“Yeah. Uh-huh. You gonna give me them Vicodins or not?”
“I’d like to do an ultrasound.”
Celeste shook her head. The simmering fury on the woman’s face warned that CJ wouldn’t be getting anything else from her. Truth was, CJ couldn’t blame her. “Okay.” Providing her with some relief was the least CJ could do. “Let me see what we have on hand. But if the pain persists, I’d like you to come back on Friday for that ultrasound.”
“Whatever.” Celeste didn’t look at her.
There were more patients in the lobby. CJ would just keep asking questions until she got the answers she needed.
Or until Tyrone found out what she was up to and stopped her.
He, of all people, should know that stopping her would be easier said than done.
6:35 p.m.
CJ didn’t lock up until she’d seen the last patient, even if they’d showed after closing time.
She collapsed into one of the ugly molded plastic chairs and rested her head in her hands.
The quality of life in the village was unspeakable. She’d known it. She’d grown up here. But seven years away had faded the worst memories from her mind. On the rare occasions when she’d come home, Shelley had made it a point to conceal as much of her life from CJ as possible.
Instead of complaining to Shelley, why hadn’t she asked real questions?
Instead of making demands, why hadn’t she listened?
A rap on the door jerked her from the troubling thoughts.
CJ was exhausted. She pushed to her feet. But if there was someone else who needed medical care, that was why she was here. And maybe, just maybe, she would learn something more.
She dragged to the window and split the blinds to see who was out there before unlocking the door. Some old habits were instinctive.
A man, ragged clothes, disheveled hair, waited at the door. He turned slightly as she watched. Blood stained the front of his shirt. Her pulse thumped. She surveyed the parking lot and didn’t see anyone else, which indicated the blood had likely come from him. No vehicle. He’d apparently walked from one of the village streets. Muggings and fights, usually over women or drugs, were an everyday affair.
She rushed to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. “You’re injured?” The idea that he could have left someone injured and had come here for assistance flashed through her mind.
“It hurts bad.” He pressed a hand to his chest, grimaced.
“Come on.” She ushered him inside and down the corridor to one of the examining rooms. “Take off your shirt.” She washed her hands and grabbed a pair of gloves. The usual adrenaline dump seared through her veins.
A hand clamped over her mouth. She reached up. A cold blade pressed against her throat. Fear bloomed in her chest even as his overwhelming body odor filled her lungs.
“All I want is the drugs,” he growled against her ear. “Don’t give me no trouble and there won’t be none.”
His breath was rancid. She nodded her understanding. Told herself to stay calm.
Slowly she sidled toward the door with him in tow. The knife blade burned her skin as they moved, piercing the outer layer of epidermis. As they shuffled awkwardly along the corridor toward the supply room, her thoughts raced.
Should she go for the pepper spray? She’d tucked it into the pocket of her lab coat this morning. Just in case. But she’d dropped her guard as the day progressed without incident.
She should never have allowed complacency to slip in.
Nothing she could do about that now. She had to think. Make a new plan.
Her hands were free. She could go for it.
As if he’d read her mind, the pressure on the knife blade increased.
At the supply room door she stalled.
