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The Doctor's Defender

By Terri Reed

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Chapter One
“You’re working late again.”
Dr. Brenda Storm glanced up from the open files spread out across her desk and winced. A tall man walked into her office, looking very GQ, with his gelled hair, pressed slacks and starched shirt beneath his white lab coat. She hadn’t heard the door open, let alone a knock.
The thought of having to fend off another of Dr. Sam Johnson’s unwelcome advances made her stomach churn. The plastic surgeon might have mad skills when it came to facial reconstruction, but he hadn’t a clue about her lack of interest in him. He was probably so used to women falling at his feet that he saw her disinterest as a challenge.
Well, she wasn’t looking for romance. She had too much to accomplish, too much at stake. Her career came first. It would always come first.
And even if she were looking for a relationship, it certainly wouldn’t be with some playboy hotshot whose ego tripled his shoe size. She’d made that kind of mistake once when she was young and naïve.
She’d fallen for such a guy once her first year of med school. Josh had been cute, smart and charismatic. A total player.
And she’d been just another conquest to brag about.
Humiliated and hurt, she’d vowed then to be more careful when it came to romance. So far her carefulness hadn’t lent itself to finding a husband, much to her parents chagrin.
She forced a smile. “Hi, Sam. What can I do for you?”
His white, even teeth gleamed when he smiled. All practiced charm. It usually worked for him, she was sure, but to her it came across very phony. Too much like the men her parents were constantly trying to fix her up with. Men who wanted the prestige of a general surgeon for a wife, but not the lifestyle that went with it.
Long hours and single-minded focus were what got her this far. At thirty-four she was a well-respected general practice surgeon with ambitions to be department chief. That didn’t usually settle well with prospective suitors.
She’d been called a work-alcoholic, too serious, too controlling, too dispassionate...
“Since we’re both speaking on Friday I was thinking maybe we could go together,” he said.
She blinked. “Where?”
“The annual fundraiser.”
She’d forgotten about the hospital’s yearly fall gala. She’d been asked to speak about the technological advances used in general surgery. Ugh. No way of bowing out. She scrambled, searching for a reason why they couldn’t ‘go together’ as he put it. “I...”
Gary, the hospital’s security guard, poked his head inside the doorway. “Package for you.”
Glad for the interruption, she waved him in. In his sixties, the man was twice her age, with graying hair and a wide smile, but still strong and capable. He’d been a part of Heritage Hospital long before she’d come aboard. She hoped he’d be around for a long time. He helped out when he saw a need, unlike some of the younger guards who manned the front reception area during various shifts.
Given that Heritage Hospital took up a full block in a very affluent suburb of Chicago, she guessed the younger guards viewed their time at Heritage as a cushy job since they saw little criminal activity on a daily basis. Still, having a security presence gave patients and staff of the hospital a measure of comfort.
And for the doctors and nurses, an extra pair of hands was an extra pair of hands. Welcome when needed.
“These smell delicious.” Gary carried a pink bakery box. The distinctive label on the side was from a posh cupcake shop not far from the hospital. “There’s a card taped to the top.”
Brenda rose and came around the desk to peel the envelope from the top of the box. Inside was a pretty thank you card. The signature of the sender was illegible. She had no idea who was thanking her or why.
“You get cupcakes from patients?” Sam asked, peering over her shoulder. “All I get are pictures once they’ve healed. I’d prefer cupcakes.”
Brenda received other gifts and tokens of gratitude from patients, nice gestures for doing the job she’d spent her whole life training for. She had more wins than losses. Still, the Branson case hanging over her head robbed her of appreciating this small thank you.
Three months ago, Peter Branson had died on her operating table. He’d come into Heritage Hospital with acute appendicitis. She’d been the surgeon on-call and quickly assessed he needed surgery. Everything went smoothly until his heart stopped in the middle of what she’d considered a textbook procedure.
The autopsy had been inconclusive. There had been no heart disease. No blockage. No aortic stenosis, no myocarditis. No genetic issues. No structural damage.
And now his family was suing her and the hospital for malpractice.
A blemish on her otherwise spotless record. She felt sick thinking about it. Had she done something wrong, made some crucial mistake? The possibilities gnawed at her, eating away at her confidence.
She set the pink bakery box on the desk and opened the lid to reveal four fancy cupcakes with colorful sprinkles atop fluffy white frosting and little smiley-faced rings, the kind usually meant for children.
Brenda didn’t normally operate on children. At least not at Heritage Hospital. However, she did treat patients of all age ranges and walks of life at the downtown clinic she helped establish.
