Dr. Stacy raised her eyebrows, then her gaze shifted to Reese’s shoulder. “Please tell me that didn’t happen when you slipped and fell.” She leaned closer and ran her touch over the scar tissue.
The contact shot needles down his arm. Reese almost jerked away.
“Sensitive?”
“A little nerve damage.” The scars continued to tingle.
“What kind of dog was it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I’m sure a house cat didn’t do that unless it was the size of a small tiger.”
“I don’t remember. Happened a long time ago.” Reese shrugged. “When I was young.” He picked up the army logo T-shirt.
Dr. Stacy continued to stare.
Reese studied the tops of his house shoes. Harrington had found a clean shirt and sweatpants that fit, but there’d been no shoes. At least his house shoes were dark and he couldn’t see the blood. “Are we done?” The tingling in Reese’s arm moved to his fingers. He opened and closed his hand.
“Almost, just a few more things, okay?”
Reese nodded and Dr. Stacy made her rounds, shining a light in his eyes, looking in his mouth, taking his pulse.
She took the stethoscope from over her shoulders and dropped it back into her bag. “For someone who’s been in a car wreck, you look remarkably healthy.”
“Thanks… I think.”
She laughed and some of the tension left Reese’s shoulders.
“I’m going to trust you to drink fluids. And other than your old bruises, you barely have a scratch.”
He’d had quite a few when he made a run for it but most of them had healed by the time he’d reached the exit on the highway.
She closed up her bag. “I guess it was more of a fender bender after all.”
More like a window-smashing rabid wolf monster. “I told Harrington this was unnecessary.”
She headed to the door. “Fluids, Dr. Dante. And if anything changes—headaches, nausea—have Harrington call me.”
“Yes. I will. I promise.” Reese pulled on his shirt and Dr. Stacy left.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t say anything to Harrington about the bite mark. Reese got off the small counter and started to pick up the blanket.
His cell phone rang. He retrieved it from where it sat with his wallet next to the coffee maker, but there was too much dried blood on the screen to read the number.
“Hello?”
“You’ve been lied to, Dr. Dante.”
Reese didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. “What?”
“Laura Phillips is not who she appears to be. And when she finds out Paul Dekker bit you, she will kill you.”
Reese touched his shoulder. “How did you…?”
“What you know about New World Genetics, the people who run it, the ichor, doesn’t even scratch the surface.”
Reese’s pulse sludged in his veins. “Who are you?”