Bride for a Single Dad. Laura Iding
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memory for the cop’s name. Alex? No, Alec. That’s right. Alec Monroe. He’d come in about two months ago with a serious knife wound slashed diagonally across his flank requiring a good twenty-five stitches.
Embarrassed at how she’d remembered his name over the dozens of other patients she’d treated over the past few weeks, she wished she could slink away, especially knowing he’d seen the way she’d dropped the forceps. Did he wonder what was wrong with her? Or had he attributed the action to pure clumsiness?
“Thanks for going above and beyond with him,” Alec said in a low tone, still staring at the dead victim.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”
He raised his gaze to hers, and her heart fluttered stupidly in her chest when she noticed he’d recognized her as well. His mouth quirked in a half-hearted smile. “Not your fault, Dr. Davis. He had the best doctor in the state as far as I’m concerned.”
She felt her cheeks warm and inwardly cursed her fair skin. The cop had made her blush two months ago, too, teasing her as she’d stitched his wound. He was tall, well over six feet, and wore his chocolate-brown hair long and shaggy. She remembered his body was pure solid muscle. She’d been more aware of him than had been proper when taking care of a patient.
Opening and closing her hand again, she reminded herself to maintain her professionalism. “I hope your wound is all healed…”
“Sure.” His smile disappeared. “I only wish these two kids had tried to settle their dispute with a knife instead of a gun. Then this kid might have had a chance.”
“I know.” She understood what he was saying. Once she would have argued that violence was violence regardless of the weapon of choice, but the crime rate in Milwaukee, Wisconsin had been climbing over the past few years and so had the use of guns. As a result, they’d treated more and more victims of gunshot wounds, many of them fatal.
Like this poor boy.
“Thanks again, Dr. Davis.” Alec flashed a crooked smile.
Call me Jillian, she wanted to say, then realized the urge was inappropriate so she gave a brief nod instead. “You’re welcome.”
Alec turned away, heading for the door. Jillian watched him walk away, hoping she wouldn’t have a reason to see him as a patient in the emergency department any time soon.
Cops like Alec put their lives on the line every day just to protect the innocent. To protect the public. People like her.
She couldn’t imagine a more thankless job.
Or a more dangerous one.
Yet from the little she’d seen of him, between this visit and the previous one where he’d been cut with a knife, he seemed to thrive on his role, throwing his whole heart and soul into his career. Not many cops would have held pressure on a bleeding chest wound like he had.
Jillian shrugged off her troubled thoughts. Tucking her hands into the pockets of her lab coat, she spun on her heel to head back into the arena. No reason to worry about Alec—she had enough problems of her own.
Like how long would she have to wait to hear the results of her MRI?
And did she even want to hear the results?
Her gut instincts shouted no, even though she knew it was better to find out the truth now so she could figure out the potential impact on her career. Her stomach clenched in fear. She knew firsthand, after caring for her mother, just how badly this could affect her future. Although likely not for years yet.
Small comfort.
“Dr. Davis?”
Surprised, she glanced over her shoulder. A deep frown furrowed Alec’s forehead as he strode back toward her.
“Yes?” She pivoted and waited for him to reach her.
“Do you have a minute?” His eyes, the color of jade, mesmerized her.
Her heart thudded in her chest. She should say no because, heaven knew, the arena was full of patients who might need her attention. But she found herself nodding her consent. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
“You could say that. I pulled these out of the kid’s pants pocket.” Alec’s mouth thinned in a grim line as he held the items up for her to see.
“Percocets?” She frowned when she saw the individually wrapped packages of narcotics. “Was he recently hospitalized?”
Alec cocked his head questioningly. “Do medications come individually wrapped like this when you fill a prescription?”
“No.” The implication of what he was telling her hit with the force of a brick. “You’re saying those were stolen? From a hospital or clinic?”
“Yes.” His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “Would you know if anyone around here or anywhere else recently reported missing narcotics?”
Jillian opened her mouth and then closed it again without saying anything. Because the answer was yes.
Less than a week ago, twelve percocet tablets, just like the kind Alec held in his hand, had been discovered missing from the locked narcotic drawer right here in Trinity Medical Center’s ED.
CHAPTER TWO
ALEC’S stomach clenched as he and Dr. Jillian Davis stared at the individually wrapped percocet tablets lying across the palm of his hand. He’d pulled these out of the sixteen-year-old John Doe’s pocket, but for all he knew the kid had been selling them on the street to other kids. Younger ones. He’d found the young victims in Barclay Park after all. The idea of a child, like his six-year-old daughter Shelby, taking drugs of any kind made him feel sick.
“We can’t discuss this here,” Jillian said in a low tone. “Give me a minute to check on the status of our patients in the arena and then we can meet in my office.”
Alec gave a tight nod, trying to remain calm. Thoughts of anything happening to Shelby haunted him. He’d only known about his daughter for the past year, when Shelby’s mother had died and left a letter granting him custody. If he had known about Shelby sooner he would have been a part of her life from the beginning. Still, he was more than grateful he had his daughter now. Shelby had changed him for the better. He was more relaxed now, less intense.
Less lonely.
He and his daughter—the words still gave him a tiny thrill—had grown close over this past year. Seeing kids as victims was doubly hard now. He knew his heightened awareness was due to Shelby. He couldn’t imagine anything happening to his daughter.
Shelby was safe for today, though, in his sister Alaina’s care. Alaina was the sensible sibling in the family. Not the wild Monroe, like he had once been. He trusted his older sister with his life.
Shelby was his life.
Swallowing hard, he closed his hand over the individually wrapped pills and followed Jillian from the trauma room into the arena. He slid the evidence into his pocket and stood off to the side. To take his mind off the seriousness of the situation, he concentrated on watching the pretty doctor in action.
Jillian looked over a clipboard with one of the nurses, no doubt to review each patient’s planned disposition. Alec knew more than he wanted to about how emergency departments functioned. His brother Adam was a doctor and his younger sister Abby was a nurse, and at one point he’d been trained as a medic in the army with thoughts of following a similar career path.
Unfortunately, healing wasn’t his area of expertise.
Maybe that wasn’t entirely true, he amended. He’d helped to heal Shelby’s loss. When she’d first come to live with him she’d cried all the time, the sound of her quiet sobs breaking his heart. Now she hugged him easily and called him “Daddy” without hesitation.
A reluctant smile quirked the