Critical Condition

His heart suddenly felt too big for his chest. “That’s right. My name’s Zach.” He glanced at Tara’s reflection, but she seemed intent on avoiding his gaze. He half expected her to make an excuse, take back her daughter and leave.

But she opened the door and led the way to a picnic table at the edge of the daycare’s playground. Clearly, she was desperate for a compatriot to her cause. She dug a notepad and crayons from her oversized handbag and then patted the seat beside her. “Come and draw, honey, while the grown-ups talk.”

Suzie bounced in Zach’s arms, apparently a three-year-old’s signal for put me down.

He swooped her onto the seat, airplane-style, and earned himself another giant smile.

“You’re very good with children.” Tara’s timid smile came slower than her daughter’s. “Suzie usually doesn’t take to men.”

Zach shrugged off the compliment and snagged the seat opposite them.

Now that Tara had her daughter at her side, the panic in her eyes had waned. Of course, if it waned too much, she might shoot off her mouth again, and he couldn’t afford to take that risk. A killer wasn’t likely to let her live if he figured she could identify him. “What I’m about to tell you is for your ears alone. Understand?”

A flicker of confusion crossed her face, but she nodded.

“You can’t discuss it with your colleagues, your friends, not even your husband.” Oh, man, what was he thinking?

“My ex-husband walked out on us a long time ago.” She ducked her head, as if embarrassed at admitting something so personal to a practical stranger. Oddly, she didn’t feel like a stranger to him.

“I’m sorry.” Zach looked at Suzie, his heart cracking at the thought of the fun daddy things she was missing out on in her young life. He stopped himself before considering what Tara was missing, too.

She was a witness. A contact. Nothing more.

Exhaling sharply, he glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. “My name is Zach Davis.”

Her gaze dropped to the name on his hospital badge—Zach Reynolds—and she scooted closer to her daughter.

“I’m a cop, working undercover to investigate the deaths you reported.”

Her face lit up. “You are? Why didn’t Detective Gray tell me?”

“The fewer people who know, the less likely my cover will be compromised.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “You are the only one at the hospital who knows why I’m really here, and we need to keep it that way.”

“I won’t tell anyone.... I promise. In fact, I can help you.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Zach breathed his first full breath since considering whether to tell her. Tara’s inside knowledge could prove invaluable to closing this case quickly.

“Cop,” Suzie parroted. With the purple crayon clutched in her chubby fist, she drew a circle on her paper, jabbed dots in the middle and scratched two lines from the bottom. “Dak, cop,” she repeated gleefully.

Zach’s heart sank. He sent a prayer heavenward. This assignment had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

* * *

No, this couldn’t be happening. If they were going to stop the killer from striking again, she had to make her daughter understand. Tara cupped Suzie’s face between her hands. “Look at me, sweetie. Zach’s a computer consultant. Not a cop. Okay?”

“Not a cop.”

“That’s right. So you mustn’t say he is.”

“Not a cop,” Suzie repeated.

Zach looked even paler than he had after Suzie drew his picture.

Tara turned over the paper. “Don’t worry,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “Suzie won’t blow your cover.”

Zach didn’t look so sure. “Maybe you could take some time off until I’ve finished the investigation. After your outburst in the lounge, we’d probably be safer all around.”

She thought of how panicked she’d felt only a few minutes ago. Now that she knew the police were on the case, she didn’t feel nearly so worried. She hadn’t said anything in that room that her colleagues hadn’t already heard. And sure, she might’ve momentarily suspected McCrae and Whittaker the night of the murder when they’d run into the room wearing the same kind of lab coats as the guy who’d shoved her, but if one of them was worried about her identifying them, he would’ve done something by now. “It’s okay. I’ll keep my mouth shut and my eyes open. I’m a single mom with bills to pay. I can’t afford to take time off.”

“I understand. But you must have vacation time available. Or, given your wrist injury, we could probably arrange a paid medical leave.”

“Absolutely not. My promotion to head nurse last month earned me flack from more than one nurse with seniority over me. I will not give them the ammunition to take me out.”

A muscle in Zach’s jaw twitched. “It’s okay,” he said in a comforting tone that sounded as though he meant it. He tousled Suzie’s hair. “Once this little munchkin sees me around the hospital, she’ll probably start calling me Doc.”

