After swishing my tongue around my mouth to loosen up my words, I reply, “Only a couple of weeks.”
Dr. Franklin grunts before murmuring, “Good. It will make this much more pleasant.”
While he moves to a locked filing cabinet in the far corner of his office, I head for his desk. I rest my hip onto the edge of the massive carved wood design before folding my arms in front of my chest like I’m bored. His desk is spotlessly clean, but there are some telltale objects that announce most of his business practices are done from home. Patients’ files are stacked next to a computer logged into Mercer Private’s mainframe. It is next to a pair of stethoscopes and a machine that looks oddly similar to the portable ultrasound monitor Dr. Falgar used on Demi.
I stop inconspicuously seeking Demi’s name on the patient medical records when Dr. Franklin asks a second sickening question. “How old is the patient?”
Known for pushing people outside of their comfort zones, I answer, “Nineteen.”
I wait for him to flinch, glower, or take a moment to consider the fact he is the equivalent of scum on the bottom of the ocean. He does no such thing. He twists his lips, shrugs, then mutters, “Maestro does like them young. He just better hope Rimi doesn’t find out. He doesn’t let anyone touch the merchandise.”
I choke on my spit. “Dimi?” I ask, certain I heard him wrong. That’s the nickname those close to Dimitri use.
As his brows pull together, Dr. Franklin shakes his head. “No, I said Rimi.” He steps closer to me, his stride as uneased as his facial expression when I lift my head enough he catches the color of my eyes. “What did you say your name was again?”
Busted!
“I didn’t.Thismade it unnecessary to exchange salutations.” I toss five one-thousand-dollar bundles onto his desk before fully raising my head. My back is facing the security camera, so even with my cover being blown by Dr. Franklin, I’m not worried about further prosecution. His equipment is as ancient as Agent Moses’s. I highly doubt it has sound-capturing capabilities.
When Dr. Franklin lunges toward his desk—to secure a weapon, not my money—I pull out the gun I stuffed down my trousers partway here. Only a fool would enter a gun battle with their fists at the ready. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Dr. Franklin drops his half-filled prescription pad to the floor before stepping back with his hands held in the air. “None of the drugs are kept here—”
“I’m not here for narcotics.”
He must see something on my face I didn’t mean to express. “Who?”
I can’t give common sense the chance to speak. I can hear the stomp of a man’s boots in the distance. I have thirty seconds if I’m lucky. “Demi Petretti.”
Dr. Franklin tries to act insolent. His endeavors are borderline.
“Have you heard of her before?”
He gives flattery a go. “Who hasn’t? Everyone this side of the country knows of the Petrettis.”
“NotthePetrettis.” Sweat beads at his temples when I raise my gun from his stomach to his chest. “Demi.Specifically.”
When he shakes his head, I aim my gun at the crinkle between his brows. “One accidental twitch, and you’ll be dead.”
It dawns on me things occur a lot sooner when you use violence instead of reason. I’ve barely curled my finger around the trigger when Dr. Franklin blubbers like a narc, “She came to me desperate for an untraceable prescription of misoprostol.”
“Bullshit!” I yell, my voice a roar.
“It’s true,” he replies just as loudly. “She couldn’t have her uncle finding out she was pregnant. If she had gone through his men for a solution to her predicament, he would have found out.”
“You’re lying. She was with me the entire time.”She also wanted our baby as much as me, but since I can’t say that out loud, I keep it locked up inside of me like a vault.
Dr. Franklin shakes his head. “She came to me. She sat right there.” He points to the chair across from his desk, hoping it will distract me from the lies I see in his eyes. “I have the details she gave me.”
With my head murky with confusion, I allow him to move toward the stack of patient files on his desk. It is stupid for me to do. He wasn’t moving for a weapon earlier. He wanted the distress button under his desk—the exact button that sounds an alarm a good three seconds before my boot forces him away from it.
As the stomps charging my way double in loudness, Dr. Franklin sails across the room. He lands on top of an open filing cabinet drawer with a groan. With how hot my blood is with annoyance, I’m tempted to act as if I am as immoral as Col and Dimitri. I wouldn’t hesitate if I didn’t have a million questions still to ask. I’ve also run out of time. A security officer with thick biceps and an angry scowl is blocking the doorway of Dr. Franklin’s office, leaving me no choice but to exit via the open window on my left.
My lungs heave from exhaustion when I run across the dewy ground to the Buick. I slip into the driver’s seat and crank the ignition in under ten seconds. Gravel kicks up beneath the Buick’s tires before they rocket down the driveway. Their brutal crunch along with the pounding of my pulse should drown out everything else, so you can imagine my shock when I hear Dr. Franklin shout for the guards to let me go.
Who does that?
Who in their right mind lets a maniac who pulled a gun on them go free?
