Page 40 of Torched Spades

She smirks again. “I thought you were just ‘concerned about his legal compliance.’” As if this whole conversation isn’t mortifying enough, she punctuates my own words with air quotes.

“I am…” Lowering my hand, I clear my throat. “Which is why, as his doctor, it’s important to analyze every nuance of his behavior. For treatment purposes, of course.”

“Of course…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She tosses me an unsettling look that’s sandwiched somewhere between sympathetic and diabolical. “Nothing. If you’re that concerned about his ‘legal compliance’, let’s call him.” She taps a blue polished nail to her computer screen. “I have access to his cell number.”

Why am I even entertaining this? Not only is it a direct HIPAA violation, but it’s also completely unethical. I should just go back to my office and finish my damn notes.

“I mean, if you want…”

What the hell is wrong with me?

Smirking, Meredith taps the speaker button on the office phone, and within seconds it’s ringing… and ringing… and ringing. It doesn’t even kick into voicemail. There’s simply an impersonal click and then nothing.

Frowning, I glance at my watch. “It’s almost five-thirty. Why wouldn’t he be available to answer his phone if he’s working ‘first shift?’” Now, I’m the one throwing air quotes, only mine are stiff and fueled by suspicion. “Unless I’m right, and this whole thing is an elaborate excuse to…” Pausing, I slip what’s left of my thumbnail between my teeth as she arches an eyebrow. “Call the Port of Providence warehouse line.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely not, so I suggest doing it before I come to my senses.”

Spinning her chair, Meredith becomes a blur of motion, first typing furiously on her keyboard, then quickly tapping buttons on her desk phone.

“Wait!” I call out, drawing another of her sharp side-eye stares before adding, “Hit star sixty-seven to block their caller ID.”

She gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Already did.”

As more ringing erupts from the speaker, blood flow redirects back to my brain.

What the hell am I doing?

I’m about to tell her to forget it when a gruff female voice fills the empty lobby. “Port of Providence warehouse office.”

Wide hazel eyes slide toward me in anticipation. I should motion for her to hang up. Unfortunately, my lips move before my hand does.

“Yes, hi, I’m calling from the Probate Office of Owen Holmes. Johnny Malone missed his bi-weekly check-in today, and Mr. Holmes can’t seem to reach him by phone. Would he be there by chance?”

“You’re in luck. He was supposed to clock out an hour ago, but we got two early shipments in right at shift change. A bunch of us stuck around to help the second wave unload it. You want me to get him?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you; I’ll let Mr. Holmes know.” Hurling myself over the counter, I frantically slap the phone until the call disconnects.

Meredith drums her nails on the counter. “Subtle.”

“Don’t judge me,” I hiss, my heels hitting the floor along with my dignity. “So what if he’s there? He knew his schedule was changing and didn’t say anything. That’s a lie of omission, which is a breach of our agreement.”

“Then go to the docks and confront him.”

“Are you cra…?” Horrified, I slap my hand over my mouth, forcing the word back down my throat.

“Crazy?” she finishes, cocking her chin. “Maybe. But aren’t we all a little crazy, Dr. Brennan? Having a blot on our canvas isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength used to relate to others. It’s what makes you a good doctor.”

“I don’t feel strong,” I whisper.

“That’s because your office has always been your source of power. It’s where you feel most in control,” she says, nodding toward my closed office door. “But that man steals both every time he walks inside it.”

I say nothing because while every word is true, speaking them out loud makes them real. Another irreversible stain to hang on my wall.