Page 4 of Private Exhibit (Gentleman Hackers #4)

ANDY SCOWLED at the body on his slab.

“For gods' sakes,” he grumbled. “Just tell me who you are already.”

He snatched up the tablet displaying the deceased man's file.

The guy was a complete unknown. No records in the hospital database, nor in any other database for which the hospital had information sharing privileges.

Andy cursed. He honestly wasn't even sure he was doing the search correctly.

He'd never been good with computers. Never had to be, until he took over the morgue.

All through his career, he'd had a whole team of doctors and nurses under him, people who could do the tedious paperwork, research, and data entry while he focused on what he was good at: diagnosing weird problems and saving lives.

Except he wasn't very good at that either, considering he couldn't even save his own son.

Andy growled and flung the tablet across the room. It hit the polished floor with a deafening bang .

Whoa!

Andy whirled around at the sound of his son's voice. He spotted Junior halfway between himself and the tablet, the boy's eyes wide with shock.

“Gods,” Andy gasped, darting towards him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt–”

Junior laughed. Dad. Come on. The boy gestured at himself, then deliberately passed his hand through the autopsy table beside him.

Andy blinked dumbly, then let out a heavy breath. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I mean,” he quickly added. Shit . He cleared his throat.

Junior rolled his eyes in the most teenager way possible. Dad, come on. I've heard worse. Hells, I've said worse.

Andy narrowed his eyes. “When?”

Junior repeated the eye-roll. Come on, Dad. I'm twenty now. I think I can say a few bad–

“No, you are not, young man,” Andy bit off. “You're sixteen.” And always will be , he added, but he kept that thought to himself as he gave his son a quick once-over. Of course Junior wasn't hurt. The boy couldn't be hurt anymore. Not by anything physical, anyway.

Junior held up a finger, nodding towards the wall that separated the morgue from the basement hallway.

Andy listened. He heard soft footsteps and a hint of two voices.

Probably the janitorial staff heading for the supply room.

Andy muttered a curse, then shut his mouth.

He'd been caught one too many times having seemingly one-sided conversations with himself.

Most people on Agoran couldn't see ghosts.

Just another reason Andy had confined himself to the morgue after Junior died.

Still, it was best to keep their conversation inaudible.

Junior turned around, picked up the tablet, and held it out. Good thing these are nearly indestructible.

Yeah , Andy muttered telepathically. He scowled down at the unharmed tablet, then tossed it onto the corpse's chest.

So what was that all about? Junior asked.

Andy sighed. Got an unknown , he replied, pointing at the body.

Two unknowns, really, considering the boy who had disappeared on him.

The loss had plagued him all night. Incredible as the experience had been, he'd wanted more.

So much more. He'd been so eager to open his eyes and see that little face staring up at him in awe.

But all he'd found was an empty cushion with just a hint of an indent from where the boy had sat on it.

The sight had been unnerving. It reminded him too much of the pillow in that hospital bed after Junior's body had been removed.

Andy had quickly tucked himself away and gotten up to look for the boy, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

Serves you right , Andy thought. He'd tried to put the boy out of his mind, but it hadn't worked. Andy had dreamt of him all night long, then woke up with his hand on his cock, imagining the boy right there beside him in bed.

Getting the message about the dead body had startled him at first, imagining he'd see that boy there, then turned out to be a godsend. Just the distraction he needed so he wouldn't spend his day off pacing his apartment, dreaming about things he couldn't have.

Except now he had another mystery on his hands.

No ghost? Junior asked, then rolled his eyes again. Obviously. Then you could just ask him who he is.

Andy chuckled.

No wallet?

Andy shook his head. Apparently, he came into the E.R.

in the middle of the night, falling-down drunk and raving about paying for his sins.

He passed out and then died before he could tell anybody his name .

Andy studied the body. According to the scans he'd run and what he'd seen of the body's insides, the guy was in his late thirties or early forties—right around Andy's age—but he looked much older.

He looked haggard, as though life had tormented him.

