“No, I swear it. I’m trying to get her out.”
“Fine,” she growls, going back behind her desk and sitting. She types, and a minute later the printer fires up. “Here.” She drops them on the desk in front of me. “Now go away. For the record, I don’t believe a word you are saying. You’re an asshole!”
I give her one short nod and walk past the desk and out through the front doors.
The parking lot is half-full. The sun is starting to slip, and the asphalt is hot under my feet. My SUV is in the third row.
As I go over there, I hear a slapping noise. Someone curses.
I round the corner, and Dr. Patel is looking down at a stack of files on the floor. He clearly dropped them because loose pages are skidding across the parking lot in the small breeze. The male crouches to grab them, his back to me.
I lengthen my stride. “Got it. Hang on, Doctor.”
His head whips up, and there’s a second where his face does something before he gets it under control. He scrambles to his feet, holding the bulk of the stack against his chest. He’s changed out of his scrubs and is wearing a suit without the tie.
“It’s fine, Commander. I have it. Don’t worry. Please.” His voice is thinner than it was in our interview earlier. “It’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m a little out of sorts with what’s happened to Robyn.”
“No problem.” I’m already crouching. “Let me grab those before they blow away.”
There are three or four sheets a couple of paces away. I scoop them up. He’s standing over me, still clutching his pile.
I reach for the last sheet, which has skidded under the lip of a wheel. As I straighten, my eyes catch on his feet.
He’s in a pair of soft, dark leather loafers. They’re polished, with thin stitching along the side. There’s a brand stamp on the inside of the heel, half-hidden where the leather creases at his ankle.
Raffinato.
Holy fucking shit.
It’s the shoes. It’s them.
Fuck!
My heart goes still in my chest. I stand up slowly and hold out the loose papers to him.
“Nice shoes,” I tell him. “I don’t see those around here very often.”
He glances down and gives a small smile.
“Oh, yes. They were a gift from my wife.” He takes the papers from me. “She gave them to me last Christmas.”
“Did she get them around here? I’d love a pair.”
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “They’re from the Mainland. From some shop in New York that imports them.”
“That so?” I keep my voice level.
“She has good taste.” He tries a small laugh. “I’m on my way home now, so…”
“I take it that your patient is stable?”
“Yes, yes. Dr. Jenkins has everything under control.”
I take a breath. Then I do it.
“Did you plant the burner phone in the storage area, Dr. Patel?”
His head snaps up. “I’m sorry?”
