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Aiden’s chuckle isn’t forced and it reminds me that he’s a nice guy. I haven’t been able to think of him the same since E.J. was admitted. It’s hard not to think of it as a political decision. The check was big enough, so he let the rules slide for her.
Whoever has her here, with her information hidden, they want her alive and taken care of. I guess that’s all that matters.
I watch him leave, waving at Mel who’s counting pills that go into each of the little cups behind the half wall with a windowpane for the upper half.
Just as I’m returning the clipboard, I get that nagging prick that someone’s watching me on the back of my neck and instead of being quiet about it, I whip around quickly, fear gripping my heart in a cold vise that chills my body.
The back of a black hoodie and dark jeans disappears behind the corner to the hall where my patients are.
I don’t like it. Not the look of him or the feeling that resonates in my gut. Grabbing the sign-in sheet for a half second, I don’t see a new name. No one signed in recently and I know every name on this list. Every single one. His name isn’t here and it damn well should be.
My strides are purposeful as I round the corner.
“Excuse me,” I call out, eager to get to the man as he nears the very end of the hall. He stops between the doors that lead to either Melody or E.J.
When he turns around, he tilts his head questioningly and a thin scar on his chin shines from the fluorescent lights above us.
“Do you mind signing in, please?” I ask him cordially, through an innate dread that creeps along every inch of my skin. He’s handsome, although rough around the edges. Something about him… my soul doesn’t like him.
“Yeah, yeah,” the guy says as he smiles at me, and it’s a charming smile, with perfect teeth. It makes him look younger too, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He scratches his chin, at the scar, maybe in an attempt to hide it. “This way?” he questions me, urging me to walk with him and I don’t want to. The need to check on both the patients beyond those doors rides me harder than anything else in this moment. He was headed to one of them.
It’s then that I realize it’s quiet, there’s no one else here. No patients on their way to the game room or the library. No visitors other than this man in the lone hall and every door down this way is closed.
“Yes. Let me show you,” I speak politely, hiding everything I’m feeling and brushing aside my nerves. I feel paranoid. Shaking my head, I breathe out in exasperation.
“Something I said?” the visitor asks. His blondish hair is long enough that it tousles as he walks next to me.
“No, sorry. Just something I was thinking about before I saw you.” I direct him to the clipboard, picking up the pen and holding it out to him. He takes it, but not quickly enough. His slender fingers linger. Standing this close to him, I note that he’s taller than me. He doesn’t carry a lot of weight to him, but he’s lean and toned.
The cords in his throat tense when he says, “Thank you.”
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I only nod.
“Who are you here for?” I ask him when I see he’s only filled out his name. Jacob something. I can’t quite read his last name from this angle.
“Just checking on a friend is all,” he says softly, with a hint of an accent although I can’t place it. Southern, maybe?
I’m stern but still polite, still kind even, when I explain, “You have to write—”
“Laura.” I’m cut off by a familiar voice.
Officer Walsh nods a greeting at Jacob, and then apologizes for interrupting. After looking at the silver watch, which looks expensive and doesn’t match the read I got on Jacob, the visitor who never said who he was visiting, tells Officer Walsh it’s all right and he has to get back to work anyway.
I watch the man go, not listening to a damn word coming from Officer Walsh.
“Do you know him?” I ask the man to my left, a police officer who should have the kind of sense about a person that I’ve learned to have.
He blinks at me once, his thick lashes covering those pale blue eyes for a moment before his brow raises and he catches sight of the black hoodie just as the elevator doors close.
“Should I?” Officer Walsh asks me.
I debate on telling him the thoughts that are racing through my mind. “Did he do something?” Officer Walsh asks, widening his stance to face me and moving his head lower so he cuts off my view of the elevator doors.
