“You promise?” Her name is spoken over the loudspeakers that fill the hospital. They’re asking her to come back to the ED, and a moment after that, her phone trills. “You’ll stay put?”
“Promise.”
While she takes out her phone and checks her messages, I look to Aubree. “I need you to go to the George Stanley and log into my computer. When you’re there, I need you to call me so I can give you the password and stuff.”
She pushes up to stand and scoffs. “It’s cute you think I don’t already know it.” While she fixes her coat, Tim stands tall on the other side of the room and prepares to escort her out. “What do you need me to find?”
“Get there and call me. I’ll tell you then.” I look to Cleary, then to Grant, and smile. “It’s private.”
Cleary only turns away with a swish of her coat. “I’ll be around, Mayet. If Detective Malone asks me to check on you, you better believe I’ll track you down. Be here, Doctor. Don’t make me come looking.”
“Detective Malone is obsessed in an unhealthy way.” I lean in my chair and bite down my hiss of pain, because my hips ache too, and my knee feels like it’s on fire. “Tim?”
“Yeah?” Across the room, he takes a step forward and meets my gaze from under the brim of his cap. But he keeps his distance from the doctors. And especially from Aubree. Now that she’s safe and inside a guarded hospital, he’s edging away. He doesn’t meet her eyes. He doesn’t sit by her side. And he sure as shit doesn’t touch. “What’s up?”
“Can you walk with Aubree back to the George Stanley? I don’t need you here, and she kinda fits the age bracket of the Opulus Killer’s targets.” Though Aubree’s curious stare swings to me, I smile as though my words are innocent. “Oh, and Aubs, on your way out, maybe take a peek at the leftover media people out there? See if there are any you like, and run their name by Seraphina. I wanna find one to talk to tonight to square all this away.”
Surprised, she turns to me and drops her hands in her pockets. “You’re willingly talking to the media?”
“I made a promise.” I press my hand over the Band-Aid on my arm when blood tries to seep past the plastic covering. “I have to clean this up once and for all so they stop with their bullshit and fabricated stories. Find me someone I won’t want to stab for a few minutes. I’ll have Seraphina call and book a chat.”
Digging her hands in her pockets, Aubree’s gaze comes down to my knee, but she backs up and slows a few feet from a watchful Tim. “You’re not going anywhere, right?”
“Nowhere. I’ll be in this chair for the hour, then I’ll call you so we can get together again. And don’t forget to call me when you get to my desk. I need something from my computer that I can’t access from here.”
“Alright.” She tugs a hat from her coat pocket. “I’ll call you in a bit.”
As the room clears out and every single person’s name that starts with Doctor—plus Tim—exits the room, I’m left all alone with my crappy knee and a decision to make. Cleary’s name is repeated on the loudspeaker, and Aubree’s voice can be heard from the hall. Tim’s aftershave leaves my room after a few minutes, and thoughts of Archer remain with me.
Always. Always.
Taking out my phone with a sigh and unlocking the screen, I check my emails and loathe the hundreds more that have arrived in the last couple of hours.
Every single report any of my staff run or request, the results come by email and copy me in.
Every single request the media make of me, emailed through Seraphina.
Every single homicide that comes through the George Stanley and makes use of one of my techs, I’m cc’d in every communication.
The dream job I was so excited about only weeks ago? Turns out the only difference is the vast number of emails I receive daily, and the fact I now owe the media my time if I want to quash rumors circulating about an active investigation.
Dialing the first on my list, I bring the phone to my ear and wait for the call to connect.
“This is Jen Lawrence.”
“Hey.” I sit back in my chair and stretch my leg straight. “It’s Doctor Mayet. Do you have a minute?”