Suzie patted his arm. “Dak.”

Zach winked at Tara. “What did I tell you?”

Her stomach did a tiny flip. Zach didn’t act the way she’d expect a detective to act at all. With his bronzed skin and sandy-blond hair, he looked as though he spent more time on a surfboard than at a computer. She didn’t want to try to decipher the twinge of admiration she’d felt when Suzie had taken so readily to him. Her little girl wouldn’t even go to Grandma as willingly as she’d belly flopped into Zach’s strong arms.

Tara shook her head. How would she know if his arms were strong?

It’s not that Suzie weighed very much. Any guy’s muscles would bulge when he flexed his arms to lift a child. Oh, brother, get off what his arms look like already. She cleared her throat. “Um, do you really think the...” Glancing at her daughter, she mouthed the word killer. “...would come after me?”

“What can you tell me about the patients who died?”

Tara blinked. Assuming his answer might hinge on hers, she said, “They were all Dr. Whittaker’s patients. Different ages. Different types of cancer. Unlike Ellen, the first two patients were already on the ward when their fevers struck.”

“Wealthy?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“We need a motive,” he explained. “Why do you think someone would murder these people?”

“I don’t know. I never thought about it, except in Mr. Parker’s case. I assumed he surprised the killer.”

“You told Detective Gray this person wore a lab coat.”

“Yes.”

“Did you notice a scent? Any sound? The squeak of shoes, maybe? The color of his pants?”

Tara closed her eyes and tried to remember. “Yes!” Her eyes popped open. “His pants were dark blue. But...” She inhaled, focused her mind on the memories of that night. But all she could smell was Zach’s woodsy scent. Her heart fluttered. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t recall anything else.”

“If you do, let me know. In the meantime, I’ll look for evidence of fudged medical reports, manipulated drug trials or threatened lawsuits—anything that points to a possible motive. I need you to alert me to any unusual behavior on the part of staff or patients. Okay?”

“Absolutely. But...” She dug her fingers into her palms. “Um... You didn’t answer my question. Do you think he’ll come after me?”

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes.” She looked at him quizzically, then pulled it from her purse.

He took it and punched in numbers. “I’ve programmed in my number. If you notice anything unusual or suspicious, if anything frightens you, don’t hesitate to call me. Day or night. Understand?”

Her pulse raced. “Yes, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.” Fear welled in her throat. He did think she’d be a target. He must.

“Is there somewhere else you can stay for a while? A friend’s perhaps?”

“Are you trying to scare me?” she said through gritted teeth, not wanting to believe what his avoidance was saying loud and clear. “Is this another tactic to get me to take time off work?”

“No.”

“Then answer my question.”

Zach’s gaze shifted to Suzie and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Yes, Tara, I believe you could be in danger.”

TWO

The next day, with half a night of prayer behind him, Zach managed to walk the halls of the cancer ward without feeling that he might faint. Good thing, too, since the realization that Tara’s theories might not be so far-fetched had nixed all hope of avoiding this area of the hospital.

Barbara’s finely plucked eyebrows had disappeared into her bangs when he’d offered to test the computer setups in the new wing. But once he’d convinced his colleague that he would rather confront his ghosts than run from them, she had handed over the pass cards to all the computers on the floor.

Ahead of him, Tara stepped from a patient’s room. Her hair was done up in a funky bun. Strands of hair poked out in various directions, and several wayward tendrils curled down the back of her slender neck. Oh, boy, if his mouth went this dry watching her from behind, he dreaded to think how he’d react to seeing those beautiful brown eyes again.

She turned, and her smile swept the breath from his lungs.

He recovered quickly and asked for directions to Whittaker’s office. He knew the way, but asking Tara to show him would give him an opportunity to find out how she was faring without piquing anyone’s curiosity.

Tara glanced at the pass cards he held. “Dr. Whittaker doesn’t like to be disturbed too soon after rounds. Perhaps you could start with our resident’s computer. Dr. McCrae.”

Recognizing the name as one of the doctors on duty the night the Parkers died, Zach agreed.

“How are you doing?” he asked as they strolled to McCrae’s office.

