her fatally.”

“I’d like to keep this quiet for
now. The Director of Compliance and Chief of Security need to get involved. Do
either of you have any idea what could have happened here?”

I respond, “No. It could have been
administered by a staff member, family or an intruder, we don’t know. One thing
is clear. It happened on the hospital’s premises.”

“I’ll take it from here. Thank you
for informing me.”

I’ve never had to communicate much
with Dr. Singh before, but her strait-to-the-point, matter-of-fact attitude
surprises me. All business, no emotion. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a
bad thing. I just want answers for my patient. Catherine Modene was just twenty-eight
years old and a six year old lost her mother.

I return to my office and pull
copies of her medical records and charts as well as the autopsy results. When I
get home, I’m going to comb through it line by line to see if I missed
something. Beyond that, what is the substance? Where did it come from? I slip
everything into my laptop case. Later, I will see if there are any clues that
could help sort this mess out. I head home, eager to make sure Zoë is okay.

To keep my
mind occupied, I download a book to my
tablet to read. For the last hour, I’ve been trying to focus on the words in front
me, but it proves to be a complete waste of time. I step onto the patio that
overlooks the pool and the property. I suspect my animals like this lifestyle.
They’ve abandoned me upstairs and bask on the deck below.

It’s hard not to miss the security
that patrols the pier below, or the one that patrols the deck or the other two
or three on the other side of the property. For me, they’re a sad, frightening
reminder that someone wanted, and probably still wants, me dead for reasons
unknown to me.

“Hello, Zoë,” I hear a female voice
behind me.

I step inside and see an older
woman. She’s probably in her mid to late fifties. I swear she looks just like Alice
from the Brady Bunch. Same hairdo, sans the blue uniform.

“You must be Marguerite,” I say,
shaking her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.”

“You, too. I thought I’d come up to
introduce myself. Do you need anything?”

“I’m good, thank you. I was
checking on my animals.”

“They’re wonderful. It’s nice
having them around. Don’t worry, I’ve given them a snack and taken them for a
walk.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll be
downstairs. Just call the house if you need anything.”

“Thanks Marguerite.”

I curl up on the sofa, aimlessly
flicking through the TV channels. It’s hard for me to be present or focus on
anything at all. Last night, on at least three occasions, I got up feeling as
if someone was in my room. I even thought I felt the attacker’s hands around my
neck.

When I’m better and back up on my
feet, I’m not quite sure how to move on. How can I be comfortable around people
anymore? How do I take on new jobs or do something as simple as a consultation
without the fear that I might be walking into a trap for someone to kill me?

I don’t know who to trust or who to
count on anymore. I am thankful to Morgan for taking care of me right now. But
I can’t continue to stay here, especially because of the way things are between
us.

I regret so much. I wish I had
trusted him. I should have done away with my foolish pride when he told me he
loved me. I should have given us another chance.

I hear Peaches whining and barking.
I suspect Morgan is home. I quickly—as quickly as I can in my condition—shut off
the TV and return to my room, closing the door behind me. If I stay in here,
perhaps he could be comfortable in his own home and not have to put up with
this tense situation that I created between us.

A few minutes later, a knock sounds
on the door. I think it’s Morgan, but I’m surprised to see silver hair and bold
blue eyes.

“Barney?” Today he’s wearing a
green argyle vest ensemble. I’m beginning to think that might be his uniform
and they come in every imaginable color.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “I made
you a smoothie.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of
the delicious drink. “I’m just reading a little.”

“Can I ask you a personal
question?”

I hesitate, “I suppose it would
depend on the question.”

“Is everything okay between you and
Morgan?”

“Sure, I’m here in his house, and
he’s put all these measures in place to take care of me. Why would you ask?”

“He’s been very distant the past few
weeks, hasn’t been talking about you nonstop with all the enthusiasm and
excitement he did before.”

“I guess that would raise questions
wouldn’t it? Have you spoken to your son about it?”

“I tried, but he didn’t want to
talk.”

“I feel guilty,” I mutter. “It’s my
fault. He kept something from me, and I was so angry with him, I let it get in
the way of how I truly feel. I hurt him. I should have trusted him, and I didn’t.
And although I apologized, I think it’s too late. The damage has already been
done.”

“If it were too late, you would not
be here right now.”

“I’m here because he cares about
me—obviously. But as much as I may want more, I don’t think he feels we have a
future together anymore. At least, not a romantic relationship.” As I say the words
aloud, I realize how empty I feel. Tears come.

I try to stop them, but with each
one I viciously wipe away, another one appears. I think about the way things
are with Morgan, the loss of Zach, the attempt on my life—images and the
feeling of my body being slammed into the wall and hands constricting my neck
won’t leave my mind.