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Zoe, his receptionist, looked up as he burst through the door. “Dr. Marino, are you coming back in? I canceled all your appointments.”
“No, I’m not in to see patients, but I’ll be back up to do some work and you can put calls through.” He strode to his office and slammed the door behind him. He plucked his jacket from the hook on the back of the door and shrugged into it. Then he crouched behind his desk, unlocking it, and pulled open the bottom drawer. He didn’t even check to see if the gun was loaded before slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. He always kept a loaded gun with him. Old habits died hard.
“I’ll be right back.” He waved to Zoe on his way out the door.
His shallow breathing returned to normal when he saw Lacey talking to the cop in front of Dr. Buonfoglio’s office. She obviously had no clue about the types of surgeries her boss occasionally performed, but the surgical nurses knew.
How long before the remaining nurse, Jill Zombrotto, spilled the beans to the cops, or worse, the FBI? She’d be in hot water herself, so maybe she’d decide to take her chances with the other side. Nick couldn’t allow her to take any chances.
He might just have to pay a visit to Jill Zombrotto himself.
LACEY STACKED THE LAST of the dinner dishes for one in the dishwasher and dried her hands. She left the pot of chili on the stove to cool off. Lifting her tea bag from her cup, she watched the droplets splash into the amber liquid as she inhaled the cinnamon scent. She eyed the open books on her kitchen table, and then skirted the table on her way to the worn, comfy sofa. She had to do some advance reading for her next class, which started in a week, but had zero concentration.
Just like that, half of the people she worked with were dead. Why? What secrets did Dr. B have that warranted murder?
Lacey curled her legs beneath her on the sofa as she wrapped her hands around her warm cup. Dr. Nick Marino had secrets, too. His dark eyes told a different story from the attractive, easygoing, playboy bachelor about town. They held wariness and pain.
She snorted into her cup. Like Dr. Perfect needs tea and sympathy from you. The wariness probably came from being on guard against lusty, gold-digging women. Now that she’d met Nick and broke bread with him, she totally got those women—not the gold-digging part but the lusty part.
When he walked her to the parking garage this afternoon, he dipped his head, his lips hovering so close to hers she almost expected a kiss, and despite her previous disdain for him, she wouldn’t have minded one bit.
At lunch he showed more humility than she expected. He spent the entire lunchtime questioning her, and didn’t once mention his burgeoning practice or his graduation from Stanford Medical School at the top of his class.
He took his guardian angel duties seriously, too, sort of like a knight in a white coat instead of on a white horse. Before she ducked into her car, he held her shoulders in a caress and told her to be careful.
She shook her head and slurped her tea. He probably loved this new role, which gave him the chance to play hero to all his adoring female fans.
The ringing phone halted any further thoughts about the mysterious Dr. Marino. She placed her cup on the coffee table, bounded up from the sofa and scooped the phone from the counter. “Hello?”
“Hi, Lacey, it’s Jill.”
“I’m so happy to hear your voice.” Lacey sank back onto the sofa and grabbed a pillow. “I tried to call you earlier when I heard about Debbie.”
“I—I was out all day. It just seemed safer.” Jill’s husky voice almost whispered across the phone line, sending a chill creeping along Lacey’s flesh.
“What do you mean, safer? Are you in danger?”
“We’re all in danger, Lacey, even you.”
“What’s this about, Jill?” She dug her fingernails into the pillow. “Who killed Dr. B and Debbie?”
Jill sobbed. “I shouldn’t tell you anything, but I can’t do this alone. You see, I have the key, not Debbie, not Dr. B. I have it.”
“What key?” Jill sounded an inch away from total hysteria. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I could give the key to Lacey. She doesn’t know anything. They won’t hurt her. She can give the key to the FBI. The FBI won’t punish her. She didn’t assist in the surgeries.”
“Jill.” Lacey’s voice was as sharp as the pain in the back of her head. She had to bring Jill back from the brink of panic. “Where’s the key, Jill? What does it unlock?”
“I keep it with me always, close to my heart. Can I give you the key, Lacey? They won’t hurt you. I promise. Or you can go on the run with me. I always wanted a daughter, but they wouldn’t let me. I could never have a family. You don’t have a family, either. We could be a family, Lacey.”
Through her tears, Jill babbled about keys and families and daughters, no longer forming coherent sentences.
“Jill? Hang up the phone and lie down.” Lacey spoke with a calmness her trembling hands belied. “I’m on my way over.”
With frightening clarity, Jill answered, “They’ll kill us. Pack your bag. We’re leaving tonight,” and then ended the call.
Lacey sat clutching the phone in her lap for a moment, her hands clammy and her mouth dry. The murders of Dr. B and Debbie had hit Jill hard…that’s all. The three of them had been together for years. Jill and Debbie didn’t have families. They put everything into their work, and naturally Jill felt the loss down to her bones.
That had to be it. Lacey didn’t want it to be anything more sinister. After the turbulence of her childhood, she’d plotted and planned her life carefully to follow an even course. Fate couldn’t play such a cruel joke on her.
