Page 22 of Booked for Kidnapping

“I have business, business casual, and formal attire,” I assured him. “Which is ideal?”

“Business,” he replied. “It’s a popular spot for us to talk business, as every table in the restaurant is a semi-private booth.”

“That sounds wonderful. What day and time?”

“Do you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow evening?”

I checked, sighing to discover someone had added an appointment with Dr. Mansfield. I suspected Bradley as the primary culprit, as the sole person who knew my foot needed work because of the infection I’d purged. “My appointment ends at three, so I should be back home and ready by four.”

“I’ll pick you up at five. May I have your address?”

I gave him my apartment’s address, made a note in the calendar I would be busy from five to eight, with a note my appointment might last longer, and I shared it with everyone so they’d know I would be busy. Five minutes after Bradley’s phone notified him of my addition, he would be calling to confirm I wouldn’t be doing anything dangerous. To limit the concern, I described the event as speaking to a library donor at a dinner meeting.

My boss would be proud of me.

“I shall see you tomorrow at five, then. Have a good night, Janette.”

“You too, Senator.” I hung up, and I turned my attention to my next job, which involved learning everything I could about Senator Westonhaus and why he wanted to speak with me in person.

FIVE

You’re not just an exsanguinator.

Dr. Mansfield needed to work as a police interrogator. Bradley had given her just enough intel to hang me with, and after a short but brief dispute, which she won, she discovered my fiancé had opted to unlock the bracelet so I could break her rules. That earned me a twenty-minute scolding, although the scolding resulted in a proper examination of my foot using my talent to help make sure the infection packed its bags and left.

We both compromised, and she agreed to leave the bracelet unlocked as long as I agreed to only turn it off three times a day to manage the infection properly, rather than attempt to use my various organs as an untraditional storage method for impurities in my blood. Then, as my day could always get worse, she gave me a prescription, one with the slimy, creepy feeling I disliked—and had polluted Senator Maybelle’s blood.

“You’re not just an exsanguinator, you know,” my doctor announced while rattling the pill bottle at me. I’d learned when she rattled the bottle, she meant business, and good patients listened when she meant business.

“Really? I’ll take anything at this point. Any other talent than just exsanguination.”

“Your ability to sense how a drug will interact with the human body is a mending talent. I suspect you are a mid-range mender who uses exsanguination as the foundation of your mending work. I’ve been thinking about the shooting, and I’ve been talking with pure exsanguinators confirmed to lack any other talents. Then I spoke with some other menders, and I found a match in a chemist. The chemist uses their mending talent to learn how drugs might react in the body without testing on live humans, and he has just enough of an exsanguination talent to be able to address some of the bloodwork problems. You have a far stronger exsanguination talent, but you have a weaker mending talent. I think you’re instinctively doing that. The pure exsanguinators I spoke to are also unsure they could mimic how you save lives. Some think they can do similar, but you have a far more refined level of control than they do. I suspect your mending abilities are helping you. You’re essentially the perfect healer for anything involving the circulatory system.”

“Am I?” I considered her words, wondering what it would change for me. From the first time I’d done a shift in the ER, I’d decided saving lives appealed far more than taking them, although I could kill with a mere thought. I worked hard to make sure I never put myself in a position I might accidentally harm someone. “Does that mean you won’t hang me from the rafters when I check on my foot more often than you like?”

“As long as you aren’t trying to oxygenate your blood outside of actual emergencies, I’ll look the other way. However, I want you to call a mender friend of mine over in Europe for some lessons. And I expect you to take your medications as required.”

“What do they do?” I asked, aware I’d earn another round of rattling.

To my surprise, she put the prescription bottle in my purse. “It’s a low dose of anxiety medication, as your fiancé has reported you’re likely suffering from low-grade generalized anxiety. That sort of stress will hamper your ability to heal. The slimy feeling you dislike is from the beta blocker class of medications. Dr. Liegersen confirmed your description of the medication is typical of menders detecting beta blockers. Try one in the morning tomorrow and see how you feel. With this one, you’ll notice a difference right away if it’s going to help you. If you don’t notice a difference or it has side effects that don’t work for you, we can look at other options. Alternatively, you can go to more therapy to address the core problems. Ideally, you’ll do both.”

“If you feel it’s necessary.”

“I do, especially after having spoken to Mr. Hampton about some of your general habits, which are fairly stereotypical in those suffering from anxiety. Most of the habits are often ignored, as it doesn’t look like what people associate with anxiety.”

“Like?”

“Fixations on certain habits is a good example of an anxiety-driven behavior. Food, for example, is often comforting, so some anxiety patients resist trying new foods. You definitely have a fixation on Chinese. From my understanding of the situation, you have a lot of good associations with Chinese food from when you lived with the Hamptons. Every time you got it, you had won a little victory against the Hampton family routine.”

Huh. I could readily believe that. “I am going to a business dinner tonight to a eat a food I’ve never tried before. Does that count as my progress for the week?”

“Absolutely. Leaving your comfort zone without suffering from anxiety over having done so is ideal. And if you do feel anxious over something, let your fiancé know. He’s been talking with a therapist to help his personal problems and get support so he can better help you, too.”

I had more than a few reasons to fret, although I’d keep her advice in mind. “Okay. So, are you going to cut my foot off this session?” I teased.

“Get out of my office,” my doctor ordered with a laugh.

I made it home a little after three, chuckled at the note Bradley had left, which consisted of a playful accusation of abandonment, informing me he’d find some way to consume all of my favorite foods without me. His side note, which involved a curse at milk, turned my chuckles into full-fledged laughter. Satisfied he would be off somewhere for most of the night, probably dealing with his mother’s restrictive diet, I took a bath, got dressed in my best business clothes, and fed Ajani, who accepted my attention without leaving half her fur on my attire.