by V.K. Sykes
Parked in the off-loading zone, Nate spotted Holly rushing through the sliding glass doors of the Cardiac Center’s front entrance. She’d called him ten minutes earlier and asked him if he was feeling good enough to pick her up. Her voice had sounded thin and strained. When he asked what was wrong, she’d said she’d explain when she saw him. Painful shoulder aside, he’d jumped into his car and raced to PCH. He didn’t want her hanging around and waiting for him if something was bothering her.
As she got in and grabbed for the seat belt, she shot him a little frown. “Nate Carter, do you ever park this car legally?”
He gave her a quick inspection, noting the pale complexion and the weary look around her eyes. “Only under extreme duress,” he replied, trying to lighten her up. He gunned the car out of the driveway and into the traffic.
She squinted and pulled the sun visor down. The sun was low in the sky and slanting directly into her face. “You can be such a brat sometimes.”
He grinned at her. “I like it when you insult me. Kind of turns me on. Weird isn’t it?”
She gave a half-hearted chuckle. “You said it, not me.” But then she sighed. “Sorry, big guy. I’m not capable of witty repartee tonight. At least not right now.” She turned her head away and stared out the side window.
Now he really started to worry. Holly always laughed at his dumb jokes, but now she was wound up drum-tight, every muscle in her body rigid. “What’s wrong, babe? The way you came through those doors, I didn’t know whether you were ready to cry or kick some ass.”
“Maybe both. Actually, I’m pretty much a complete mess. Do you mind if we wait a few minutes before I fill you in? Let’s go somewhere and grab a stiff drink. I need one.”
“Sure,” he said, even though he hated having to wait to hear what the hell was going on. But she obviously needed some time to chill out, so he’d just have to be patient. “Angelo’s?”
She shook her head. “I know you love that joint, but a sports bar isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I need somewhere quiet and relaxing. How about the Four Seasons?”
He’d taken her to that hotel’s Swann Lounge on their third date. “You got it.”
Even with a bit of traffic, the trip took barely more than five minutes. Holly didn’t say a word. Instead, she gazed out the window, her back mostly turned to him. The sight of her in such distress—and shutting him out—drove him nuts, but he let her be.
They pulled up under the Four Seasons portico. He got out and flipped the keys to a valet, then put his arm around Holly’s waist as he ushered her inside. She still didn’t speak, and her body felt stiff to his touch.
The Swann Lounge was on the upstairs lobby level. A dozen or so men and women in expensive suits gathered around the bar, probably lawyers relaxing after a long day of over-billing clients. One of the guys nodded in his direction and whispered something to the woman next to him. She twisted around and looked at Nate, then gave him an overtly seductive smile. He returned the come-on with a terse nod as she raked her eyes over him, letting her gaze linger.
He glanced down at his faded jeans and rugby shirt. Seriously underdressed for the Four Seasons. Not that he cared. His gold card was as good as anybody’s, and better than most.
With a gentle touch at her waist, he steered Holly toward the fireplace. Miraculously, no one had taken the seating in front of it. A gas fire blazed, warming the overly air-conditioned room. A server came right away, and they ordered Knob Creek on the rocks.
Holly settled into her seat, tugging at her skirt. It had ridden up as she sat, and he’d given her shapely, tanned thighs his full attention. Normally, she liked that kind of thing from him—even teased him about it—but today she shifted in her seat and quickly crossed her legs. Nate had never seen her look more ill-at-ease.
“How’s the shoulder?” she said.
Not ready to talk about what’s on her mind.
He’d let her settle down a bit longer. “Still hurts like hell every time I move it. But nothing I can’t handle. Nothing physically, anyway.”
She gave a sympathetic grimace. “It’s the mental side that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I know I’m going to have to be patient, but I can already tell that I’ll want to hang myself if I don’t get back into a uniform soon.”
A crooked smile shaped her pretty mouth. “A little dramatic, perhaps, but I get your point.”
Nate bit back the retort that sprang to his lips. Did she really get it? How could she have any idea of what it meant to be sidelined for a month, sitting on your ass, completely useless to the team that was counting on you to win games for them? To the fans that paid to see the stars, not the subs, play? The pressure on injured players to get back in the game was enormous.
He tried to mentally avoid the issue, but he couldn’t help worrying about whether the shoulder would ever be the same. Morehouse had assured him he’d make a full recovery, but he’d seen too many pitchers fall into a steady, downhill slide after a serious injury. Pitchers’ arms were damn tricky things. It took almost nothing to transform a twenty-game winner into a mediocrity, or even a bum.
He decided to change the subject before he took his frustration out on her. Holly didn’t know enough about baseball to get it, so it wasn’t her fault. “Enough about me. What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you like this.”
Before Holly could respond, the server brought over their drinks. Holly grasped hers like a lifeline. She took a sip, and then another. Nate savored the bourbon, letting the silence play out.
