A Doctor-Nurse Encounter. Carol Ericson
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“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.”
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