Nothing But Trouble (37 page)

Rebecca slowly nodded, waiting for the "but"
to come. "Okay. Thank you," she said.

"Don't thank me yet. There's something else I
need to confess."

Just as Rebecca expected. And she had a
feeling she knew what was coming next.

Danielle's nervous energy was like a third
person in the room with them. She fiddled with the flowers,
touching the petals and adjusting the bow tied around the vase.
Then she righted a stack of magazines that had fallen to the floor.
Once she had them stacked neatly, she moved to the throw pillows on
the couch, fluffing them, which really didn't do a whole lot to
improve their appearance.

While Danielle bounced from one thing to the
next, Rebecca waited.

"I've made some really poor choices that I'm
not proud of," Danielle finally said. Her attention was on a
picture of Lindsey, which hung on a wall. "I mean, I honestly
didn't think I was hurting anyone."

That's what most drug addicts thought. They
rarely took their loved one's feelings into consideration.

Danielle, like most addicts, probably thought
she'd been different from other people who suffered from the same
problem. The truth was she was exactly the same.

"I didn't realize how much harm I actually
caused," the other woman said in a quiet voice. Then she pinned
Rebecca with her pale blue eyes. "I'm sorry about you losing your
medical license. That was entirely my doing."

Bingo. The exact words she'd been waiting to
hear. Drugs had made Danielle completely irrational and desperate,
a common side effect of abusing. Not to mention paranoid. Rebecca
had posed a threat to Danielle's safe little bubble, and she'd done
what she felt had been necessary. Which didn't justify her actions
by any means. But Rebecca didn't hold Danielle solely responsible.
Dr. Gross had created the problem. Now he was dead, and hopefully
Rebecca could work on putting things right again.

Despite that, she listened to Danielle's
confession, knowing the woman needed to get the words out.

"When you came along, asking your questions,
it scared me," Danielle said. She turned from the photos on the
wall, but still wouldn't look Rebecca in the eye. "I didn't know
what to do, so I panicked. I'm not saying what I did was right.
Calling the DEA and dropping your name was crossing a line that I
never intended to cross."

And doing drugs wasn't crossing the line?

"But I was afraid Dr. Gross would go to jail,
and I'd lose my security blanket."

Rebecca took a step forward and tried to
force down the resentment that threatened to overflow. "And you
thought trying to get me sent to jail for something I didn't do was
okay?"

Danielle lifted her tear-filled eyes to
Rebecca. "I know what I did was wrong. I understand that now. But
at the time I wasn't thinking clearly and…" She shrugged. "I guess
it doesn't really matter now. I just needed to tell you how sorry I
am and hopefully one day you can forgive me."

Well, it was a start, even if Rebecca wasn't
completely enamored. Her life had been turned upside-down, and her
name would never have come up if it hadn't been for Danielle. But
she appreciated the attempt to make amends and was willing to
acknowledge that much at least.

"I appreciate that," she responded. Danielle
hadn't acted like she had any clue of Dr. Gross's death, and
Rebecca decided to keep the news to herself. His passing was still
fresh in her own mind, and Danielle looked like she couldn't handle
much else on her plate. In fact, she looked a hair away from
cracking, and the suicide news would likely send her over the edge.
Or back on drugs.

Rebecca glanced at her watch, as though she
had other pressing issues to attend to. The truth was, she wanted
out of there. "I need to get going so… yeah," she stated and turned
toward the door. Danielle made no effort to keep Rebecca from
leaving. Apparently she felt the conversation had run its course
also.

When Rebecca reached the door, she paused
with her hand on the knob. "I'm glad you're getting the help you
need. Good luck with everything."

The half-smile on Danielle's face was the
friendliest thing Rebecca had seen from her since meeting the
woman. "Thank you. And good luck to you too."

Rebecca stepped out into the cool air,
thankful that unpleasant experience was now over with. She'd wanted
to right things between them, which she had. Even if it wasn't
exactly the start of a new friendship, at least she could move
on.

But she couldn't entirely move on, because
there were still so many lose ends to tie up. What would happen to
the practice now that Dr. Gross was dead? And what of the DEA's
investigation? Would they continue even though their prime suspect
was no longer living?

All those questions had been dying for
answers, but Agent Reinhold had rushed her off the phone the other
day. Her frustration coupled with grief had caused nothing but
speechlessness while his phone had gone "click" in her ear. Since
then, she'd meant to call him back but hadn't been in the right
frame of mind for that conversation. But still, she deserved some
kind of conclusion other than "Patrick Gross took his own
life."

How much longer could she live in limbo like
this? Were they still planning on questioning her? Letting her keep
her license?

Even though the prescription fraud was over,
it wasn't quite over for her.

As she opened her car door, her cell phone
rang from inside her purse. She practically dove for it, thinking
it would be R.J., saying something like, "I'm desperately in love
with you, let's run off and get married." And since that wasn't
likely anyway, Rebecca wasn't surprised to see it wasn't him.

The number wasn't local, but she knew it to
be Agent Reinhold's. With her heart in her throat, she answered the
call.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Underwood, it's Agent Reinhold with the
DEA," he clarified, as though she knew some other Agent Reinhold
who would be calling her. "I apologize for rushing you off the
phone the other day. And normally I would bring you in to talk to
you in person, but I'm swamped right now and wanted to reach you as
soon as possible."

As ominous as that sounded, Rebecca held her
breath and told herself that nothing else could go possibly wrong.
"All right," she said as she slid into behind the wheel and started
the car.

There was some rustling in the background,
followed by other voices. Agent Reinhold muttered something to
someone, then spoke to her. "I wanted to inform you that we are
officially closing our investigation and I'm being reassigned."

