Special Agent Nanny Page 7

  And lately, she hadn’t dared to make waves for fear of finding herself on staff at no hospital at all.

  She hadn’t tried to locate the files on Ben Borand’s case yet. Undoubtedly, if they hadn’t been destroyed in the fire, they were in Louis Paxler’s office. Or in the hospital’s attorney’s office being reviewed for the lawsuit that would be served on them any minute, if Etta Borand was to be believed.

  And Kelley had little doubt that the angry, vindictive woman was serious.

  Had Kelley done something wrong that had extended Mr. Borand’s treatment, his pain?

  “No,” she whispered aloud. She had become a doctor to help people, not hurt them.

  But that hadn’t stopped two patients from dying, all those weeks ago, during the influenza epidemic in which the ill had been rushed here from Silver Rapids.

  Was there something more she should have done? Something she shouldn’t?

  Grimly, she approached the four-drawer file cabinet in the corner of her office. She reached into the top drawer and into a folder labeled “Myles,” her maiden name. At the bottom was a single key. She pulled it out and returned to her desk.

  After unlocking the bottom right-hand drawer, she pulled out the file folders that might, somehow, hold the secret to her future.

  The files regarding the Silver Rapids patients, including the two who had died.

  Files that should have perished in the fire, but hadn’t.

  Kelley had skimmed through them in the intervening weeks, hoping to find something obvious to explain everything.

  Instead, they had generated only more questions—very puzzling questions she hadn’t yet had time to resolve, assuming that resolution was even possible.

  Now, maybe it was time to study them.

  She looked at the name on the first. Peg Ahlers. One of the two elderly patients who had died.

  Kelley remembered the wizened, silver-haired woman as weak yet cheerful. Until the end. Her symptoms had been similar to the others’—nasty, debilitating influenzalike symptoms that came upon her suddenly—high fever, cough, runny nose and muscle aches.

  When Mrs. Ahlers had come in, Kelley had been swamped with treating Silver Rapids patients who had already been admitted. She’d tested Mrs. Ahlers the same way, with nasal swabs sent to the lab to check for viruses. A virus similar to influenza type A was found in all samples.

  But Kelley hadn’t waited for test results to start treatment. She had prescribed a common antibiotic. It wouldn’t help in the event of viral infections, which was what she had suspected. Still, it was standard treatment and could prevent further infection in a patient whose resistance was lowered. When the virus was discovered, as she’d anticipated, Kelley had prescribed an antiviral medication, as well.

  She’d been most concerned about a patient who was pregnant—Holly, a member of the esteemed Langworthy family, though it was her pregnancy, not her ancestry, that mattered to Kelley. But Holly had improved more quickly than Mrs. Ahlers, who, like most others, had gotten worse. The severity of their chills and their terrible headaches hadn’t seemed normal for influenza. Nor had their gastrointestinal symptoms. On a hunch based on the symptoms, Kelley had had blood drawn for IFA tests or indirect immunoflourescence assays. The IFA tests would show antibodies for a number of harmful microbes that might cause such symptoms. She’d been surprised when nothing unusual had shown up. Still, she had changed the medications, even increased the dosages within acceptable limits.

  Most of the patients had begun to improve. Not Mrs. Ahlers, or the elderly gentleman who had also developed pneumonia and died.

  Was there something she had overlooked? She sat very still and began to read Mrs. Ahlers’s file—every word.

  Until—“Mommy!”

  Her door was flung open. Jenny rushed in, arms outstretched in her pink blouse over rose-colored jeans.

  Behind her was Shawn Jameson. His shirt was beige, his jeans rugged blue and he wore his usual vest and cowboy boots. His lazy half grin suggested he was pleased to have given Kelley a delightful surprise—her daughter’s presence.

  And his. For Kelley couldn’t help the rush of pleasure that pulsed through her at the sight of the handsome childcare attendant whose presence filled her tiny office.

  “Hi, Jenny.” She gave her daughter a hug. “Hi, Shawn.”