“I didn’t sleep so well. I thought I’d sleep better, knowing you’re...you know. But I woke at every noise, worried he’d come after me.”

“I’m sorry I scared you. But I’d rather you be on your guard than unaware of potential danger. Suzie okay?”

Tara chuckled. “Oh, yeah. You made quite an impression on her. All evening it was Dak this, and Dak that.”

Zach smiled past a pang of grief. “She’s a sweet girl.”

Tara knocked on an unmarked door. When there was no response, she pushed it open. “Before this new wing was added, our interns and residents got nothing more than a locker and had to share computers with the nurses. But Dr. Whittaker insisted that, since residents work such long shifts, they should be given an office.” She chuckled and jutted her chin toward the far corner. “The mattress was McCrae’s idea.”

Zach surveyed the small room, doing his best not to inhale Tara’s vanilla scent as she moved toward the window. With the bare white walls, chrome-and-glass desk and slatted window blinds, the office looked as sterile as an examination room. He supposed residents weren’t around long enough to add those personal touches that would offer some hint of their life outside the hospital.

Zach settled into a plush leather desk chair, pausing to appreciate the improvement over the cheap box-store chair he’d had on his last case. “Any news on Miss Clark’s cause of death?” he asked, now that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Not yet.” She frowned and twisted open the vertical blinds. The light striped her face like prison bars. “For all we know, the coroner could be in cahoots with whomever’s behind this.”

The anger fueling her comment didn’t mask the wobble in her voice. An aching vulnerability that awakened every protective instinct in him. Taking a moment to reel in his emotions, he powered up the computer. “I’ll check him out. You said the patient asked for you before she died. Anyone inquire about that?”

“Actually, Dr. Whittaker commended me for having such a positive impact on our patients that they’d ask for me by name. Not that his comment surprised me. He’s always upbeat and encouraging.”

“Hmm, a regular Dr. Wonderful,” Zach said, repeating the moniker he’d overheard one of the nurses use for the man.

Tara shrugged. “He’s nice.”

As Zach waited for the computer to boot, he motioned Tara to shut the door and peeked inside McCrae’s desk.

Suddenly, he heard loud footsteps in the hallway. The door banged off the wall, and a doctor stormed in, lab coat flapping in his wake, his face as red as his hair. “What are you doing in my office?”

“This is Zach Reynolds,” Tara answered for him. “He’s the IT specialist who’s upgrading our computer systems. I showed him in.”

McCrae’s gaze flashed to Zach and then down to where his hand hovered over an open drawer.

Zach snagged a pen from inside. “You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you? Mine’s run out.” Without waiting for a response, Zach slid the security pass card into the new hub that would connect McCrae’s monitor to the main network. “I could be a couple of hours getting this set up. Were you needing access before I start?”

McCrae plunged his balled hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “No, that’s fine. I have patients to see.” He strode past Tara and scooped his stethoscope off the desktop. “Next time, however, I’d appreciate being informed before you barge into my office.” McCrae gave the room a sweeping glance and then left as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Whew, quick temper on that one.” Zach tossed the borrowed pen back into the drawer.

“It’s the sleep deprivation. Makes the residents edgy. He’s quite tenderhearted once you get to know him.”

“How will I ever come up with possible suspects if you have such high opinions of everyone on staff?”

Tara snorted. “Wait until you meet Alice Bradshaw.”

“Who’s she?”

“A nurse who... Well, let’s just say that when it comes to Alice, I follow my dear departed grandma’s advice. ‘If you can’t say something nice about a person, don’t say—’”

Zach flashed Tara a silencing glance as a gray-haired nurse stepped into the doorway.

* * *

Tara spun toward the door. At the sight of her least favorite person in the world, she swallowed the last of her words. Okay, maybe Alice Bradshaw wasn’t her least favorite person.

Her rat-fink ex-husband, who’d split on her and their then eight-week-old daughter, held that distinction.

But what was Alice doing here? Spying on her?

It was high time the woman figured out that twenty years’ seniority didn’t give her license to mind everyone else’s business. Tara took a deep breath.

Okay, Alice had caught Tara talking about her. Not good. But if she let on that she was the least bit rattled, Alice would pounce. Ever since Tara’s promotion, Alice had snatched every possible opportunity to undermine her authority.