In the last couple of years, she’d taken out an inflamed appendix on a ten-year old girl, adenoids for a pre-teen boy, a ruptured spleen on a six-year and tonsils from at least three pre-pubescent kids. Had this come from one of those families’? Or had these been the only available cupcakes at the bakery? That seemed more likely.
“Yum. Those are from Blissful Indulgence,” Sam said. “So much goodness in a small package.”
The cupcakes didn’t look that small to Brenda. Each confection looked about 500 grams of fat ready to clog arteries. “Help yourselves.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Gary said and reached to take a cupcake. He peeled back the paper wrapper around the bottom and took a bite. After he swallowed, he said, “Thanks, Dr. Storm. These are amazing.” He left the office with a smile.
Sam picked up a cupcake but didn’t take a bit. “You still haven’t answered my question. The fall gala? Us going together?” He gave her a searching look. “Unless, of course you already have a date.”
No date. And didn’t want one with him. Or anyone for that matter. “Let me think about it and get back to you.”
“I know what that means,” Sam replied with a slight petulant tone.
Maybe he had more of a clue than she’d thought. She’d give him an A for persistence.
Gary reappeared at the door. “Help,” he croaked, clinging to the doorframe, his face ashen as he slid to the floor in a heap.
Alarm jolted through Brenda. Heart attack? A massive coronary, perhaps.
She pushed Sam out of the way and ran to Gary. She rolled him over. “Call for help.”
“On it.” Sam picked up the phone on the desk.
She placed her fingers against Gary’s neck, hoping to find a carotid pulse. He had none. Her stomach sank. “No pulse. Not breathing.”
Sam spoke into the phone. “Code 99. Dr. Storm’s office.”
Dread chipped away at her composure. She tilted his head back and tugged his jaw forward to open the airway. From her coat pocket she pulled out a microshield CPR mask and placed it over his mouth. The faint scent of almonds wafted from his mouth. “Beginning CPR.”
#
“Gary died from Cyanide?” Stunned, Brenda sat back in the armchair across the expansive mahogany desk from Ned Landsem, Heritage Hospital’s administrator. Her stomach roiled at the news. The smell of almonds on Gary’s breath hadn’t come from the flavoring in the cupcakes but from poison.
Despite her and the staff’s best efforts, Gary had died. Her heart ached at the loss. She tucked her sadness away in the deep depths of her heart. Compartmentalizing came with the job. “How? Why?”
“I don’t have all the details.” Nearer to seventy than sixty, Ned Landsem was still a dashing man with thick white hair and a robust personality that made working for him a joy. “The police suspect the cupcakes that were delivered to you were laced with Cyanide. Once toxicology comes back they’ll have confirmation.”
Realization slammed into her with the force of a gale wind coming off Lake Michigan in the winter. Someone had tried to kill her. Shock stole the breath from her lungs.
She shuddered as anxiety and fear dug deep talons through her, leaving weeping wounds. Someone wanted her dead.
And murdered Gary instead.
Tears burned the back of her eyes. A senseless death.
“The police don’t have the resources to give you round the clock security so the hospital has hired a Protection Specialist from Trent Associates.”
She drew back. “Protection Specialist as in bodyguard?”
“We had to move quickly. Trent Associates has an exemplary reputation. They were able to send someone out right away.”
She sat forward. “I don’t get a say in this?”
Though she logically understood the need for a bodyguard and could see the value, she hated not being in control of her own destiny. And having someone out there that wanted her dead made her feel vulnerable in a way she’d never felt before. She didn’t like it one bit.
His expression turned parental. “You’re an important member of our staff, Brenda. Your safety is our priority. We care about you.”
As good as the sentiment felt, she had no illusions about her worth. Her skills in the operating room made her a high priced commodity, one other hospitals and private practices sought after.
But on a personal level, she wasn’t that close to the staff. Relationships only complicated matters. It was easier to keep people at a distance than to risk disappointment. Theirs and hers.
“I’m sure the staff would appreciate the extra security.” The weight of responsibility pressed on her shoulders. Someone had already been hurt because of her, the least she could do was accept the hospital’s generous gestures.
Ned nodded his approval. “I’m glad you understand. This will be in everyone’s best interest--.”
A knock interrupted him. “Come in.”
The door to the office opened. She looked over her shoulder to see the newcomer. Her breath stalled out.
Ned rose and came around the desk, his hand out stretched. “Mr. Martin, I trust your trip went well.”
