Page 158 of Vampire so Virtuous

“My name is Cally Davis, sir. My Dad lives near here. My mum, Anna, was a patient of yours, a long time ago.”

He studied her, intelligence in his eyes. “How long ago?”

“Twenty-six years, sir.”

“There’s a statute of limitations on malpractice, and you’re well past it.”

She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “I assure you, sir, I’m only here to ask a question or two about my mother, if you would be so kind.”

“Well. You better come in.”

He stepped back, opening the door wider. His eyes flicked past her to Antoine’s Lamborghini, but he said nothing.

He showed her to a spacious living room with a high ceiling and large windows offering views over a well-kept lawn, and waved her to a sofa beside a dormant, traditional fireplace. “Cup of tea?”

“No thank you, sir. I have no wish to disturb you and your wife. This won’t take long.”

“My wife passed away three years ago, and I’m retired, Miss Davis,” he said as he lowered himself into an armchair. “Time is something I have much of. Now. What can I do for you?”

Cally took a breath. “My mother died in childbirth at the Newton-Wellesley Hospital, sir. I have a record of the death certificate—I can show you, if it would help. I also brought proof of ID, if you would like.”

“Twenty-six years ago, you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any idea how many patients I’ve had in my career?”

“I appreciate it’s an unusual request, sir, but… the circumstances are unusual, too.” She hesitated, her throat tight. “I was hoping they might jog your memory.”

“Very well. What is it you wish to know?”

“My mother’s death was listed as a post-partum hemorrhage, but I have… suspicions… that she might already have suffered blood loss before the birth.”

His eyes narrowed. “Anna Davis, you say?”

“Yes, sir.” Cally felt her pulse race.

“And you’re her daughter?”

“Yes, sir.”

He held out his hand. “I’ll see your ID, now.”

Cally fished out her driving license and birth certificate, passing them over. He inspected them carefully, then handed them back.

“I had a few patients die from PPH over the years, Miss Davis. Giving birth is a traumatic process, after all. Yet your question does indeed raise memories. It wasn’t the sort of case a young doctor could easily forget.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocusing as he stared into space. “Your mother came to us already bleeding,” he said. “From a neck wound, as I recall. I wanted to…”

His words became muffled. Cally’s heart was beating too hard, pounding in her ears. He was still speaking, gesturing as he recalled his story, but she couldn’t get past what he’d said so far. It didn’t matter that she already knew, had already guessed—hearing him confirm it still left her breathless and rattled.

Without warning, the living room windows shattered, the air filled with flying glass and the clattering roar of gunfire.

Thirty-eight – Cally

Pain lanced through Cally’s shoulder, a double impact pushing her back against the couch.

The doctor jerked in his chair, his head dropping forward. Blood soaked his shirt, spreading down his chest. Behind him, the upholstery of his chair was torn and shredded.

Cally slid to the floor beside him, one hand clamped over her shoulder. Every movement sent fresh pain stabbing through her, and warm, sticky blood coated her fingers.