Page 25 of Healing the Heart

“I’ll try,” Fiona agreed. “But now I really must go, or I’ll be late for my next client.”

Sweet, spontaneous Esme hugged her goodbye. “I’m so glad we ran into you, Fiona.”

“We’ll let you go. I have to get back, too.” Val linked arms with her much taller friend, and, much brighter than when they’d arrived, they smiled and waved while walking away.

Chapter 7

Reluctant Participants

IN A CUBICLE IN ANoffice shared by the field PIs and security specialists, Noah’s hands stilled on the keyboard as he squinted at his notes.

“Is that an eight or a five?” he muttered, turning his head from side to side.

He’d written it and still couldn’t make it out. Which was one of two reasons he was keying in his own time sheet and expenses. Usually the clerical staff performed the task, but he was a month past the deadline, and no one could read hisprescription pad chicken scratch, as the office manager called it.

Jenny, their anal-retentive drill sergeant of a manager, hand selected by Keiran and Eric specifically for those qualities, didn’t realize her insult was outdated. It had been years, probably a decade at least, since he’d actually handwritten a prescription. Nowadays, everything was digital to prevent medication errors caused by penmanship-challenged doctors like him.

“Damn paperwork,” he grunted, closing his burning eyes as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed the kink in his neck. Whether at the hospital, his clinic, or at Rossi, it was a necessary evil to cover everyone’s ass and pay the bills. But he hated every minute of it because it wasted time better spent on something productive.

Guessing the unknown number was a five—and the least impactful for the client if he was wrong—Noah hit print, logged off the computer, and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his neck.

“Doc. You’re here!”

He cracked open one eye. Valerie Dupree stood in the doorway. Esme Finnegan peeked over her shoulder, smiling, albeit nervously.

“Tell me you came to rescue me from this drudgery, Esme.”

“I wish I could, but I’m not working today, Doc. Besides, I can’t read your chicken scratch either.”

He sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“I dictate my notes, so there’s no question,” Val offered helpfully.

Why hadn’t he thought of that? He dictated his surgical reports all the time. He wanted to kick himself but told her, instead, “That’s a great idea. I’ll do that.”

When they didn’t move along, he asked, “Is there something I can do for you ladies?”

“It’s more like what we can do for you,” came Esme’s cryptic reply.

“Care to explain?” he asked, skewering Val with a quizzical look when the redhead nudged her in the side.

“We’ve found you a match,” she exclaimed.

“Excuse me?”

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