A tall, lean, and drop-dead gorgeous man strode forward and halted beside her chair. He wore khaki cargo pants and a loose fitting shirt more appropriate for a pool party than a professional meeting. And he wore flip-flops on his feet. Did he plan to head to the lakeshore when he was done here?
“Yes, without a hitch. You must be Dr. Landsem.” The two men shook hands.
Surely this wasn’t her bodyguard. Brenda frowned in confusion. Weren’t bodyguards supposed to look tough and intimidating? Like James Bond or something.
This guy with his shaggy blond hair belonged on a movie set for a beach flick or a photo shoot for a male hottie of the month calendar. Not that she didn’t appreciate his handsomeness. She was a woman with a pulse. She rather liked his angular jaw line and full lips.
Lively sky blue eyes met hers. His gaze slowly raked over her in silent appraisal. Would he see the flaws she worked hard to hide?
The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile as if pleased with what he saw. Her pulse skyrocketed.
She sat up straighter. Oh, no. No, no, no. This guy couldn’t be the protection specialist the hospital hired. He was too…too much. Too young. Too good looking. Not a man to be easily ignored.
Ned gestured to the man and said, “Dr. Brenda Storm, I’d like you to meet Kyle Martin. Your bodyguard.”
#
“Hi there, Dr. Storm, I’ve heard good things about you.” Kyle Martin extended his hand toward the brunette beauty sitting perfectly straight in the leather armchair.
She didn’t move. Her lips pressed into a firm line. She couldn’t disapprove of him already, could she? No matter, she wouldn’t be the last.
Odd that she’d wear all black beneath her white lab coat on a hot late September day. Black slacks, black buttoned up blouse. Okay, not everything was black. Her red pumps sporting little embroider roses were in vivid contrast the stark outfit. Not as somber as she wanted others to believe? Interesting. And intriguing.
Her dark hair was twisted up in a fancy bun in back. He wondered what she’d do if he undid the pins holding her hair. She’d look softer with all that mass spilling about her shoulders.
Probably slug him. His lips twitched with a suppressed chuckle.
“Okay, we’ll skip the pleasantries,” he said. “I hear you’ve had a tough time lately.” He’d read the dossier on her during the plane ride from Boston. A lot of facts but no real hint of her personality.
She slanted him a glance. Was that tears shimmering in her dark eyes? “If you mean someone trying to poison me and instead killing a sweet man who’d done nothing wrong except indulge in a pretty cupcake, then yeah, I’d said a tough time.”
She was so not impressed. Tough. Like it or not, she was stuck with him.
“And being sued for malpractice. I’d say that qualifies as well.”
With a quick glance at her boss, she said, “Well, you can hardly protect me from that, now can you?”
“You’d be surprised what I can do,” Kyle quipped.
She jumped to her feet, her dark eyes no longer filled with tears. Now they flashed with indignation. “I do not need you.”
Kyle grinned. “Yes, you do need me. I’ll be sticking to you like surfwax until the police catch the person who tried to you harm you. No one’s getting near you without going through me.”
Her eyes widened. Her mouth clamped shut. She swung her gaze to the boss man. “This won’t work. I can’t have him...” She waved a hand in Kyle’s direction. “with me in the OR. The man has on flip-flops. Please, Ned. This isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea.” Ned tipped his chin in Kyle’s direction. “Mr. Martin will take very good care of you.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she argued. “I need to get back to work.”
Ned slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Once the police find who tried to hurt you, everything should all settle down.”
“If it doesn’t, then what?” she asked with a quick glance toward Kyle.
Kyle widened his grin, enjoying the myriad emotions traipsing across her expressive face. She’d bounced from sorrow, to fear, to anger to more anger in the space of a heartbeat.
Her frown deepened.
Okay, shadowing the doctor for the next few days was going to be challenge. But man, she was easy on the eyes. That was a huge plus. Not that it mattered what she looked like. Protection was protection. He’d do his job and then walk away like always. That was why he liked his job. Each assignment was different, mostly interesting and temporary.
He was a temporary type of guy.
Especially when it came to women. Prickly women, like the doctor, in particular.
“All we can do is pray the police find whoever did this and arrests them quickly,” Ned said.
“What if they don’t?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.
Clearly, she was more freaked out by the threat hanging over her head than she’d like to admit. Kyle figured the doctor was used to being in charge and having everything under control. Most doctors’ he knew did.
But this was a situation she couldn’t control. He’d have to pick his battles. He didn’t need to be distracted by fighting her for control when a very real and dangerous threat loomed on the horizon. Who knew when this nut job would strike again?