  As his gaze swept over her, she felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the closeness in her office. She glanced down, wondering if she imagined the interest in his gaze. Surely there was nothing sexy about her dark skirt and white blouse. When she looked up again, Shawn’s eyes were not on her, but on the paperwork on her desk.

  Papers that were no longer supposed to exist.

  Oh, Lord. Trying to appear nonchalant, she swept the pages into the folder, then returned the folder to her desk drawer, which she locked.

  “So who wants to go to the cafeteria for orange juice?” she asked brightly, hoping she had time before her next patient arrived.

  “Me,” Jenny piped up.

  “Me, too,” Shawn said, but there was a strange look on his face.

  Kelley told herself she had mistaken the look as she left the room behind Shawn, her daughter’s hand in hers.

  Why would a childcare worker care about hospital files?

  SHAWN SIPPED HIS JUICE slowly, as if it were a screwdriver laced with vodka. And watched, across the table in the crowded, noisy cafeteria, lovely, auburn-haired Kelley Stanton in animated conversation with her daughter.

  Too animated. As if she realized that if she stopped talking, he might start asking questions.

  “And if you’d like,” she was saying loudly enough to be heard over the throngs of people grabbing afternoon snacks, “we can rent a movie this weekend.”

  “Okay, Mommy. A cartoon one. One with lots of an’mals in it, okay?” The little girl sat on the edge of her seat. She was dressed in a frilly pink outfit that day. She looked damn cute, with that big smile on her face.

  “Fine, sweetheart,” Kelley said. “Did you have enough juice?”

  “Yes. And we can invite Shawn to our house to watch the an’mals, too, okay?” Jenny’s face turned toward him, beaming.

  Kelley’s face turned toward him, too, but her smile held considerably less delight.

  Big surprise. But it bothered the heck out of him.

  Of course she wouldn’t extend the invitation. To her, he was a lowly day-care worker.

  Damn it all, the woman turned him on. Heat suffused through him as he surreptitiously looked at the slender curves outlined by her white blouse, her creamy, though pale, complexion.

  She was keeping secrets. That reminder cooled his ardor more quickly than chugging his ice-filled glass of juice.

  He had come to her office with Jenny because he’d figured she wouldn’t throw him out with her daughter there. He had been right. He’d come with planned questions, designed to keep him looking naively curious. But within them were a few zingers that could lead to answers he needed on fires and flu bugs.

  She hadn’t thrown him out, but she’d made it clear she wanted him gone. Fast.

  He had barely gotten a glimpse of the papers on her desk before she’d locked them in a drawer.

  One he would definitely get into. Soon.

  “Right, Shawn?” she asked.

  Damn. He hadn’t been paying attention. “Sorry.” He made himself appear abashed. “I was concentrating on my orange juice. What did you say?”

  “I said that Shawn is much too busy on weekends, when he’s not working, to have time to see a movie with us.” She looked at him levelly though her soft brown eyes seemed to contain a plea.

  “What does he do, Mommy?” Jenny piped before he could respond. “Does he draw an’mals then?”

  “Sometimes,” he told the child. “Sometimes I watch them. I especially like cartoons that have animals in them, don’t you?”

  “Me, too,” Jenny said.

  “Well, then,” Shawn said. “I heard there
’s an animated movie in theaters this week that stars a talking pig. Maybe all three of us can go see it.”

  “Yeaaay,” Jenny said, standing up and clapping.

  “What do you say, Mommy?” Shawn asked, looking at Kelley.

  He saw the trapped expression he’d anticipated pass quickly over her face. It was replaced by irritation, then…resignation?

  She did not give a direct reply. “We’ll see, honey.” As she gave Jenny a hug, she glared at Shawn as if daring him to say something else.

  He only smiled.

  “So, Shawn,” she said, as if to change the subject. “Where do you go to school?”

  “The University of Colorado.” Shawn extracted this part of his cover story from memory. “I’m majoring in child psychology.”

  “I’ve a friend in the psych department and know some other profs there. Who’s your favorite?”

