Page 10 of Private Exhibit (Gentleman Hackers #4)

DEVON HAD to get up and stretch after he finally closed out the first file.

Gods . Dr. Gerard's record-keeping was an absolute mess.

His penmanship was atrocious to the point that even the computer couldn't figure out what the man had been trying to write.

Devon would scan a page from the file and import it to the digital record, except the computer would light up with all these little red spots where it couldn't make out a word.

And then Dr. Gerard had sometimes written things in the wrong fields.

It looked like the man had been in such a hurry, he'd jotted down a note wherever was convenient: a comment about the heart in the field for a description of the brain, or a note about the feet where an analysis of the lungs was supposed to go.

Devon had to go through and manually move things around until they were all in their proper places.

He eyed the stacks of tablets and files yet to be processed. Devon blew out a heavy breath. This was going to take a while.

But that was fine. He had a job. And this certainly beat waiting tables by a long shot.

He didn't miss that kind of work at all.

The crowds. The noise. The heat and the frenzied rush.

Knowing that, at any moment, his arm might give out and cause him to dump a whole stack of plates on a customer.

Devon shuddered, then closed his eyes. He felt a smile tug at his mouth, reveling in the silence and the crisp, cool air.

He couldn't have planned a better workspace himself.

Other than all the morbid reminders that surrounded him, of course.

He went back to the desk and set the completed file aside, then reached for the next one.

Devon paused there, eyeing the two neat stacks he'd made.

He grabbed the next tablet, then flipped through the stack of paper files.

Sure enough, the tablet had a patient record still open and incomplete when Devon switched it on, and he found a paper file to go with it.

Devon dragged the tablets closer and laid them all out across the desk surface, switching them on so he could read the patient names.

Then he sorted through the paper files, matching them up.

Every tablet had a paper file to go with it.

Hells, some even had two. Devon chuckled.

Had the doctor forgotten he'd started a file, then went and created another one?

Devon shook his head and finished sorting.

Once he was done, he made sure the patient information clearly matched for each one—both name and ID number—then he stacked up the paper files again, putting them to one side.

He closed the patient file on each tablet and powered the devices down.

He'd be able to access the files through the desk computer itself, all the information stored on the hospital's main server.

He simply couldn't resist a chance to really play with a computer that was wholly outside his price range.

Devon opened a screen on the desk surface and looked up the hospital's policy manual.

He quickly searched the document, noting that tablets were returned to I.T.

once a patient had been discharged. Or, in this case, had a completed autopsy.

Devon carefully gathered the stack of tablets, prayed that he wouldn't drop them, and headed down the hallway to the elevator.

Thank gods, he'd already been to I.T. once that day, so he knew where he was going.

Less chance of getting lost or overwhelmed.

He reached the office without incident, the glass door sliding open automatically at his approach.

Devon stepped up to the front desk, behind which he could see enclosed glass cubicles where the rest of the I.T.

staff worked, all of them able to see one another while also enjoying the peace and solitude of their own, defined spaces.

A geek's paradise. Devon shook his head.

Gods . This hospital had thought of everything.

Devon carefully set the stack of tablets on the counter and watched the receptionist's eyebrows go up.

“You finished already?” the guy asked.

“Only just begun, really,” Devon admitted. “But the files are mostly on paper, so these were just cluttering the desk.”

“I feel that,” the receptionist said with a laugh, dragging the tablets across the counter and setting them on a rolling cart.

He turned back, grabbing something off his tidy desk.

“This is perfect timing, actually. I was just about to call you.” He held out a key card.

“Bokin wanted me to give you this, but he said he wants to talk to you about it first.”

Devon took the card. “What is it?”

“Key to Doctor Gerard's old office.” A phone rang, so the receptionist started to turn away. “Bokin's office is at the end of the hall,” he quickly said, pointing to his right as he snatched up the phone.

Devon eyed the card in his hands, then quietly left the room. He turned to the right and headed down the hallway, stopping when he reached an office guarded by a secretary.

