This is the most we’ve “spoken” since the night she kicked me out of her house. And she’s worried about me?
Doc: I’m fine. Had to cover for a sick colleague. How are things there?
Nat: Same as they always are during the week. But quieter.
I’d give almost anything to hear her voice right now. To wave up at her from the campsite I’ve come to think of as “mine.” To have a reason to keep texting her all night. But we’re not friends. She made thatveryclear. Even if “quieter” makes me think she might actually miss me.
So I head back inside and flip on the TV. Baseball it is.
I haulmy ruck over my shoulder and lock my SUV. I’m about ready to come out of my skin. Emerald City Security spent three days at the clinic installing their top-of-the-line system. Another full day training the staff. Then I worked the weekend with only a surly traveling nurse for company. I saw so many sunburn and dehydration cases, I wanted to scream by the end of each day.
My Cessna 172 is ready and waiting for me at the terminal in Kenmore. “Hello, gorgeous. Sorry I stood you up last week.” I run my hand over the plane’s nose. “You ready for some airtime?”
Less than fifteen minutes later, I’m cruising over Puget Sound on my way to Blakely. Clear, blue skies stretch out in every direction, and I take a deep breath—my first in too long.
Dr. Lambert tore me a new one when she found out about the security system.
“This isn’t your clinic, Reynolds. It’s mine.”
“Then act like it,” I snap. “Take some goddamn responsibility for your employees’ safety.”
“I could fire you for this.”
“Then you’d need to find someone else willing to work every single weekend for what you think qualifies as a salary.”
Some days, I wonder why I stay. With no work for McCabe’s team, my days are constant repetition with little hope of anything even remotely interesting.
Mothers and kids sick with the flu, falls, and repetitive stress injuries, the occasional domestic violence case.
I should have kept my less-than-legal clinic in the Central District. Turned it legit. Done things right. But McCabe told me I had to be available whenever he needed me. So I took the job in South Park. Lambert doesn’t care if I disappear in the middle of a shift. Or simply don’t show up at all.
I wonder about the woman and her son from last week. Laura and Benjamin. Her boyfriend left her with a black eye and a split lip. Little Benny cried the whole time until Angela brought him a candy bar.
Detective Mitchell showed up before I was done with my examination, but Laura refused to press charges.
Maybe she’ll be okay. Maybe she’ll leave the asshole before he kills her. Maybe her son will grow up without any moreterrifying memories. But I know how these things go—all too well. Laura’s face haunted my dreams last night. Along with so many others. Marie, Reena, Opal, Wendy…and Tessa.
“Doc, I’m sorry.”
“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart. Hold on for me. Please.”
But she didn’t hold on. She couldn’t. And I wasn’t there to protect her.
The harsh scent of blood fills my nose. Thirty-seven stab wounds. Four broken ribs. A dislocated shoulder, a shattered cheekbone. Two missing teeth. All because she dared to leave him. Dared to fall in love again.
A small dot on the horizon draws me out of my memories, and I start my slow descent toward the marina.
How much longer can I go on like this? McCabe only pulled me in once or twice a month at most, but the merepossibilityI’d get a call kept me focused. Kept me sober. Kept me alive.
Four months without those calls and yesterday, I found myself in the liquor aisle of the grocery store staring at the bottles of whiskey.
A few nights away from civilization will set me back to rights. It has to.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Natasha
For the firsttime in months, I park the ATV behind the boathouse at noon on a Monday, trudge up onto the deck, and drop into a chair. I didn’t want to come. But I don’t have much choice. Gladys is visiting Bella in Seattle, and after Doc didn’t show last week, I need to know he’s all right.
