“It’s not malpractice if I’m doing a legitimate exam,” Jess argues. “The guy said it’s just a wellness check. Some wealthy family wants to make sure their relative is healthy enough for holiday travel, I bet. Probably flying somewhere overseas and wants medical clearance.”
“Then why not come to the hospital like normal people?”
“Because they’re not normal people, Adam. They’re rich. They have private chefs and personal trainers and therapists who come to their house. Why wouldn’t they have a doctor do the same?”
Adam pulls a hand through his short hair, before laying his hands on Jess’s shoulders. It’s an intimate act, something Damon’s done before. They must be more than just colleagues. He’s worried, and I can’t help but feel a similar prickle of anxiety run through my body. I’ve developed these new skills, instincts, doing what we do, honing my gut feelings until they’re pinprick sharp and certain. And whatever offer Jess is talking about has the tiny hairs at the back of my neck standing on end.
Adam sighs and speaks lower. “What do they want you to do for the money?”
“Like I said, it’s just a wellness check. Full physical, vitals, blood work to send out to private labs, maybe some diagnostic testing. He said he’d send over a list of what they need when I accept the offer.” Jess’s voice drops a little. “He said I could bring an assistant if I wanted. He actually encouraged it, said I’d have to give them a cut of my pay though. If that makes you feel better?—”
“Christ, Jess, I don’t know. Something about this feels off. Where’d you meet this guy again?”
“This morning in the cafeteria.” There’s a few seconds of silence before Jess speaks up again. “God, Adam, you can cut the look. Just say it.”
“Fine. You know you don’t have to worry about money anymore if you?—”
“Not now, okay. I just—I don’t need this.”
Their voices start to fade as Jess hurries in the opposite direction of my desk and Adam follows close behind.
I usually make it a point to stay out of other people’s business. There’s enough drama around here that getting involved in all of it would drive me crazy. But this time, I couldn’t help but overhear. Whatever’s happening between them, I hope they work it out.
I get back to my chart, staring at the computer screen again, reading the same line three times without comprehending it.
Fifteen thousand dollars. Christmas Eve. Private residence. Blood work and diagnostic tests.
No records.
There’s no stopping it. The darkest, most fucked up possibilities flood my mind. Things I couldn’t have imagined before Damon—before my eyes were forced open to the reality ofour world, before I came face to face with real monsters, before I became their hunter.
Trafficking victims being branded as healthy before being sold.
Medical clearance for illegal activities… like organ harvesting.
Forced birth control or abortions.
Stop. You don’t know anything yet. It could be totally innocent. Like Jess said, just rich people being rich people.
But my gut—the thing that’s kept me alive through gunfire and raids and late-night stakeouts—is screaming that this isn’t innocent at all.
I force myself to finish my charting, save the file, and log out. My phone is already in my hand before I consciously decide to text him.
But his name is waiting on my screen—he texted first.
Freddy: What’s up, Angel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
I can’t help but smile. He’s watching me, as usual.
A deep sigh leaves my lips. “Fuck my life.” So much for forty-eight hours of uninterrupted Blake and Damon time. But I can’t ignore my gut. That’s not who I am.
Me: Can we talk about something?
His reply is instant.
Freddy: I’m in the cafeteria… already got your usual. You okay?
My stomach does that warm, fluttery thing it always does when he’s nearby. Most people would find it suffocating—theway he always knows where I am, what I need, how to anticipate my every move. But I’ve never felt safer, more seen, more understood than I do with Damon’s obsessive attention fixed on me.