Zach’s gaze ping-ponged from Alice to her, and the twinkle in his eye tugged a smile to her lips. She turned the smile to Alice. “Was there something you needed?”

Alice blinked, clearly surprised that her ability to unnerve Tara had lost its effect, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, actually.” Her ultraprim voice enunciated each syllable with precision. “The patients are waiting for their meds.”

Tara glanced at her watch and inwardly cringed at how late it was. “Okay, thank you. I’ll be right there.”

When Tara returned her attention to Zach, a dimple dented his cheek. “I see what you mean,” he said. Then, all hint of humor faded as he added, “Stay alert. We’ll talk later.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Every bed on the ward was full, and every other patient had some urgent crisis demanding her attention. She was grateful for the distraction, but still found herself struggling to focus on her work, because busy as she was, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had her looking over her shoulder every few minutes.

She was three bites into her lunch when the front office paged her. On her way there, she passed through the lobby, where Dr. Whittaker was showing a group of well-heeled prospects the inscribed marble donor wall on which their generosity would be forever immortalized.

Tara had to chuckle. He went on and on about the groundbreaking research they’d be supporting, but everyone knew it was his irresistible charisma that pulled in the donations.

A newly inscribed block at the end of the wall caught Tara’s attention, and she skidded to a stop. Mr. and Mrs. Parker, platinum donors?

They hadn’t had that kind of money. Mr. Parker had often lamented about the extra jobs he had to take to afford his wife’s natural supplements, and how he hated that work kept him from being with her more.

A hand clamped her upper arm, jolting her from her thoughts.

“Miss Peterson?” Dr. Whittaker smiled down at her with his perfect white teeth. “For a moment, you looked like you might faint.”

His gaze strayed to the Parker inscription, his forehead creasing.

Zach’s words—stay alert—pulsed in her ears as Whittaker shifted, blocking her from the view of the potential donors he was courting. “No, I’m fine. I...” She peeked around him at their audience and raised her voice for their benefit. “I was admiring how generous people have been.”

Dr. Whittaker beamed and shifted again, no doubt hoping her accolades would inspire further generosity.

She tapped her finger on the Parkers’ name to gauge his reaction. “This couple, for example. They must’ve bequeathed their entire estate to this project.”

“Yes, the late Mr. and Mrs. Parker were extremely charitable.” His lips jitterbugged from a smile to a frown before finally settling into a grim line. Although obviously pleased by the coup, he knew enough not to show his pleasure, considering the couple had to die for the hospital to get the money.

Tara stiffened. Motive.

He certainly had means and opportunity. Who would ever suspect Dr. Wonderful of being the grim reaper?

Tara’s gaze shot to his. He still held her by the arm. And his grip was tightening.

Zach strode toward them like a gleaming knight. He tapped the doctor’s shoulder. “Excuse me, Dr. Whittaker?”

Whittaker’s grip loosened. “Yes?”

Zach thrust out his hand, leaving Whittaker no choice but to release her and extend his own hand.

Tara mouthed a thank-you and then scurried away without a backward glance. What was she thinking, goading Whittaker like that?

That’s the trouble—she didn’t think. Mom always warned her she was too impulsive. Had Whittaker read her suspicions in her expression? Or was he just trying to stop her babbling before someone made the connection between the names on the wall and the recent deaths?

Either way, if Dr. Wonderful sensed she didn’t buy into the persona he was peddling, she was in trouble.

Her stomach roiled at the thought. She dealt quickly with the front office’s questions, and then returned to the lunchroom. But she was so rattled that her stomach grew queasier by the second. She covered the macaroni salad she’d barely touched and returned the container to the staff fridge.

She tried to focus on paperwork to take her mind off her suspicions of Whittaker. Surely Zach would come by to ask about the run-in. She’d never had such a bad case of nerves. The detective’s warnings must’ve spooked her more than she’d realized. The mix of concern and determination she’d seen in his eyes as he’d drawn up behind Whittaker flittered through her thoughts. That...and how Zach’s shirt had strained across his broad chest when he’d reached up and tapped Whittaker’s shoulder.

Maybe suspicions weren’t the only things leaving her a little rattled.