Tossing the pillow to the side, she pushed off the sofa. She replaced the phone in the kitchen and dumped her tea in the sink. Time to act like a nurse.
She grabbed her jacket and dropped the sample pack of Xanax Nick gave her last night into her pocket. Jill needed it a lot more than she did.
The moist air caressed her face as she stepped off the porch of the little house in Sunset her mom bought after she and Dad sold the more luxurious digs in Nob Hill. Dad enjoyed all the flash and image. That’s why he left Mom for that young pharmaceutical saleswoman.
The heavy fog rolled off the bay, creating a damp curtain around her as she moved toward the Jetta parked on the street. She’d been to Jill’s apartment just once, but she’d looked up the address in her phone book, and its location just up from Fisherman’s Wharf would be easy to find.
Thirty-five minutes later, Lacey’s car rolled to a stop across the street from Jill’s apartment building. The fog, thicker down here, smelled of fish and brine, and she moved into its embrace as she approached the pink stucco building lit by floodlights. She found Jill’s name on one of the labels next to the dull gold buttons, which she jabbed with her finger.
Damn, no answer. Had Jill fallen into an exhausted sleep? Maybe she’d been drinking and passed out.
She stepped back and a sliver of light fell across her shoes. Her gaze tracked the light to a crack in the door where someone had wedged it open with a magazine. So much for security measures.
Lacey pushed open the door, slick with moisture, and wiped her hands on her jeans. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the lobby, musty like old shoes. The elevator doors creaked open. She stepped inside, punching the button to the third floor over and over, as if that could make the old car move faster.
The threadbare carpet in the corridor muffled her steps as she trailed a hand along the wall, peering at apartment numbers etched into brass plates on each door. She reached number 329 at the end of the hallway and tapped on the door. Silence.
If Jill didn’t answer, maybe she could get the manager to open the door. She could always claim to be Jill’s daughter. After that hysterical phone call, Lacey wanted to check on Jill even if she was sleeping.
She rapped one knuckle on the door while trying the doorknob. The handle turned and Lacey glanced down, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. If Jill was worried about her safety, why’d she leave her door unlocked?
A whisper of fear brushed the back of Lacey’s neck as she gripped the door handle. She put her ear to the door, hearing nothing but the resounding beat of her heart.
She nudged the door with her hip and poked her head inside. A Tiffany lamp burned brightly in the corner of the room, throwing triangles of color on the wall.
“Jill?” Lacey stepped into the room, leaving the front door open behind her. She tiptoed forward, sucking in a breath when she saw a desk drawer pulled open and papers scattered across the hardwood floor.
God, not again.
Somewhere in her head, a voice cried, “Run, run, run,” but her feet plodded one after the other, moving to another instinct that commanded her to help Jill.
An orange ball of fur rushed past her, skidding to a stop in the bathroom. The cat’s plaintive cries echoed throughout the apartment, bringing a rash of goose bumps to Lacey’s arms.
She hovered at the entrance to the short hallway, which branched into a bedroom, a bathroom and a closet, its door gaping open. She had a clear view of the bathroom and the orange tabby meowing on the tattered bath rug. The bedroom door stood ajar, an almost palpable menace oozing from its interior. Still her feet carried her forward. The door whined on its hinges as Lacey pushed it open.
Jill’s body lay sprawled across the bed, the chintz coverlet clutched in one fist, her eyes bulging from their sockets. Discoloration marked her neck, and her other hand lay across her breast, fingers inches from her throat and the silver chain she always wore.
Lacey brought one of her own fists to her mouth and pressed it against her lips as sour bile rose up her gut. She inched toward the bed and crouched beside it, careful not to disturb anything around Jill’s body. Just like she did in Dr. B’s office, Lacey felt for a pulse…and got the same result.
An intake of breath behind her stirred her hair, and a scream gathered in her lungs. Before the scream escaped her lips, a large hand clamped over her mouth, pressing the back of her head against a solid thigh.
She twisted her head and bit the hand that held her captive. The hand dropped, and she spun around on her knees, ready to launch out of the room when the intruder grabbed her arm.
“Lacey, it’s me.”
Her gaze flew to the stranger’s face, only he wasn’t a stranger at all. Dr. Perfect’s perfect features were gathered in a scowl as he sucked on his hand.
“What the hell are you doing here?” She jumped up to face him. “Jill’s dead, and you’re creeping around her apartment?”
“Shhh.” He gripped her shoulders, his fingers biting through her jacket into her flesh. “I’m not creeping around her apartment. I just got here.”
“So your first instinct is to sneak up behind me and clap your hand over my mouth?” She wrenched out of his grasp. “Why are you here?”
“That’s not important right now. What happened?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She spread her arms to encompass the disheveled bedroom. “The killer found Jill and murdered her, just like Dr. B, just like Debbie.”
Rocking back, she covered her face as the enormity of the situation hit her square in the jaw. Nick engulfed her in an embrace, and her head fell all too easily against his shoulder. His arms tightened around her as he rested his chin on top of her head. He smelled like soap and toothpaste and comfort.
She rubbed her nose against his denim shirt, leaving a wet smudge, and looked up into his face. “We have to call the police.”
