Chapter 2 - The Doctor Who Watched Too CloselyThe bathroom lock held.
Barely.
The brass handle twisted again as Dr. Pierce tested it from the hallway.
“Martha?”
His voice sounded pleasant.
That somehow made it worse.
“Open the door.”
Maxwell looked at me and spoke loudly enough for Pierce to hear.
“She was helping me transfer.”
A pause.
“Why was the door locked?”
“Because I told her to lock it.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Maxwell’s eyes stayed fixed on mine.
He had gone from frightened patient to mafia boss in three seconds.
Even sitting half-dressed in a wheelchair, he controlled the room.
“Open it now,” Pierce said.
Maxwell nodded toward me.
I unlocked the door.
Dr. Everett Pierce entered first.
He was probably sixty, silver-haired, lean, and expensive-looking in the way old-money doctors sometimes were.
Behind him stood Vera Delaney.
Head housekeeper.
Personal attendant.
Professional smile.
She was holding Maxwell’s medication tray.
Pierce glanced at me.
Then at the tub.
Then Maxwell’s legs.
Too quickly.
But I noticed.
“What happened?” he asked.
“The water was too hot,” I said.
Delaney frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
“My wrist disagrees.”
“I checked the temperature.”
“With what?”
Her lips tightened.
Maxwell interrupted.
“Martha noticed it before I did.”
Pierce’s expression softened.
“Of course she did. You have no sensation below the injury.”
I watched him.
He watched Maxwell’s legs again.
“Any spasms today?”
There it was.
Too casual.
Maxwell didn’t hesitate.
“No.”
Pierce looked at me.
“Nothing?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
He studied me for several uncomfortable seconds.
Then smiled.
“Good.”
Good.
Not unfortunate.
Not expected.
Good.
Something about that single word stayed with me.
Delaney placed two pills and a glass of water on the nightstand after we moved into Maxwell’s bedroom.
“Your afternoon medication.”
Maxwell picked them up.
I watched Pierce.
Pierce watched Maxwell.
Maxwell put both pills on his tongue and drank.
Only I saw what happened next.
As Delaney turned away, Maxwell lowered his hand to the blanket.
One white tablet appeared between two fingers.
He had swallowed only one.
I said nothing.
Pierce performed a quick examination.
Blood pressure.
Pupils.
Breathing.
Then he tapped Maxwell’s knees.
No obvious response.
But Maxwell’s right hand clenched slightly against the chair arm.
“What?” Pierce asked.
“Nothing.”
“You tense?”
“I’m tired.”
Pierce straightened.
“You need rest.”
He turned toward me.
“And you need to return downstairs.”
Maxwell answered before I could.
“She stays.”
Delaney looked startled.
Pierce looked worse.
“Martha isn’t trained as your personal attendant.”
“She noticed a dangerous bath temperature that my trained attendant missed.”
Delaney flushed.
“Mr. Rourke—”
“Enough.”
The room went silent.
Maxwell’s voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
“Martha works upstairs now.”
My mouth opened.
So did Delaney’s.
Pierce recovered first.
“That may not be wise.”
“Fortunately, you’re my physician. Not my staffing manager.”
A beat passed.
Pierce smiled.
“As you wish.”
But his eyes had gone cold.
They left five minutes later.
Maxwell waited until the hallway became silent.
Then waited another thirty seconds.
Finally he opened his palm.
The second tablet rested there.
“Do you recognize it?”
I took it carefully.
“No markings.”
“It’s supposed to be baclofen.”
“Your muscle relaxer?”
“Yes.”
I frowned.
“No imprint at all?”
“The pharmacy pills usually have one.”
“You know that?”
“I’ve had fourteen months to stare at pills.”
Fair point.
“Don’t throw it away.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“We need it tested.”
His gaze moved toward me.
“We?”
I sighed.
“You promoted me against my will.”
“You could quit.”
“You know I need the money.”
“And you know I need someone Pierce doesn’t control.”
I looked toward the closed door.
“You trust me after six days?”
“No.”
“Comforting.”
“I trust what I saw on your face when my foot moved.”
“What did you see?”
“Concern before opportunity.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
My previous employer had looked at me very differently.
After the medication error, people had whispered that I was careless.
Then incompetent.
Then dangerous.
Nobody asked how an unopened dosage pack carrying someone else’s initials had ended up in my medication cart.
Nobody cared.
I’d made the final mistake.
That was all the licensing board saw.
Maxwell seemed to read something in my expression.
“What happened at Bayview?”
I stiffened.
“You already read my file.”
“I read the official version.”
“That’s the only version anybody wanted.”
“I’m asking for yours.”
I almost laughed.
“The terrifying Maxwell Rourke wants to hear my side?”
“I have experience with official versions being incomplete.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then told him.
Resident named Eleanor Price.
Seventy-nine.
Blood pressure medication.
Wrong dose.
Collapse.
Emergency room.
She survived, but I was blamed for administering a medication pack that should never have been in my cart.
“The nurse who stocked it?” Maxwell asked.
“Denied touching it.”
“Cameras?”
“Conveniently malfunctioned.”
“Supervisor?”
“Signed a statement saying I’d been distracted.”
“Were you?”
“I was working a double because two aides called out.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I appreciated that.
“No.”
He nodded slowly.
“You believe you were set up.”
“I believe somebody made a mistake and let me take the fall.”
“Different thing.”
“Maybe.”
“Names.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because I dislike coincidences.”
“What coincidence?”
“Bayview Rehabilitation was purchased nine months ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“By who?”
“One of Everett Pierce’s investment groups.”
I went still.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“No.”
Maxwell leaned back.
“But it means I’m interested.”
Before I could answer, the bedroom door opened.
A tall man in a charcoal suit stepped inside without knocking.
He looked about forty-five and carried himself like he owned part of the house.
Maybe he did.
“Max.”
Maxwell’s face became unreadable.
“Julian.”
Julian Rourke.
Maxwell’s younger cousin.
Chief financial officer of Rourke Holdings.
The newspapers called him the public face of the company after Maxwell’s accident.
Julian glanced at me.
His smile was warm.
His eyes weren’t.
“New help?”
“New upstairs attendant.”
“That’s sudden.”
“So was finding out Delaney nearly boiled me.”
Julian’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“Nothing serious.”
Maxwell sounded deliberately casual.
I understood immediately.
He was testing him.
Julian moved closer.
“Pierce checked you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“No change.”
Relief.
Tiny.
Instant.
But unmistakable.
Julian smiled again.
“I’m sorry, Max.”
Maxwell looked at me.
I could tell he’d seen it too.
Julian walked toward the windows.
“There’s a board meeting Friday. We need your signature authorizing me to negotiate the Port Arden acquisition.”
“No.”
Julian turned.
“We discussed this.”
“You discussed it.”
“The company can’t keep waiting for you to recover.”
There was something ugly beneath the concern.
Maxwell’s jaw hardened.
“I said no.”
Julian exhaled.
“Eventually, you’re going to have to accept reality.”
“What reality is that?”
“That some things aren’t coming back.”
The silence became dangerous.
Julian looked down at Maxwell’s motionless legs.
My skin prickled.
He wasn’t just talking about business.
A phone vibrated in my apron.
Nobody in that house had my number except the staffing office and my mother.
I pulled it out.
Unknown sender.
One photograph.
My stomach dropped.
It showed me kneeling beside Maxwell’s bathtub twenty minutes earlier.
The angle came from above.
From inside the bathroom.
Beneath the photograph was one sentence.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE WATER HOT.
I looked up slowly.
May you like
Someone had been watching us.
And whoever sent the message knew exactly what Maxwell’s foot had done.
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