But the secretary let him right in when he gave his name, and Mr. Bokin stood up from behind his desk with a welcoming smile.

“Devon! Come in. Come in.” Mr. Bokin shook his hand. “Are you settling in well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Devon managed.

“I see you got my message,” the man said, pointing at the card. “Why don't you have a seat.”

Devon sat, squeezing his legs together and trying not to rock.

Mr. Bokin sat across from him. “I apologize in advance if this is an inappropriate request, but it is part of the reason we hired someone for this position, so I'm going to ask anyway.” He paused.

“That key is to Gerard's old office. When you're done processing all the morgue files, we need all of Gerard's old study files digitized so they can be boxed up and moved to storage.” Mr. Bokin paused again.

“You know Gerard was studying Ashworth-Grahams?”

Devon nodded.

“If you're at all uncomfortable with–”

“No,” Devon gasped, then realized how desperate he sounded. He cleared his throat and repeated, “No. I'm not uncomfortable with it.”

“Are you sure? Because if you don't want to be faced with more reminders of your condition–”

“If it's part of the job, it's part of the job,” Devon replied, trying to hide his growing excitement.

He slowly turned the key card over in his hands, his fingertips tracing the edges as a thrill of fear and excitement ran through his body.

Oh gods. Just like that? He wouldn't even have to sneak his way into the Ashworth-Grahams files.

The hospital had just handed him access to everything he'd ever wanted to know.

Well, almost everything . He still needed to see if he could find Dannika's autopsy file, but that would have to wait.

Job duties had to come first. Oliver needed a home more than he needed answers, and Devon could only give him that if he had an income to support it.

He could not afford to lose this job. His search for answers could only begin once he completed everything else and found some spare time.

“Thanks,” he said, waving the key card before tucking it safely into his pocket.

He felt the stiffness of it through the fabric.

The edges dug into his leg once he sat back down, adding to his sensory overwhelm.

For once, he didn't mind. The intrusive sensation would be a hopeful reminder. Something to look forward to.

Once Mr. Bokin released him, Devon hurried back down to the morgue. The office was just as he'd left it, the lights still off and a neat pile of paper files on one corner of the desk. He grabbed the next file, spread the pages across the desk to be scanned, and got back to work.

It was so easy to get lost in the process. With only the desk lighting the room, all the rest of the space was dark, like the world ceased to exist beyond that soft, blue glow.

Devon smiled. It felt good to be doing something useful. Something he was good at. Something that didn't require him to put on a mask and struggle through all the sensory chaos that came with being out in the world.

He glanced towards the morgue.

Except for that .

Devon frowned. He couldn't hear anything coming from that room, but he had a feeling Dr. Gerard was still in there. What was the man doing? Was he in the middle of an autopsy at that very moment?

Or was he just avoiding Devon?

Devon sighed and looked away. “Probably that,” he muttered under his breath, then turned to stare at the door again.

“Nope. Don't do it,” he told himself. “You're at work. You need to be professional.” He tore his gaze away, but it went right back, almost beyond his control.

“Damn it.” Devon got up and tiptoed over to the door.

He paused there, listening, straining to hear, but couldn't detect any sounds whatsoever.

Holding his breath, Devon eased the handle down and pushed the door open a tiny bit, just enough to peek into the room.

The lights were dimmed, the pristine, sanitized surfaces looking slightly less severe. At first glance, Devon thought the room was empty.

Until he spotted the doctor stretched out on one of the autopsy tables, wearing a set of earphones, fast asleep.

Devon shuddered. Holy shit . How could the man sleep in a place like that?

How did it not bother him? Then again, Dr. Gerard worked in that room every day, so he was probably accustomed to it, but still.

Devon gulped and inched the door open a little wider, allowing him to take one step into the room.

He swallowed hard. Gods . How could someone like that actually exist in the world? Devon had watched plenty of doms in action when he'd gone to The Dungeon in the past, but nobody had ever stirred anything inside him the way this man did.

Something about Dr. Anderson Gerard spoke right to Devon's soul.