Intrigue Me. Jo Leigh
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Her attention went to the photocopy of Dr. Daniel Cassidy’s trading card while she absently listened to Logan shuffle papers.
Lisa had already deduced that the tall man in scrubs wasn’t the object of her investigation—Cassidy was much better looking. His clean-cut dark hair made him look sharp and professional, but his eyes, the color of cognac, were just plain damn sexy.
If she belonged to the Hot Guys Trading Cards dating club she would’ve snapped up his card based on his looks alone, which was embarrassing to admit since she’d worked her butt off to prove she was more than a “pretty face.” Still, the truth was, she’d do him in a minute. Or would have, in another life. She would never risk it now.
Her fingers traced the lips on the photocopy. They were full, yet masculine, with a hint of—
Logan muttered something.
She straightened, feeling as though she’d been caught in the adult section of the video store. “What?”
“Found it. Hold on while I give it a quick look.”
“Sure.” Lisa went back to studying the doctor’s photo—more specifically his lips and how they were a perfect contrast to his square jaw. The image stopped at his shoulders but she’d bet the farm that the rest of his body was equally hot.
Her gaze went to the details on the reverse side of the trading card. Dr. Cassidy was looking to get married, preferred home-cooked meals to dining out, was passionate about using his skills to help people and had a great heart. All this according to Josephine Suarez, the woman who’d submitted his name and photo. If Cassidy himself had provided the information, it would’ve sounded creepy as hell. But that wasn’t how Hot Guys Trading Cards worked.
Each of the women who belonged to the group was required to submit a photo of at least one guy she knew well enough to vouch for. Lisa had learned that not all of the guys knew they were being passed around and ogled. She wondered if Dr. Daniel Cassidy had given his approval.
“Good job. No typos this time, either,” Logan said. “Now, what’s this about the free clinic?”
“First, up-yours about the typos. Second, you didn’t listen to a word I said last night, did you?”
Her brother grunted. “You didn’t say anything about a free clinic.”
A woman bumped Lisa’s shoulder and she quickly slipped the paper back into her purse. “I didn’t know he was working here until after we spoke,” she said, keeping her voice low. “He shouldn’t be, though. Not with his credentials. He’s straight up Ivy League all the way. He could be bringing in beaucoup bucks, but instead he’s volunteering full-time at a free clinic in the Bronx.”
“So cynical. Maybe he’s just a super nice guy.”
She had every reason to be cynical and Logan knew it. But he was teasing her—part of his ongoing attempt to get her to lighten up. “Yeah, because so many of our clients hire us to investigate super nice guys.”
“Fair point, but you realize this client didn’t pay enough to merit a field visit,” Logan said. “Hell, for what she paid, all you needed to do was look the guy up on Google and LinkedIn.”
“He’s not on LinkedIn.”
“That’s weird, but not weird enough to chase him down.”
“So I’m thorough. Shoot me.”
“Tempting.” Logan’s chair creaked. “Seriously, don’t waste too much time on it,” he said. “I think we might be getting another custody case tomorrow.”
Lisa groaned. She hated those the most.
“Hey, it’s the small, slimy stuff that helps pay the rent.”
“True,” she acknowledged. “Which is why I’m thinking about drumming up more Trading Card business.”
“I thought those guys are already vetted.”
“They are. I’m thinking there might be more gold diggers like Heather out there, though, who can’t be bothered with a guy who doesn’t make enough money.” Lisa heard Logan shuffling more papers around and knew he wasn’t listening. Understandable, since the human-trafficking case he was working on was much more interesting than what she was blathering on about. And yes, she was envious, and maybe that was a sign that she might not sleepwalk through the rest of her life. “I’ve gotta go,” she told him. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Sure. Good.”
As soon as they disconnected, she sighed. Logan wasn’t wrong about her wasting time. She knew damn well she was satisfying her own curiosity and calling it diligence. But by the same token, she was serious about trolling for more business for her brother’s security firm at the Trading Card lunch meetings. She’d have to become a member, of course, which meant that she’d have to be recommended by someone in the club. Heather was the only member she knew, and then only as a client. But Lisa doubted that would matter to Heather. After all, she’d cheated. The rules let you choose one card at a time, but Lisa had received a photocopy of another doctor’s card, as well.
Joining also meant she’d have to submit a guy to be put on a card. Her college friends had always called Logan a babe. She knew he wasn’t in the market to date or get married. But if she checked the one-night-stand option? He might be game.
She put away her phone, and then made her way to the clinic’s main waiting room. Lucky for her, someone vacated the green plastic chair next to where she was standing.
The clinic itself didn’t seem very large. There was the overfilled waiting room where messy rows of mismatched chairs snaked around to fill as much space as possible. Down the hall were the examination rooms, and maybe a couple of offices from what she could glimpse.
In fact, the whole place had a patchwork feel to it. Graffiti covered the walls outside, except for the heavy glass door. It hadn’t surprised her when she saw it was bullet-resistant. Inside, the walls were all painted in cheery pastels. One was plastered with pictures kids had drawn. It looked like a giant refrigerator door.
The people waiting to see a doctor were unsurprisingly diverse. Some were dressed in business attire, while others looked as if they were homeless. No one seemed bothered by the two young men covered in tattoos sitting among them.
From what she’d seen so far the staff was equally diverse. Only one physician was permanent, but they had quite a few volunteer specialists on rotation. There were also two full-time registered nurses, a physician’s assistant and student nurses from the nearby hospital who came and went in order to accrue hours and experience. The same with medical students, although they were fewer in number. At least that was what it had said on the Moss Street Clinic website.
Lisa turned her attention to the African-American woman sitting beside her. Her eyes were sharp as they lit on every person in the room. Her tight lips, the small disapproving shakes of her head and her expressive eyebrows hid nothing.
Lisa figured if anyone knew the dirt on Dr. Cassidy, it would be her observant seat mate. “Excuse me,” Lisa said. “I’m new to the clinic. Do you know anything about Dr. Cassidy?”
The woman turned to look at Lisa. She’d expected to get the once-over from her, but it still felt intrusive. “Why you askin’?”
“I’ve come to see him. For an exam.”
“You mean a test? You one of them student doctors from Lincoln?”
“No. A patient.”
Leaning back, the woman took in as much of Lisa as she could. “You don’t look like nothin’s wrong. You from the tabloids?”
“Uh, no. Why? Are the tabloids interested in Dr. Cassidy?”
“How should I know? What’s your name?”
“Lisa Pine,” she said, surprised when her mother’s