Page 227 of Toxic Temptation
The realization makes me want to vomit all over the pristine hospital floors.
I check my watch. 11:30 A.M. Jeremy won’t be here for another hour, and his secretary Mandy is notorious for taking long lunch breaks. If I’m going to do this, it has to be now.
My hands shake as I wait outside Jeremy’s office, watching Mandy gather her purse and coat. She’s a mousy woman in her fifties who’s worked for Jeremy for over a decade. The kind of person who follows orders without asking questions.
“Going to lunch, Dr. Fairfax?” she asks as she passes me in the hallway.
“Just finishing some paperwork,” I lie smoothly.
The moment she disappears around the corner, I’m moving. My keycard shouldn’t work on Jeremy’s office, but hospital security has always been laughably inadequate. I swipe it anyway, holding my breath.
The lock clicks open.
“This is insane,” I whisper, slipping inside and closing the door behind me.
Jeremy’s office is exactly what you’d expect from a man who values appearances over substance. Mahogany desk, leather chairs, diplomas covering every inch of wall space. Everything designed to intimidate and impress.
I rush to his desk and start yanking open drawers. If he’s smart, everything incriminating will be password-protected on his computer. But Jeremy Fleming has never struck me as particularly brilliant—just cunning and shameless enough to manipulate his way to the top.
The first three drawers contain nothing but office supplies and expired medications. The fourth is locked.
“Shit.” I dig through the desk supplies until I find a letter opener, then jam it into the lock mechanism. It takes three tries, but eventually, something gives way with a satisfying click.
Inside are manila folders. Dozens of them, organized by date. I grab the most recent one and flip it open.
Patient names. Reference numbers. Nothing else.
I scan the list, my blood freezing in my veins when I spot a familiar name near the bottom.
Leo Sawyer.
I pick it up and start leafing through. But I don’t get far before something catches my eye in the uppermost corner. A stamp. It looks like a crest of some sort, nothing I’ve ever seen before. But in the middle of the crest is something I do remember. Something Ihavecome across, whispered about in shadowy corners, brushed over, swept out of sight, repressed.
One word.
Five letters.
Keres.
“Did you find what you’re looking for, Doctor?”
I spin around so fast that the folder goes flying, papers scattering across Jeremy’s Persian rug. Standing in the doorway is the last person I want to see.
Ihor Makhova.
His eyes are hooded, face gaunt, hair thin and swept back over his skull. He lookswrongsomehow, like a skinwalker. Like someone reanimated a dead man and is going around committing atrocities in the costume of a corpse.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to be brave.
“Mandy called me the moment you walked in here.” He steps into the office and closes the door behind him. “Loyal woman, that Mandy. Been on our payroll for years.”
Ourpayroll. It doesn’t take a genius to start seeing the bigger picture.
“You and Jeremy,” I say. “You’re partners.”
Ihor chuckles, a sound like dragging a saw over concrete. “No, no, of course not. Partners implies equality. Jeremy is an employee. A useful one, but still just another cog in my machine.”
I back up until I hit the file cabinet, trapped between Ihor and the wall. “What machine?”
