Intensive Care. Jessica Andersen
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find something, you know? At least then we’d have an answer.” Ripley shrugged. “It’s always better to know than to wonder.”
“Well, whatever they find, it wasn’t anything R-ONC did wrong. It wasn’t anything you did wrong.” Of anyone in the hospital, only Tansy knew how much Ripley needed to hear the words. Only Tansy knew how insecure the seemingly invincible Dr. Davis was about her work, how much it frightened her to play God.
How much it hurt when she lost a patient. A friend.
Ripley squeezed her eyes shut. “I hope you’re right. And I hope the new RSO doesn’t cause problems.” Her temperature spiked as her mind flashed back to black eyes and the hot whispered promises of her dreams.
Or had that been a nightmare?
“What sort of problems would those be?” The rough rumble came from close behind her, too close, and the sizzle that lanced through her midsection was unmistakable.
Ripley spun and faced the door. Cage. She stifled a curse that he’d walked through the outer office and into the inner sanctum without her realizing it, before she’d been able to prepare herself to see him again.
She didn’t want him to know about the autopsy. Didn’t want him to know that she couldn’t explain Ida Mae’s death. Her past experience with Radiation Safety had taught her it was best to tell them as little as possible.
And her own reactions told her it was safest to keep her distance from this RSO in particular. With R-ONC’s future uncertain, she couldn’t afford the weakness that came with an emotional entanglement.
Her father had taught her that, as well.
Cage’s face gave away nothing as they squared off in her doorway, and once again Ripley felt that click of connection. Something primitive flared deep in his black eyes and he held out his hand like a challenge. “We weren’t properly introduced yesterday. I’m Cage, the new RSO.”
She took the hand and felt her heart kick when his fingers closed over hers. “Dr. Davis.” He held on a moment longer than necessary before allowing her to pull away.
“A pleasure,” he replied, but a lift of his heavy brow told her it was anything but.
“Though I’m grateful for your help in the atrium yesterday, I’m not thrilled about a full audit. I have patients to treat, and the violations you mentioned were Dixon’s way of getting back at me for refusing to date him.” A hint of temper seeped into Ripley’s voice and she gestured toward the outer office, feeling tired and cranky. Twitchy. Tense. “Never mind. Come on, I’ll show you where we keep the radiation logs.”
She tried to brush past him, but the RSO didn’t budge and she ended up too close, staring up into his dark, dark eyes. A tremble began in her stomach and worked its way out from there. Irritation, she told herself. Nerves.
Lust, whispered her subconscious. Sexual awareness.
It took her a long moment to realize that he wasn’t gazing into her eyes with mirrored desire. He was focused over her shoulder, staring at Ida Mae’s paperwork piled on the corner of her desk. “What is that, your personnel file?”
Ripley spun away and slapped a hand on the pile. “This is confidential patient information, Mr. Cage. Off-limits unless you’re a doctor.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, but he stepped back and inclined his head. “My apologies. After you, Dr. Davis.”
Why had he thought it was her personnel file? Ripley had no idea, just as she had no idea why the outer office suddenly seemed crowded and hot.
Hyperaware of him following close behind, she walked to a padlocked refrigerator, pulled out a green binder and handed it to him. “Here’s the main radiation log. It’s up to date as of this morning.”
Their fingers brushed when he took the rad log. “Of course it is.” His voice gave away nothing, but Ripley felt as though he was mocking her. Or perhaps himself. “I would expect nothing less.”
With that, he spun on his heel and headed for the treatment rooms that branched off the outer office. In his wake, Ripley stared.
“Wow,” said Tansy’s voice from the inner office. The blonde crossed the room to stand at Ripley’s shoulder and watch Cage walk away.
“Yeah,” Ripley agreed. “Wow, what a jerk.”
Tansy’s lips curved slightly and she glanced at Ripley. “That’s not quite what I meant. That’s who rescued you from Ida Mae’s husband?” They watched as Cage crouched down and began copying serial numbers off the linear accelerator in Treatment Room One.
A foul, whiskey-laden breath on the side of her neck. Hard, grabbing fingers. A sweep of glittering glass. Panic. Warm black eyes and cool waterfalls. Ripley shivered and rubbed her arms where goose bumps came to life at the thought. “Yes, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous to R-ONC. You heard him at the meeting. He’s on a witch hunt.”
They watched him bend over to peer at the electrical hookups. With a fleeting spark of her usual manner, Tansy murmured, “I wouldn’t mind being the witch he’s hunting for, if you know what I mean.” She leveled a telling glance at her friend. “But I get the feeling he’s already picked her out.”
“Did you just call me a witch?” Ripley deflected the quick jolt with sarcasm, but Tansy’s knowing look told her the sparks flying in the little office hadn’t been her imagination.
What a time for her libido to wake up. What a poor choice for it to make.
“Just calling it how I see it, Dr. Davis.” Then Tansy sobered. “I’m just glad he was there for you yesterday. When I imagine what might have happened…”
“Let’s not think about it right now, okay?” Ripley patted her friend’s arm and tried to summon a reassuring smile. “It’s over.”
Then she remembered Harris’s words in the atrium, and thought of her desk chair that morning. The closed files. The subtle disarray. And she wondered.
Was it really over? Or was it just beginning?
FINGERS POUNDING on the keyboard of the linear accelerator, Cage congratulated himself on learning three things in the first two minutes he’d been in the Radiation Oncology department. One, Ripley Davis didn’t want him auditing R-ONC. Two, she didn’t want him to know about the papers on her desk. And three, she was so goddamn beautiful she made his chest ache.
The first two were no surprise. The third was shocking. Cage had thought all the softer emotions had been burned out of him long ago with a single pencil-thin beam of radiation and a tidal wave of guilt.
“I keep the programs updated.” Her voice at his shoulder was a jolt he refused to show, but the buzz of her nearness sliced through him and set up a greedy alarm in his brain.
“So I see.” And it was true. She’d upgraded the software every time another glitch in the treatment equipment had come to light. “Too bad it takes people dying for Radcorp to debug these death traps.” He slapped the shielding of the linear accelerator with a scowl.
She sucked in a breath on what he thought might have been a growl. “I think those stories are exaggerated, don’t you, Mr. Cage? And let’s not forget the hundreds of thousands of patients who are helped each year by radiation treatment.”
“But it’s okay to forget about the people who died because Radcorp and a group of R-ONCs at Albany Memorial ignored the reports and kept treating patients with a broken accelerator?” Cage’s fingers were beginning to hurt from punching the keys so hard. He paused, clenched his fists and blew out a breath. “Never mind. The programs look fine and your fixes are up to date. Where are your disposal logs?”
“I get it.” Ripley’s voice sharpened and the air between them snapped. “You dislike R-ONCs in general. And here I thought it was me you didn’t like. Because let me tell you, Cage, I’m grateful for