Poor guy , Andy thought. The man had probably been relieved to be dying, to have all his problems be over, only to find out that his soul still existed apart from his body and that he'd have to suffer the memory of his sins for eternity.

That was a feeling Andy knew all too well.

No wonder the man's ghost was a no-show. The guy had probably taken one look at his lifeless corpse—the reality of his situation slamming into him like a freight train—and fled.

Junior took a silent step closer, interrupting his thoughts. You know your boss is in your office, by the way , he announced, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Andy looked up, then scowled again. The hells? What was Bokin doing there? Be right back , he told Junior, then stepped past the ghost and strode across the morgue.

He opened the door to his office—his admittedly messy office, with files strewn across the desk—and found the hospital owner, Harel Bokin, leaning back in his chair.

Andy crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here? It's the weekend.”

“Hospitals don't get weekends, so neither do I,” his boss replied. “Though I could ask you the same thing.”

Andy shrugged. “I got a text that there was a new body. Had nothing better to do, so I figured I might as well come in rather than leaving it for tomorrow.”

Bokin raised his eyebrows. “You know, the last time I came down here, you were late that day, I recall, and certainly not for the first time. And when I pointed that out, your exact words were, 'What's the rush? They aren't going to get any deader.' ”

Andy leaned back against the wall and stared at the floor. “So fire me already if I'm such a hassle.”

“I can't fire you. You're the best gods-damned doctor I've ever met.”

Andy scowled. “I'm not a doctor anymore. Not in that way.”

“You could be.”

Andy clenched his jaw.

“Look.” Bokin stood and buttoned his suit jacket. “I didn't come here to argue. I came with a proposition.”

Andy looked up, feeling his whole body tense, remembering the last time Bokin had used those words. He swallowed down a heavy pit of guilt and asked, “What proposition?”

Bokin stepped out from behind the desk and stood in front of him. “I'll give you two choices.”

“I hate this already.”

Bokin ignored that. “One, you can go back upstairs and reopen your practice.”

“No.”

“Your office is just as you left it.”

Andy blinked. “You kept my office? It's been four years.”

“I kept hoping you'd come out of this grief and go back to work.”

“No,” Andy spat, turning on his heel and heading back into the morgue.

But Bokin followed him. Damn it . That trick usually worked. Bokin hated being in the morgue. Granted, he did stop just inside the doorway, but still.

“Andy, look,” Bokin began. “I'm sorry your son died. I really am. And I know there's no time limit on grief. I know it's different for everyone. But you really are the best doctor the world has ever seen. We could really use you up there.”

“Yeah, right,” Andy muttered to himself as he randomly picked things up and put them back down. If he couldn't even save his own son, what good was he to anyone else? He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I'm gonna regret this,” he muttered, then turned and faced Bokin. “What's option two?”

Bokin chuckled. “Oh, if you liked option one, you're gonna love option two,” he teased. “Option two is you hire an assistant–”

“Oh hells no,” Andy spat, striding back into his office. He passed his messy desk and headed straight for the coffee machine.

“–who can do all this paperwork for you.”

“I don't need an assistant.”

Bokin glanced pointedly at the teetering stacks of tablets and files piled up everywhere. “Clearly.”

“Fine. I don't want an assistant.”

“Well, you're getting one.”

“Nobody here will work with me anymore,” Andy pointed out bitterly as he snatched up his empty mug.

There had been a time when there was a waiting list for people to join his team.

No matter how tough a boss he was, doctors and nurses had still flocked to work with him, wanting the challenge and prestige of the most difficult cases.

Now, everyone avoided him like a plague.

“Which is why we're hiring outside the hospital.”

Andy stared at him. “You make it sound like this is a done deal.”

“It is. Interviews start tomorrow morning.”

“You can't do that!”

“Yes, I can. It's my hospital. So unless you plan on quitting…”

Andy grumbled under his breath. He couldn't quit.

This job was all he had. The only thing keeping him from going insane.