“Okay, here goes,” Holly said. “I decided to have it out with Lance Arnold today. One on one.”
That gave him a jolt he didn’t expect. “I thought you were going to meet him with your boss and some other doctors?” he asked sharply. “Why would you take that on by yourself?”
She winced. “I know, I know. I wanted to arrange a full meeting, but the chief didn’t see it the same way. Basically, he told me to get a grip and deal with it on my own.”
Nate’s anger flared. “What’s his problem? He should be supporting you.”
“He’s supportive of my position on the surgery,” Holly said. “Charles just thought I was making too big a deal out of the whole thing. To him, it was just a matter of shoving the consent papers in front of Arnold, then filing for a court order if he said no.”
Her boss sounded like a tool. “So you met Arnold after that?”
Holly sighed. “Oh, I certainly did. It was a disaster from the moment he walked into the room. He categorically refused to give his consent.”
“But you’ll get a court order, right? So, why are you so bent out of shape?”
She took another drink, a bigger one this time. When she put her glass back down, Nate could see her hand slightly trembling.
Alarm shot through him as he instinctively reached for the hand. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“He threatened me, Nate,” she said, a slight quaver in her voice. “He said I’d better change my mind about the court order, or I’m going to regret it.”
For a split second Nate felt numb, but then fire ripped through his veins. Anger threatened to overwhelm him, along with the urge to pound Lance Arnold into the dust. But he fought to rein it in and succeeded. He didn’t need to overreact, or scare Holly any more than she was.
“You obviously took him seriously,” he finally said when he could talk in a calm voice. He squeezed her hand tightly.
Holly nodded. “I have to. I’ve had my share of grief-stricken parents blowing off steam by yelling at doctors. I’ve even seen direct threats. But nothing remotely similar to this. Arnold was ice cold and determined in his threat. He meant what he said. I know he did.”
She swallowed hard, like she had a lump in her throat. Nate could barely stay seated with the overpowering desire to hunt down the bastard who had frightened her so badly. He sensed Holly wasn’t the kind of woman to get easily spooked, so it must have been a really awful scene. “Did you report what h
e said to your boss?”
“Of course. He didn’t like it, but cautioned me against overreacting. Said that sort of thing had happened to him a few times in his career, and that it always blew over.” When she picked up her glass, she clutched it so tightly that her fingers started to lose color. “What could I say that didn’t make me seem like a complete wimp?”
Nate fell silent for a few moments, stroking her wrist as he thought. She waited quietly, obviously trying to be calm and brave, and it tore a hole in his heart.
“Holly, I think you should go to the police,” he finally said. Not that he thought the cops would do much—not to a distraught father who might have said something stupid to his kid’s doctor—but at least it would alert them to a potential situation. And put it on the record should anything happen later.
Not that he’d let anything happen to Holly. No fucking way.
She emphatically shook her head, her ponytail flying. “I thought about that, but it would be Arnold’s word against mine. Besides, it wasn’t exactly a direct threat. He’d just say he was telling me I’d regret it if things went wrong with the surgery. Like I’d feel guilty or something.”
“You know that’s damn well not what he meant,” he said impatiently.
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Of course, I do. The point is I can’t prove it.”
“Listen, if you report this incident to the police, then they’ll take it a lot more seriously if Arnold does it again. You’re a respected surgeon. They’re not just going to blow you off.”
He hoped.
“Either that or I find the bastard myself and…warn him off,” he said. And he wasn’t talking about just a verbal warning.
She peered at him as if actually considering the idea, then sighed. “Not a great idea, Nate. Especially with that shoulder of yours. Still, it’s nice to know you’d be there for me.”
Hell, yeah, I’ll be there for you. He fixed her with a solemn gaze, like he wanted to make sure she knew exactly how much she could rely on him. “You better believe I would. And my shoulder has nothing to do with it, babe, so don’t worry about that.”
She fiddled with her drink for a bit. “You really think I should go to the police?”
“Yes,” he said. “Now. Go straight to the station. Don’t try to call. They take it more seriously if you show up at their door, demanding to talk to a detective.”
“You’re right,” she said, sounding a bit more like her old, decisive self. “I might as well go now. Get it over with.”
“Great. And I’m going with you,” he said firmly, his eyes and his tone sending a clear message that he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
There was something heartbreaking about the relief and gratitude he saw in her eyes. Fear still lurked there, too, and that made him vibrate with rage. He wanted—needed—to protect her, to keep her safe from Arnold and anyone or anything else that might be a threat to her. Going to the police was the first step in doing that.
As he waved the server over and asked for the bill, eager to get on with tackling the problem, it suddenly dawned on him how unfamiliar was this urgent desire to protect Holly. He knew without thinking that it had to be because no woman had ever made him feel that way before.
Chapter Nineteen