Unable to attend to the paperwork, Tara waited for Alice to go on her break. Then she slipped into the back room where the medicines were kept. For days she’d been meaning to inventory the medicine locker to see if she could figure out what drug might’ve been used to kill the Parkers. Trouble was, Mr. and Mrs. Parker’s divergent symptoms suggested two different drugs, and none of the standard culprits had shown up in the coroner’s tox screen. Motive alone wouldn’t be enough reason for Zach to arrest Whittaker. They had to figure out how he did it. If, in fact, he had done it.

“Peterson.”

Tara jumped at Whittaker’s gruff summons and fumbled the bottle of oxycodone she was holding.

He snagged the bottle before it hit the floor, squinted at the label, then at her. “Your wrist still bothering you?”

“No,” she huffed, appalled by the insinuation that she’d sneak a pain pill. She hadn’t even filled the Tylenol 3 prescription the E.R. doc had given her the night of the incident. “I’m inventorying the medicine locker.”

His foot kicked the doorstop. The door closed with a thud.

Suddenly the room felt far too small, and she wished Alice were still here.

“Alice tells me you were late dispensing meds this morning.”

Scratch Alice. Tara wished Zach were here. She backed up a step only to have the handle of a spare bedside table press into her back. “Yes, sir.”

Whittaker raised an eyebrow. “No excuse?”

“It wouldn’t change the fact.”

“Hmm.” His stern expression relaxed. “Yes, some things are better kept to ourselves.” He rolled the narcotics bottle between his fingers. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Um, I suppose.”

“Good.” He plopped the bottle back on the shelf. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice pitched higher. But the instant the question escaped her lips, she bit her tongue. Would she never learn?

He’d probably been seconds away from walking out of the room and now...he was standing there gritting his teeth. The table handle dug deeper into her back.

“The Parkers’ deaths were an unfortunate occurrence that Memorial happened to benefit from.” Whittaker’s slow, measured words sucked the air from her lungs, one agonizing molecule at a time. “The less attention drawn to that fact, the better. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong ideas. Would we?” He yanked open the door and stalked out.

This time Tara couldn’t ignore her upset stomach. She grabbed a bedpan and heaved.

Alice’s head poked in the door. “I thought I heard someone in here. Oh, you don’t look so good.” She helped Tara to a chair in the nurses’ station. “What is it? The flu?”

“I don’t know. It—” Cramps seized Tara’s stomach. She doubled over, moaning.

“I’ll get you something to calm the nausea.” Alice exchanged the bedpan with a clean one and rushed off. A few minutes later, she returned with a syringe. “Dr. Whittaker said I could give you an injection so it’ll work faster.”

“No, I don’t think—” Another wave hit, and this time Tara ran for the sink.

“Trust me. It’ll help.” Alice swabbed Tara’s arm and administered the injection before Tara could object again. “Now, why don’t you lie down in the locker room to give the medicine time to work? I’ll cover for you.”

* * *

The panic Zach had seen in Tara’s eyes had gripped his emotions and wouldn’t let go. He yanked the pass card from the computer hub he’d been testing and headed for the nurses’ station. After witnessing the hold Whittaker had had on Tara’s arm, he’d thought the hospital’s Golden Boy might be their man, but after talking with him, Zach wasn’t so sure. He needed to hear Tara’s version of what had gone down in the lobby at lunchtime.

The nurses’ station was vacant. He walked up and down the halls, glancing in patients’ rooms, but found no sign of her. Anxiety mounting, he checked the staff lounge.

Alice Bradshaw glanced up. “Looking for someone?” she asked in that gratingly precise tone of hers.

“Yes, the head nurse.”

“That would be me.”

Alarm bells went off in Zach’s head. “You? I thought Miss Peterson—”

“She went home sick. I’m covering for her. Can I help you with something?”

“It can wait. Thanks.” He went back to the computer he’d been testing, but a niggling uneasiness made concentrating impossible. Only yesterday, Tara had outright refused to take time off. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number.

After five rings, voice mail kicked in.

He clicked End without leaving a message. If she felt sick, she’d probably gone straight to bed. He wandered past Whittaker’s office, and at the sight of him frowning at the computer monitor, breathed a relieved sigh.