“‘Trouble, trouble, trouble.’”
Chapter Three
Jordan slammed into the town house and threw his keys at the hall table but missed, sending them skittering along the wooden floor. He didn’t break stride, continuing on until he reached the kitchen. The last few hours had been torturous. Getting himself dressed and presentable for rounds required a pill. After making it through rounds at the hospital, the meeting with Keith’s financial adviser had been arduous. So what if he had a couple of drinks beforehand to dull his pain? It was obvious the Xanax he’d taken in the morning hadn’t done the trick; his nerves were tight as a high wire. He needed another one.
“Fuck him,” he muttered to himself. He sloshed some vodka into a glass and took out a bottle of tonic water and a lime to mix it with. “There’s nothing wrong with a drink in the afternoon with lunch.” Or two for that matter. Hell, he imagined those hedge-fund guys did it all the time.
For Conover to lecture him was laughable. Those Wall Street moneymen were parasites, contributing nothing to the world. He was a doctor, for Christ’s sake. He helped people. So what if he took the edge off sometimes, with a drink or one of his happy pills? The stress was tremendous, and he deserved a little relaxation.
The cool glide of the iced vodka down his throat settled him. It wasn’t like he needed the drink or anything. Another swallow and it was gone. He’d better get something in his stomach before he really did get drunk. He hit a preprogrammed button on the phone and placed an order for a roast beef sandwich and fries to be delivered from the diner down the block. Checking his watch, he saw there were still several hours before he went to Drew’s clinic.
Drew had set up a treatment center for abused young adults, and he, as well as Ash and their other friend Mike, volunteered there as much as they could. Drew’s sister, who also happened to be Mike’s girlfriend and had her PhD in adolescent psychology, ran the suicide prevention line. Ash, along with two other lawyers, helped with the legal problems, and Mike, the resident dentist, took care of the dental problems. Though they’d received enough publicity by now to enjoy a steady stream of funding and had hired other doctors, lawyers, and dentists to assist them, neither he, Drew, nor Mike ever considered giving up their work there. Jordan believed Keith had envisioned the foundation he wanted to set up to have the same type of success.
The doorbell rang, and he retrieved his food from the delivery guy. For the first time in a while, his stomach grumbled with hunger, and he attacked his fries. Beer-battered and crunchy, they were exactly the way he liked them. Once he’d eaten a few bites of the sandwich, he took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and gulped it down.
Except for a few sporadic visits, though, he hadn’t been to the clinic since Keith’s death. His chest tightened at the thought of spending time there this afternoon, but he knew he couldn’t bail on Drew again or the kids who came for treatment. They needed him and his skill, and no matter his anger, he would be there to help them. As he bit into the second half of his sandwich, the resentment bubbling under the surface broke free, cracking through the shield he’d built up over the past nine months. How could he explain his anger toward his best friend? Who would understand it?
Irritated at himself, he tossed the sandwich aside. One day, when he had his emotions sorted out and more under control, he would talk to Drew. For now, he’d put on his game face and do what he had to do. A noise from the backyard drew his attention. Getting up from the table, he went outside to investigate.
A dog had somehow found its way into the yard. Instead of growling or barking like he’d expect, the animal’s tongue hung out of its mouth, and the stubby tail wagged furiously. The sun gleamed against its short, shiny fur. The dog looked to be a Rottweiler/shepherd mix, and would normally possess a strong, muscular frame. Instead, the sun gleaming against its short coat highlighted the outline of its ribs.
Jordan had always wanted a dog, but with Keith’s allergies he’d put that wish aside. Though the dog appeared mild mannered and not growly, Jordan approached the animal with care. The dog, who sat on its haunches, head cocked, an inquiring look on its face, seemed to be assessing him as well. Jordan knelt down, and with warning bells going off in his head, he held out his hand.
“Nice doggy.” Stupid, he knew, because if the dog went after his hand, his career as an orthopedic surgeon would be over. The dog stood and inched closer until it offered a warm, wet swipe to Jordan’s hand. Jordan petted the dog, who immediately lay at his feet and presented her belly for a rub.