“No!” His body stiffened. “Not yet.”
“What’s your problem?” She narrowed her eyes, pulling back from the reassurance of his arms. “At the very least, we have to get out of here. What if the killer comes back?”
“Let him try.” Nick lifted his shirt to reveal a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
“Have you lost your mind?” She stumbled back, her legs wedging against Jill’s bed, all sense of comfort gobbled up by a wave of panic. “Why do you have a gun? Why are you even here?”
He closed his eyes and brushed a lock of dark hair back from his forehead. Blowing out a breath, he straightened his shoulders and looked her in the eyes.
“I’m here to save my brother’s life.”
Chapter Four
Confusion and mistrust mingled in Lacey’s face. Her words about her father at lunch hinted at her low opinion of doctors. Nick had to work twice as hard to win her trust, and he knew instinctively the charm he tried diligently to cultivate for the phony life he led wouldn’t do the job. Honesty and sincerity would win the day with Lacey Kirk, but he had very little of those qualities to share right now.
“What does your brother have to do with any of this?” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if creating a barrier to her heart, as if to guard her sympathy from phony sob stories.
He rubbed her unyielding shoulder, resisting an urge to take her in his arms again. It felt good having her there…too good. It had been years since he’d experienced any real emotion with a woman. He couldn’t afford it ever since his brother went on the run. And even before that.
“Let’s discuss this elsewhere.” Although Lacey’s feet seemed rooted to the carpet, Nick propelled her out of the bedroom and into Jill’s Spartan living room. The woman lived as if ready to take flight at a moment’s notice.
“Start discussing—” Lacey plucked a cell phone out of the purse hanging from her shoulder and smacked it against her palm “—because I’m about thirty seconds away from calling the cops.”
Charm definitely wouldn’t work with Lacey. He rubbed his chin. “My brother’s the real target. Dr. Buonfoglio did some work on him. I think this killer is after the doctor’s files to get information on my brother’s changed identity and his whereabouts.”
“I take it your brother isn’t some actor who wants to keep his face-lift a secret, is he?” With her green eyes narrowed to slits, she resembled that cat washing itself in the bathroom.
“No.” He planned to keep this short and simple.
“Why did Dr. B change your brother’s face? Is your brother a bad person, a criminal?”
“He’s made some bad choices, but he doesn’t deserve to die for them. The people after him are worse.”
“Does he owe them money?”
“Something like that.” His brother’s involvement with the De Luca Family went deeper than money, but the less she knew the better. He didn’t want to explain how much he owed his brother, how his brother had saved his life and what it cost him to do it.
She turned and paced, but at least she no longer seemed poised for flight and she’d dropped the cell phone back in her purse.
He held his breath, waiting for the next question. Lacey had too much intelligence and integrity to accept his explanation at face value without further interrogation. He could almost hear her brain clicking as she worked through his story.
Hooking her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans, she stopped in front of him. “You’re a cosmetic surgeon, why didn’t your brother come to you?”
“He did come to me…for a referral. He didn’t want to involve me.” He’d begged T.J. to let him do the surgery, but his brother refused. Maybe T.J. knew the day would come when the De Lucas discovered he’d altered his face, and he didn’t want his kid brother in the line of fire…even though T.J. had stepped into the line of fire for him.
“So you referred him to Dr. B? You dragged Dr. B into this mess?” She hunched her shoulders, her eyes shooting daggers at him. “You killed him.”
Combing his hands through his hair, he sighed. He didn’t want to get into all this. They didn’t have time, but before he enlisted Lacey’s help he had to convince her he deserved it.
“Lacey, Dr. B was already involved in this mess.” He plucked her hand out of her pocket and rubbed his thumb in the center of her palm. “I referred my brother to Dr. Buonfoglio precisely because I knew he did that kind of work.”
Her hand jerked in his. “Dr. B changed criminals’ faces? Why? Why would he do something like that?”
“For Abby. He did it for Abby.” He felt like scum playing the sympathy card, but he had to get through to her. One thing he’d discovered about Lacey Kirk was if she deemed you worthy, she’d brave the fires of hell to help you.
Shaking her head, she blinked her eyes. “What do you know about Dr. B’s daughter?”
“I know it’s expensive to keep her in that group home.”
“Oh, my God, he did do it for the money.”
“He did it for his daughter.” He grabbed her other hand and pulled her toward him, a sharp pain lancing his chest. “A man will do just about anything for his child. Don’t judge him, Lacey.”
“In the end, how did Dr. B’s criminal behavior help Abby? He’s dead.” Her mouth formed a thin, obstinate line.
She’d just appointed herself judge, jury and executioner, although someone else had handled that last job for her. She may have a boatload of sympathy, but she reserved it for those who earned it, like her patients. Could he earn her sympathy?
He squeezed her hands. “Look, we could debate this all night, but there’s a dead woman in the bedroom and we have to call the cops.”
“I’m glad you recognize that.” She shrugged out of his grasp and reached into her purse for her cell phone.
He snatched the phone from her hand. “But first I’m asking for your help.”
Her jaw hardened as she made a grab for her phone, but he held it above his head out of her reach.
