Page 47 of Wasted

He donned a smile and strolled to the desk. “Good morning.” He held the bouquet in front of his chest as he stopped in front of the receptionist.

Nametag said Lydia Sommers. The middle-aged woman shot a quick glance at her younger officemate before she smiled at Cillian. “What gorgeous flowers.”

The twenty-something brunette leaned back in her chair like she was trying to see him better. “Are they from you? For somebody here?”

He recognized that light in her eyes and the way she scanned him instead of the flowers. Good. If she liked what she saw, she or Lydia would be more likely to give him the info he needed.

He gave her an angled grin. “No, they’re from my grandmother.”

“Your grandma?” The girl shot another conspiratorial look at the older receptionist as she stood and walked to Lydia’s chair. “That’s so sweet.” She fastened her attention on Cillian.

He quickly checked her nametag. Brooke Denton.

He broadened his grin. “My grandma is very sweet.” He shifted his gaze to include Lydia. “Grandma had surgery performed by Dr. Weston three years ago in June.” Which just happened to be the time when Marsha Faint had a surgery that she later sued over. “She really wants to thank the wonderful nurse who was especially kind to her.”

“You mean these flowers are for the nurse?” Lydia’s eyes widened.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wow. That’s very kind. Our nurses don’t usually get personal thank-yous like this. Which nurse is it?”

“That’s the problem.” He gave a small wince. “Grandma’s memory isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be, and I’m afraid she can’t remember the nurse’s name. But she wanted to thank the nurse so badly that I offered to bring the flowers and hopefully deliver them to the correct lady. Office assistants rule the world, so I figure you two can help me out.” He landed his attention on Brooke, since she continued to stare at him with a melting expression.

Her cheeks flushed as if she’d been caught. Then she touched Lydia’s shoulder and looked down at her. “You can figure out who it is, right?” Brooke must be too new to accomplish the task herself.

He shifted his gaze to Lydia. “I and my grandma would be so grateful. It’s been several years, but she had a lot of healing to do, and she’s said every year since that she still needs to thank that special nurse. I’d like to thank her, too, at least with these flowers.”

Lydia smiled and nodded. “Well, I’m sure it would’ve been either Hannah or Mary. They’ve both worked with Dr. Weston for over ten years.” She glanced at the computer screen to her left. “But I’m afraid I don’t have access to records that would tell me which of them saw your grandmother.”

Names. That was all he needed. “That’s great. I was afraid we wouldn’t even get a first name. I’ll ask my grandma if one of those names rings a bell. I think she’ll remember. Thank you so much, Lydia. And Brooke.” He aimed his smile at each of them in turn, earning another blush and eyelash flutter from the younger receptionist.

“Oh, and you two keep this for your kindness.” He set the bouquet on the elevated part of the desk to the right.

“Oh, my goodness.” Lydia stared at him in pleased amazement. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Have a wonderful day, ladies.” He gave them a nod and turned away.

Brooke’s giggle reached his ears just before the door closed behind him.

He chuckled as he returned to his jeep. But his smile slid away as he sat behind the wheel and took out his phone.

Opening the Internet search bar, he pulled up Weston Neurology’s website. He navigated to the Our Staff page and scanned the photos and names.

There. Hannah Pyle and Mary Hovde.

Perfect. With full names, he could track them down and talk to them next. If he could charm them into sharing as easily as the receptionists, he should be able to learn the truth behind what had happened to the frightened Marsha Faint.

If it was illegal or at least unethical, as he suspected, he could be very close to the leverage he needed to change Victoria’s life, and his, forever.

Victoria navigated the heavy traffic on the residential street as she mentally reviewed the patient visit she had concluded a few minutes ago.

At least, reviewing and planning ahead for the visit documentation was what she should be doing. She blamed her distraction on the aches and bruises that kept her from getting comfortable in the seat and reminded her of the evening before.

The man had come at her so fast she hadn’t even known what was happening. A surge of fright had hit her at the same moment he had, but she’d had no time to react or try to defend herself.

She’d never been so thankful Cillian was with her. After he had impressively chased the attacker away, he’d returned with fury simmering in his eyes. But he’d treated her with a gentleness she didn’t know he had, asking if she was hurt, guiding her to the car with a strong hand of support on her back, offering to drive her home in her car and return for his motorcycle later.

He hadn’t cracked a joke or blamed her for getting in the way. He’d only muttered something about teaching the coward a lesson for knocking down a woman.