I really didn’t want to fall on the side of decapitation.
I followed Salas off the elevator, still longing for those tacos and debating how to talk to Mason about his strange, dark moods, and realized a second too late that we were heading into Whit’s office. My body dumped adrenaline into my system as I tried to read Salas’s expression.
Did Salas know about us? Did she figure it out? Was this the situation Whit had been warning me about all along, the one where everything went to hell in a sterile basket?
“Hey, I need your help,” Salas announced, plopping down on Whit’s sofa. She pulled a bag of walnuts from her pocket and went to town. “I’ll owe you big-time.”
Whit swung a glance from Salas to where I stood near the door, my arms crossed. Her brow quirked up. I gave a quick shake of my head. I had no fucking clue what was happening here and neither did my heart rate.
She rolled a pen between her hands, her gaze on Salas. She didn’t look as sad and haunted as she had on Saturday, but there was something weary about her, as if she was exhausted from much more than a marathon string of surgeries.
But goddamn did she look good. I loved it when she wore those blouses that I knew cost a fortune and had to be the softest, silkiest fabric in the world. Those trousers always killed me. Something about them made her legs look much longer than they were and I had to fight off the urge to grab her ass with both hands. And the heels didn’t help that. If anything, they’d launched a whole series of fantasies. I felt depraved whenever I watched her walk down a hallway. Just fucking feral.
“What can I do for you?” Whit asked.
“I need you to go to Vermont,” Salas said, and if you’d given me fifty guesses, I wouldn’t have come up with that.
“Vermont,” Whit repeated, shooting another glance in my direction.
I lifted my shoulders likethe fuck if I know.
Salas clasped her hands around the bag of walnuts. “There’s a match for one of my patients, but the donor sustained major injuries in a snowmobile accident. The hospital hasn’t been able to give me a thorough overview of these injuries other than to say they don’t see any issues with the lungs.”
“But you don’t believe that,” Whit said.
“Hell no, I don’t,” Salas replied. “I believe they’re doing the best they can, but I have trust issues when it comes to organsfrom these kinds of injuries. I need you to go up and harvest the lungs for me.” She rubbed her belly. “I’m too far along to fly.”
Whit leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers on her armrest. “Remind me again why you were in such a rush to go and get yourself pregnant.”
“Because the rate of idiopathic infertility among physicians and surgeons is ridiculously high and we wanted to start early in case we had problems,” she said.
I stared at the ceiling. Seemed like the most appropriate thing to do.
“We didn’t expect to light up the scoreboard on the first try, but you know my husband. Very goal-oriented. You should think about it too,” Salas continued. “If you want a baby, you need to get going.”
My gaze snapped to Whitney as the adrenaline floodgates opened up again. She cut a quick glance in my direction and tucked her hair over her ear.
What the fuck did that mean?
“You need to choose where you’re sending me today,” Whit said, amusement thick in her tone. “Vermont or the fertility clinic, but it can’t be both.”
“Vermont,” Salas said, wagging two fingers at Whit, “but ticktock on the fertility stuff. The best eggs of your life are already behind you.”
Whit propped her chin on her fist. “I love our chats. They always leave me feeling so hopeful.”
“Yeah, it’s one of my many talents.” Salas struggled to her feet. “Oh, and you’re taking Hazlette.”
As I said, “What’s happening now?” Whit stood, asking, “Take Hazlette where?”
Traveling to Vermont with Whit was not the way to keep my distance this week and we both knew it.
“He’s an old pro at retrieving organs,” Salas said. “You’ll need another pair of hands and he knows how I like my lungs for transplant.”
I didn’t have a chance to enjoy those compliments because Whit turned a stricken stare in my direction.
“Okay, sure, that’s great,” Whit stammered. “But what about Copeland? She’s excellent and?—”
“I need Copeland to prep the patient.” Salas made a gesture over her head that I didn’t understand. “It’s the young woman from Europe. I believe I’ve mentioned this one. High profile.”