  “My advisor is Dr. Wells. He’s a pretty cool guy. But my favorite is Professor Anderson. Her theories on child development make a lot of sense.” If Kelley asked what they were, he’d have an answer, though if she tried to dig too deep he’d have to change the subject.

  Good thing Colleen was thorough in preparing her agents for assignments. And if anyone contacted Professors Wells or Anderson, they would support his story.

  Of course, Shawn wasn’t especially pleased that Kelley had turned the tables and was now interrogating him.

  She was the one with things to hide.

  Of course, so was he….

  What could he ask, here and now, with Jenny present?

  “So Kelley,” he began, “I heard through the hospital grapevine that—”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, reaching down to pluck her pager from her pocket. “It’s vibrating me a reminder of a patient appointment. I have just enough time to walk Jenny back.”

  How convenient, Shawn thought. And how bogus.

  The only vibration she’d felt was likely her own skin, trembling because it was his turn to ask questions.

  The image of Kelley’s smooth, tantalizing skin trembling was nearly too much to bear. “Moron,” he muttered at himself as Kelley helped Jenny out of her seat. He had to clasp the icy orange juice glass in both hands before he could stand comfortably.

  KELLEY WALKED JENNY back to KidClub. Shawn, too.

  “See you later, Mommy,” Jenny called to her.

  “Yeah, see you later,” Shawn said.

  Kelley headed back to her office.

  The man acted brazenly. As if he were a member of the family.

  He hadn’t invited himself to join them that weekend. Jenny had done that. But hadn’t he realized it would be an imposition?

  And why the heck was Kelley looking forward to their potential outing when she hadn’t really agreed to it?

  She’d asked him a few questions, too, to cut him off before he’d been able to return the favor.

  But why didn’t she believe his responses?

  When she reached her office, her next patient had just arrived. Fortunately, it was a follow-up on a case from last week.

  She saw several other patients, forcing herself to concentrate, to make sure that she did everything correctly in their diagnosis and treatment. But in between patients, her mind kept racing.

  To Shawn Jameson. There was more to the man than a student working his way through school as a childcare worker. She was sure of it.

  Too bad she didn’t really know anyone in the UC psych department. Maybe she would call to ask about their grad student Shawn Jameson when she got the chance….

  But even if she confirmed he wasn’t a student, it wouldn’t answer the biggest question of all—why was he here?

  And why was he considering spending his free time with a little girl he saw every day and her divorced, rather boring mother? Never mind that she happened to find him too attractive. She wasn’t about to let that show.

  When she had sent her last patient on his way, Kelley sat back in her squeaking desk chair in her small office and thought.

  Not about Shawn Jameson, she instructed her mind.

  About Etta Borand and her claims that Kelley had prolonged her husband’s illness.

  About administrator Louis Paxler, who seemed to believe the woman. He should be behind Kelley, a doctor on staff at his hospital. But he clearly didn’t consider her much of a doctor.

  She thought about the other case she’d lost that day.

  About her ex-husband Randall and his innuendoes, broadcast by his lover and sycophant, nurse Cheryl Marten.

  And about the cases that had started it all—the Silver Rapids flu cases.

  It was time that she poured over the files minutely, to understand what had happened.

  Then she might be able to salvage her career.

  At the time of the flu outbreak, she’d considered a theory and forced herself to discard it—then. But a few weeks later, a call she’d gotten from a friend, Dr. Wilson Carpenter, had sent her mind careening down the path it had barely tiptoed toward before.

  Surely that possibility was too off-the-wall. She hadn’t even wanted to think about it. But she was thinking about it, especially now. And that meant she had to study every shred of evidence for clues to convince her that stress was driving her nuts. But what if she wasn’t crazy?

  On impulse, she lifted her phone and punched in a familiar number in Silver Rapids. A number that had grown even more familiar over the last weeks because she had called it so much.

  But had never gotten an answer.

  As usual, the phone rang. And rang. And—

  “Hello?” said a female voice.