Rebecca just about crashed into the curb when
she backed out of the driveway. They were closing the
investigation? "Wait, are you serious? You're really closing the
case?"

"Well, our suspect is deceased. There's
nothing left for us to investigate." His words were so matter of
fact, as though she should have figured it out on her own.

"As for you," he continued. "You'll be
receiving your license back along with all your files. The process
could take a few weeks, so bear with us. We're overworked and
underpaid." His chuckle wasn't infectious, nor was the joke funny.
Even though it was good news, Rebecca couldn't bring herself to
laugh at anything involving what had happened.

She made a left at the stop sign and adjusted
her grip on the cell phone. "I'm really getting my license back?
Just like that? And I can go back to work?"

Agent Reinhold waited before answering. "I
know this wasn't an easy thing for you, Dr. Underwood. And we never
considered you a serious suspect. Really, you were nothing more
than a witness for us. Suspending your license is standard
procedure and had nothing to do with guilt on your part. I
apologize for leading you to believe that, but when you're running
an investigation, you can't go around sharing details like that.
But now that the case is closed, I can be more forthcoming with
you."

"I understand," she said, trying to see his
side of things when her fear had obscured her vision and her
confidence in the system. "But how can I go back to practicing
medicine, when there's no practice to go back to? All our patients
have been referred to another pediatrician."

"I agree, that is another matter entirely.
But between you and me, the practice is up for sale."

"Up for sale?" Her grip on the phone
tightened. "What do you mean?"

"You know Dr. Gross owned that building,
right?"

"Yes."

"When I spoke with Mrs. Gross I got the
impression she was going to sell the building and the practice
along with it. Might be something you want to look into."

Buying the medical practice? Her? Although
she'd always dreamed of running her own place, it had never
occurred to her to buy one out. But her student loans alone were
overwhelming enough.

"I'm not sure," she considered. "All our
patients are gone. It could take years to rebuild the kind of base
we had."

"Sounds like you have some thinking to do.
But I would imagine the other pediatrician in town is probably
overwhelmed with all the new patients they have. He might be happy
to hand them back to you. I would even imagine he'd be more than
thrilled to have you on staff."

Yes, going to another practice was something
she'd considered. She could just step in and not have to worry
about building the place from the ground up. On the other hand, it
wouldn't be her own.

"I appreciate you calling," she said, because
anything else was too much for her brain to handle.

"Just doing my job, Dr. Underwood. And for
the record, I'm sorry for the way things ended."

His words sounded genuine, as did the tone of
his voice. And really, none of this was his fault. As he said, he
had just been doing his job.

"Thank you."

She disconnected the call, and set her phone
down.

The storm had passed, but she still felt the
after-effects of the rain and thrashing wind. What was it she
really wanted?

Running her own practice was her ultimate
dream, but pulling together the cash could be difficult. A mortgage
and student loans was more than enough debt than she wanted to deal
with. Did she really want to add more loans on top of it?

If she joined the other practice, she could
jump right in and go back to treating all her patients. And,
really, that was the most important part for her. She'd worked hard
to build some lasting relationships with some amazing children. Not
to mention their parents. Interacting with those children on a
daily basis was what she missed most.

As she turned toward her neighborhood, Agent
Reinhold's words came back to her. Yes, she definitely had some
things to think about.

The re-build from
hell was officially over. At 10:15 last night, R.J. and his guys
had put the finishing touches on all three of Charlie's cars. After
pulling all-nighters for two straight weeks, they'd managed come in
on time and only slightly over budget. That part was a miracle in
itself, considering the man kept calling and adding on more stuff.
R.J.'s patience had barely remained in check when Charlie had
called at the last minute and changed the paint color for the
Mercedes.

Sam had threatened to quit if Charlie so much
as added an extra seatbelt. R.J. had to remind the kid of the big,
fat paycheck that was going to put an enormous smile on all their
faces. With those words, Sam had wisely shut the hell up.

They could all breathe collective sighs of
relief. Donald Underwood's car was finished, so four of their cars
would be gone today, significantly lightening their workload. Maybe
he'd take a few days off and figure some shit out. Like the fact
that it was way past time for him to set things straight with
Rebecca. Two and a half weeks ago he'd left her in his guest
bed.

Two and a half weeks since he'd felt that
soft skin and inhaled the sweet honey scent of her hair. Two and a
half weeks too long if you asked him. But he'd needed time to make
sense of his feelings and figure out a way to put them into words.
Not to mention he'd been working his ass off. From six a.m. to
midnight every night trying to finish Charlie's cars. By the time
he left work, standing on his own two feet was challenging enough
without adding an emotional conversation to the mix. Especially
since he had little to no experience with emotional
conversations.

He needed to be prepared, and now that his
biggest project was done, he'd have more time on his hands.

Last week, when she'd come in to pay the
remaining balance on her father's car, R.J. had had to shove his
hands in his pockets to keep them to himself. Her springy curls had
been loose and especially touchable. And there'd been a light in
her eyes that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen her. Then
the light became uncertain when she'd seen him, as though she was
just as unsure about where they stood as he was.

She was probably waiting for him to make the
first move. And she was right. He should. Especially since she'd
already told him she wanted to be with him. But shit, he had no
experience with this. He'd never found a woman worth staying with,
much less saying the words to her.

How much longer are you going to be a chicken
shit? Do you expect her to wait for you forever?

She'd already waited more than fifteen years
for him to come to his senses. How much longer could she sit around
a wait for him? Women like Rebecca got snatched up left and right.
One of these days she was going to grow impatient and run off with
some guy who drove luxury sedan and ate at five star
restaurants.

R.J. would never drive a luxury sedan, but
hell, he could do a five star joint every once in a while.

"I've never seen this place so busy."