It wasn't that he needed the income. Thanks to his success prior to Junior's death, he had more money than he could spend in his life.

But if he had to be home all the time with nothing but his guilt and his memories?

He'd probably turn suicidal within a day.

And even that wouldn't do him any good, knowing what he knew about the afterlife. “Gods damn you,” he growled.

Bokin chuckled. “Oh, and whomever you hire, besides taking care of this mess,” he said, gesturing at the incomplete files, “will also be in charge of cleaning out your old office and digitizing your files for storage. Then I'm turning the office over to Crawford.”

Andy's jaw dropped. “You can't do that!” he repeated.

“Once again, yes, I can. My hospital, remember? Crawford needs the space for his research, and if you insist you're not coming back to the land of the living–”

“What research?” Andy spat, viciously yanking the carafe out of the machine. He poured the remains into his mug—barely half a cup—then replaced the carafe with a curse. “What he does isn't even medicine anymore. It's–” Andy worked his jaw, trying to come up with the right word. “It's…cheating!”

“It's saving lives and limbs.”

“It's not what we were trained for!”

“His patients certainly aren't complaining. I mean, look at Vesad Stromos. Famous musician, known the whole world over, falls into total obscurity after having to quit playing when he loses two fingers. Then Crawford comes along and helps the man regrow those fingers, and now Stromos is back and on his way to being more famous than ever.”

“Good for him,” Andy bit off. “It's still not medicine.”

Bokin paused, the brief silence heavy with anticipation. “And if he could cure Ashworth-Grahams?”

Andy bent double, feeling as though all the air had been punched out of him. “Don't,” he gasped.

“You two could work together,” Bokin went on. “You, the expert on the disease. Crawford, with a new technique for finding and possibly repairing the damaged nerves–”

“I said don't !” Andy roared.

Bokin took a step back and held up his hands.

“Alright. Alright.” Another brief silence settled over the room.

“Just think about it. I know it's too late for your son, but there are other people out there with the disease.

With all sorts of diseases that maybe only you can diagnose. And with Crawford's help–”

“I don't need anyone's help. Especially not his!”

Bokin slowly nodded. “Fine. I'll leave it at that for now.” The man took a step back, then pointed at him. “But you are hiring an assistant. Tomorrow, you hear me? I don't care whom you pick. Just pick someone.” Bokin turned on his heel and strode out of the office without waiting for an answer.

Andy watched him go, then gulped down his coffee all at once, leaving himself gasping for air.

Uh, Dad?

Andy gave a start. Gods, kid. You're gonna give your old man a heart attack. Andy paused. I was starting to think you'd left .

Junior shook his head, then pointed at the door into the morgue. There's someone in there—totally not hospital staff—looking at the body .

Andy frowned. The hells? He slammed down his mug, waited for Junior to step aside—Andy still couldn't bring himself to walk right through the ghost—and entered the morgue.

Sure enough, someone stood beside the autopsy table, his back to Andy. Someone with long, dark hair.

“Don't bother consoling this one's ghost, Doctor Gerard,” the man said, his voice deep and almost sinister. “He's not worth it.”

Andy strode forward. Before he could catch even a mere glimpse of the man's face, the figure vanished. There one moment and gone the next, just like last night. The lights in the room flickered and buzzed, creating an eerie strobe effect for half a second before going back to normal.

Whoa , Junior gasped. Was that a mage?

Andy nodded dumbly. That was the only explanation. Besides ghosts, the magi were the only people in the world with the ability to come and go as they pleased.

Well, that's one mystery solved , Andy thought, frowning at the empty air where the strange man had been. And a dozen new ones .

Who was that mage? How did he know the deceased? What did he mean by the guy not being worth it? Was it the same man from last night at the club? If it was, why had he been watching Andy? Or had he been watching the boy instead?

On and on the questions went, chasing one another around inside Andy's brain, until he came to the ones that plagued him the most.

Who was the boy from last night?

Would he ever see him again?

And did he even deserve to do so?