  Kelley sat up straight in her chair. “Hello.” She clutched the receiver. “This is Dr. Kelley Stanton. I’m looking for Dr. Wilson Carpenter. Who am I speaking to, please?”

  “Oh, yes, Dr. Stanton. I got the messages you left on Wilson’s machine.”

  Then why didn’t you respond? Kelley wanted to ask. And who are you?

  “I’m Deidre Krafson,” the woman continued as if reading part of Kelley’s thoughts. “I’m the receptionist at the medical office next door to Dr. Carpenter’s, and my doctors asked me to keep an eye on things at Dr. Carpenter’s while he’s gone. I’m to refer medical questions to them and emergencies to the hospital.”

  “I see.” Obviously, Deidre’s instructions did not extend to getting back to a concerned friend. Kelley had been increasingly worried about Wilson and was sure her messages reflected it. It hadn’t helped that his last call to her had ended so abruptly, or that he hadn’t called back later to explain. “I’m glad I reached you now, Deidre. Do you know if Dr. Carpenter is all right? Where is he?”

  “I really don’t know. Who did you say this is?”

  Trying hard not to lose her patience, Kelley identified herself again. “I’m an old friend of Dr. Carpenter’s.”

  She had to talk to him. To understand what he’d tried to tell her. To run by him her own concerns, theories…and fears. He was the only one she could turn to now, for he was the only one likely to understand.

  Unless she could find proof.

  “Deidre, it’s urgent that I speak with Dr. Carpenter.”

  “Do you have a medical emergency?” the woman asked. “If so, you should go to your nearest emergency room, and—”

  “No!” Was she really that obtuse? Or was there some reason she feigned this ineptitude?

  Kelley shook her head. Maybe she was becoming paranoid, after all that had happened.

  “Sorry. No, I don’t have a medical emergency. It’s a…personal reason that it’s very, very important that I talk to Dr. Carpenter. Can you give me his phone number?”

  “I can’t tell you more. I don’t know where he is, and I don’t think my doctors do, either. They just got an e-mail from him, asking them to keep an eye on things.”

  “Then, please, at least give me his e-mail address.”

  “Sure.” Deidre rattled one off, then added, “But it won’t do you any good, either. Dr. Carpen
ter hasn’t responded to my doctors’ latest e-mails.”

  “Thanks, Deidre.” It was the same e-mail address she had for Wilson. He hadn’t responded to any of her electronic messages, either.

  Still, after hanging up, Kelley sent another e-mail to Wilson.

  But with a sinking sensation, she realized this was probably another dead end.

  Where are you, Wilson? her mind cried out. Are you all right?

  She was afraid she wouldn’t like the answer.

  Chapter Six

  Shawn waited until long past midnight to slip into the medical building adjoining Gilpin Hospital. The hospital staff might still be tending insomniac patients and emergencies, but no civilian would have an appointment at a doctor’s office to have an ingrown toenail checked out or a wart removed.

  He moved stealthily up stairs and down dimmed halls until he reached the sign that read, “Kelley Stanton, M.D., Internal Medicine.” Of course the door was locked.

  Of course that didn’t keep him out.

  Nor did he have any trouble opening her bottom desk drawer. He’d been a P.I. long enough to have lock picks for nearly every occasion.

  But what did frustrate him was that, except for a checkbook, the drawer was empty. It wasn’t checks he’d seen Kelley fumble with when he barged into her office with Jenny. She was hiding something, and he’d intended to learn what it was.

  “Damn!” He closed the drawer.

  He inspected the rest of the desk inside and out, thumbed through random folders in the file cabinet, but found nothing noteworthy. Scowling, he let himself back out of the office.

  What had she done with the stuff?

  At least being here this late wouldn’t be a total waste. He had one more stop to make.

  He headed for the administrative wing. As part of the hospital building, it was more likely to be occupied even at that hour. Fortunately, he ran into no one in the deserted corridors. But he waited near the entrance to KidClub, listening just in case. Once certain he was alone, he entered the burned-out records room.