Page 108 of Tasting Fire
27
Cash didn’t feelas if their chit-chat with Windell Owens had netted them much and his mood must’ve reflected it, because Emmy stayed quiet as they drove toward Charlotte. Finally, she said, “Oliver isn’t a gamer. He wouldn’t know an FPS from the FBI.”
“You don’twanthim to be behind all this.”
“Of course, I don’t.”
“Because you still have feelings for him?”
“No, because I’m proud enough not to relish the thought of having dated a man who’s capable of all this. If the fire was arson, that’s attempted murder. If I slept in the same bed with a murderer… How do you think that makes me feel?”
Probably as disgusted and angry as Cash did. He took Emmy’s hand and squeezed it. “Point made.”
The hospital where Amory was working was downtown, and Charlotte traffic was a snarl of four-by-fours, SUVs, and family sedans all the way. They finally turned into the underground parking garage three and a half hours after leaving Steele Ridge. Then they had to circle three levels deep to find a space for his truck.
He’d been white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire drive, and not because he was stressed about the traffic. But because he doubted his ability to keep both fists out of Amory’s pretty boy face.
“Maybe I should go in by myself,” Emmy suggested.
“I’m doing my best not to lose my shit here, Em. Don’t wave a red flag like that in front of my face.”
“I’m not trying to antagonize you. But Oliver might be more forthcoming if I—”
He didn’t even wait to hear the rest of her reasoning. Just stepped out of the truck, went around, and opened her door. Waited silently for her to join him.
When they stopped at the first-floor nurses’ station, a frazzled young woman in Looney Tunes scrubs absently told them Dr. Amory could be found on the sixth level.
Emmy was a lot more patient than Cash was. She waited at the upstairs desk for close to five minutes before someone finally stopped moving long enough to ask her if she needed help. She flashed a smile and said, “I’m Dr. Emerson McKay, a former colleague of Dr. Amory’s. I heard he was in town and wanted to surprise him. Can you tell me where I can find him?”
“Probably in one of the empty isolation rooms. The doctors don’t know that we know they go in there and take naps.”
“And where is that?”
“Down that way. Second hallway to your left, last door on your right.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Not so fast.” Cash caught Emmy’s arm as she headed in the direction she’d been given. “He could be dangerous. And what if he tries to bolt?”
“That’s why you’ll be standing by the door.”
“I don’t like it,” he grumbled.
“Objection recorded and filed.”
And when they strolled through a vestibule and into a patient room, three white-coated doctors were kicked back in rolling desk chairs, their feet up on a bed. Two were snoring and Amory was doing some creepy mumbling and heavy breathing in his sleep. These fuckers wouldn’t make it five minutes in the back of an ambulance.
Emmy shook one of them awake and said, “Dr. Smith, they’ve been paging you to pediatrics.”
The man snuffled, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and stared at Emmy’s chest. “Huh?”
“You’re needed in the pediatric wing.”
“But I’m—”
“Now,” Emmy said in such a don’t-fuck-with-me voice that Cash wanted to smile.
Dr. Smith hurried by Cash, and Emmy moved on to the next one. “Dr. Cartwell, the nurses are looking for you.”
