Asshole. If he weren’t so good—
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not your damn maid.”
He shrugged. “Never said you were.”
He turned to start walking, but suddenly stopped. His face dropped and it looked like his skin went pale. His hands tugged at his shirt, and he squinted, staring at someone across the street.
I followed his gaze. “Oh, hey,” I said, “I saw that guy earlier. Do you know him? Was that why he was staring at me?”
Piers looked at me sharply. “What did you say?”
“That guy,” I said weakly, nodding toward the man in the dark jacket and the baseball cap. He was already walking away, not hurrying, but moving with purpose. “He was watching me. Earlier, in the hospital. Do you know him?”
He worked his jaw silently for a second then grabbed my arm. His hands were firm, but not rough as he tugged me along.
I didn’t argue. His face was strained, like something was wrong, and I was more confused than anything else. He tugged me along until we reached the laundromat, then we ducked inside together.
The place was mostly empty. An old woman sat near a dryer, reading a magazine. A bag of clothes sat unattended next to a washer—his stuff, I figured. He was so arrogant, he couldn’t imagine someone might steal from him.
“Who was that back there?” I asked once he released me. I felt the strange desire for him to touch my skin again.
“Nobody,” he said. “Laundry. Clean it.” He turned to leave.
“Wait,” I said. “Hold on. That guy clearly knows you and he was watching me. What the hell’s going on?”
Piers stood there and I could see the tension radiating from him. It was painfully obvious that he didn’t want to have this conversation, but I wasn’t about to let it go. That guy was weird, and the way he was reacting was even weirder.
“He’s a private detective,” he said.
“He’s a… what?”
He looked back at me. His expression made me take a step back. His eyes were pained—his lips pulled into a grimace.
“Private detective,” he said. “Hired to follow me around. And now you too, apparently.”
“Hold on.” I held up my hands. “I don’t want anything to do with that.”
“Too bad,” he said. “Get used to it.”
“Why? I mean, what?”
He kept staring, intense and gorgeous. I thought of that hand on my leg. I thought of him making me do laundry in exchange for doing his damn job. I thought of his fingers moving, so sure and perfect, like weaving a magic basket.
“When you’re a surgeon, you get your control. But you also get the blame when things go wrong, and they will go wrong, doesn’t matter how good you are. Things go wrong sometimes.” He turned away. “Don’t ever forget it. Bring that bag to my office when you’re done.”
He left, hustling down the street. The small bell near the door rang as it slid shut.
I stood there, confused as all hell. The lady with the magazine glared at me and shook her head.
I didn’t know what Piers meant. I mean, I understood that surgeons lost patients sometimes—there was no getting around that, it happened to everyone. But we saved way more than we ever lost. It was a balance, and a positive one at that.
But a man following him, and a lost patient—there was something about it, right there, but eluding me.
I sighed with frustration, but set about doing his damn laundry, because I really did want to watch him work again.
And because now I felt like there was something I needed to know.
6
Piers
“You know they’ve got someone following me, don’t you?” I stood in the doorway to Gina’s office. She was on the phone and seemed annoyed that I’d barged in.
Well, fair enough. Her secretary had told me to wait in the hall, but I didn’t bother listening.
“Sorry, Alan, something just came up. I’ll call you later, okay?” She hung up then folded her hands neatly in front of her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I threw my hands up. “Come on. You really don’t know?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I paced back and forth in front of her desk. Her office smelled like fresh paper and book glue. Framed diplomas hung on the wall, and the bookshelf behind her held more than a few awards—probably for being some kind of outstanding bureaucrat.
“I’m being followed, and no, I’m not paranoid. I’ve seen him a few times now. He’s not subtle.”
“You’re sure you’re not paranoid?”
“Gina.”
She sighed and glanced up at the ceiling like she wanted to call upon some higher power. “If you’re being followed, I don’t know what you think I can do about it.”
“The hospital needs to know.”
“So what?”
I stopped pacing and leaned over the back of a chair, staring straight into her face. I tried to keep my voice level, but anger simmered down below.
“I understand you think I might deserve this because I’m an asshole, but look at the bigger picture. You think it’s good for the hospital if some rich shithead thinks he can harass a doctor every time they fuck up? We’re going to live in a world where doctors are constantly afraid to make one wrong move, and when that happens, a lot more people are going to die. You know this isn’t about me.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I have trouble believing that you’re so idealistic, Piers. Frankly, I have trouble believing you care about anyone but yourself.”
I clutched the back of the chair tighter. “Think for one second. If the hospital set the precedent that a private investigator can stalk one of their doctors, that’s going to have rippling effects all over the industry.”
“You might be right, but I can’t do a thing about this.”
“Take it to your boss and your boss’s boss. Go to the board directly if you have to. Do something other than sit there and ignore the problem because you have an