“Good girl, nice girl.” He gave her a few rubs and could feel how thin she was. With no collar, it was obvious she was a stray, and probably a hungry one at that. “Come with me.” He stood, and she followed at his heels as he returned to the kitchen table and his leftover sandwich. A low whine came from her throat. “It’s okay, girl. Take it.” He placed it down for her, and in two bites it was gone.
Keith had always told him he was too impulsive and made snap decisions, but he wanted this dog with every fiber of his being. Something to love, who might love him back. Having finished the food, she sidled up to him and rested her muzzle on his knee, a contented sigh huffing out of her. The feel of her warm, sleek fur against his hand as he petted her soothed his earlier anger. “You want to stay with me, sweetheart?” Her answer was a lick of his hand.
Jordan checked his watch and saw he only had about an hour until he had to be at the center. Not enough time to take her to the vet and the pet store for supplies. He had to leave her in the yard, not knowing how she’d react to being locked inside a strange house without him.
Now that he’d made up his mind to keep her, he got out a bowl and filled it with cold, fresh water. As soon as he placed it on the ground, near the glass door that led inside to the kitchen, she lapped at it with gusto, the water slopping over the sides of the bowl. After she finished, the dog lay down in a patch of sunlight and closed her eyes.
“I have to go to work, girl, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay here, okay?” Jordan rubbed behind her ears, and that stubby tail wagged. She stretched out, the picture of contentment. He went inside, showered, and got dressed. When he was ready to leave, he glanced outside to see if she was still there. His heart sank when he saw the sunlit space where the dog had lain was now empty. Shit. Nothing in his life went right. Even a stray dog didn’t want to stay with him. His hands shook as wrenching loneliness slammed into him.
He strode back into the bathroom and shook out two pills. Without bothering to use a glass, Jordan swallowed them with a handful of water from the faucet. Unable to look at himself in the mirror, he squeezed his eyes shut while he gripped the edge of the sink. It took several minutes until the familiar lassitude of the pills seeped into his bloodstream and he could relax.
The image that stared back at him in the mirror after he opened his eyes was almost but not quite himself. Only someone familiar with how he used to look, a man in control, happy, and without a care in the world, would notice the difference. Maybe it was the darkness in his eyes or the tightness around his mouth. Whatever it was, he’d make sure to hide it better when he got to the center; otherwise he knew Drew would be all over him, and Mike as well.
He wished people would leave him the fuck alone.
Once he’d hailed a cab to take him to the clinic in Red Hook, Brooklyn, his thoughts strayed to the meeting he’d had with Keith’s financial adviser, Lucas Conover. Keith had always been a good judge of character, so he must’ve seen something in the man to trust him to handle the foundation. There was an expression in Lucas Conover’s eyes—a vacancy that struck Jordan. Before he started working so closely with a stranger, he wanted to find out a little bit more about him.
In a flash of inspiration, he pulled out his phone and called Keith’s old partner, Neil Allen. They’d kept in touch after Keith’s death, and Jordan trusted the detective to be discreet and honest.
“Allen, here.” The deep voice sounded brisk and efficient.
“Hey, Neil. It’s Jordan. How’re you doing?”
“Jordan.” Neil’s voice softened, and Jordan could hear him tell someone to hold on, he needed to take the call. “How are you? I’ve been meaning to stop by, but we’re working this illegal gun-ring detail and time gets away from you.”
Jordan appreciated Neil’s directness. “I understand. I haven’t exactly reached out to you either. But listen, I’m calling with a favor.” He outlined what he wanted from the police detective.
“This shouldn’t be too hard to find out quickly. Who is this guy again?”
“It’s Keith financial adviser, the one I’ll be working with to set up his foundation to keep illegal guns off the streets and away from the kids.” The cab entered the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge. Jordan squinted in the sunlight as he took in the expanse of the East River and the skyline of downtown Brooklyn. The pills he’d taken earlier dulled the nerves that would normally kick in at the thought of entering the center and having to face his friends. He made a note to himself to refill the prescription with his therapist when he got to the center.
“So why are you checking up on him, if Keith used him?” Neil’s curious tone irked Jordan, but he held his tongue.