“The Chicago police department is top notch. They’ll find the suspect soon,” Kyle said, hoping to alleviate her stress.
Fear marched across her pretty face. “Fine. You can protect me.” Her voice hitched on the last word. She glanced at the thin gold watch on her delicate wrist. “I’m due in the OR in ten.” She gestured to his feet. “Do you have other shoes?”
He grinned and gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her lips thinned as she turned away and stepped toward the door. “Just stay out of my way.”
Kyle snagged her wrist. His palm came in contact with her bare skin, soft and smooth. Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. Kyle couldn’t figure out what he’d done to upset her. It usually took longer before he offended someone.
“I promise this won’t be so bad,” he said, his voice coming out huskier than he’d like. “You’ll hardly even know I’m around.”
She arched a raven black eyebrow but didn’t shy away from his touch. “That’ll be a feat.”
Not sure what to make of her remark, he shrugged and let go of her. “I can be unobtrusive.”
“We’ll see.” She shimmed past him like he had the cooties or something and exited the room.
Ned clapped Kyle on the back. “You have your work cut out for you. But I trust you’ll keep her safe.”
His gaze remained on the doctor. “With my life.”
He only hoped the prickly doctor let him do his job.
#
Five hours later, exhausted from the stress of her bodyguard’s watchful eye during two minor surgeries, Brenda led the way to her condo. They took the elevator to the fifteen floor. Nervous flutters battered at her stomach. The space was too confining. He was too close. She was having way too much trouble ignoring the waves of attraction sizzling between them. She met his gaze in the reflection off the smooth metal doors. He seemed to see right through her, to her very core.
She averted her gaze, mad at herself for the ridiculous thought.
Just how was this going to play out? Surely he wasn’t expecting to sleep in her apartment. She could only pray he’d make sure she was safely inside and then disappear until morning.
Wishful thinking.
As she approached her condo’s door, she dug inside the bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a set of keys. She reached to insert the key in the doorknob. As quick as lightning, her new bodyguard snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her backward, against his hard chest. Awareness of his muscles and strength slipped over her like a sheet of silk.
Maybe she’d been wrong to think this man couldn’t be tough and intimidating.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to reconcile the warmth spreading through her to the outrage she should be feeling at being manhandled so
unceremoniously. She couldn’t quite get there though.
His corded arm and the musky scent of his aftershave distracted. Not to mention the fact that she hadn’t had this kind of close contact with a man in...well, a long time.
“Saving you from yourself.” His whispered answer tickled her ear and caused a rippling effect of shivers to course through her. “The door could be booby trapped. Someone wants you dead, remember?”
If he was trying to frighten her, he succeeded. Her stomach rolled. She hated how vulnerable she felt. Someone out there wanted to hurt her and didn’t care who they hurt in the process. And she didn’t know who or why. She could only guess and make assumptions. She bit her lip, a habit she’d dropped years ago, but fear had resurrected.
Kyle set her aside. Impossibly she felt even more vulnerable without his strong arms around her. He moved closer to the door and slowly ran his hand around the edges of the frame, inspected the lock, and then held out his hand. “Keys?”
She handed over her flashlight key chain with all her keys. “The silver, square one.”
He inserted the key in the lock and turned. Brenda winced, half expecting an explosion. None came. He turned the handle and cracked the door, once again inspecting the edges.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, grimacing at how small her voice sounded.
“Trip wires.” He pushed the door wide. “Door’s not rigged.” He held up a hand. “Let me clear the place first.”
She blinked with alarm as he withdrew a gun he’d kept hidden at his back beneath the loose shirt. Now she better understood his garb. He dressed to conceal his weapon.
Probably made people underestimate him, just as she’d done when she’d first set eyes on him. He entered the condo with the gun held in front of him and disappeared from view while she waited in the hallway. Her gaze strayed to the elevators, half expecting some boogey man to come bounding out.
Kyle returned, the gun out of sight and a grin on his handsome face. “Nice place.”
“Thanks,” she said automatically.
Though the idea of him entering her home and inspecting every nook and cranny left her feeling exposed. She never let anyone into her inner sanctum. But she didn’t have a choice. And that grated on her. Her unknown assassin had taken her options away. Anger stirred, mixing with the fear.
She placed her purse on the maple side table just inside the doorway. Since she’d worked a double shift at the hospital and had stayed the night there last night, the place smelled musty and hot after several days of being closed up.
She went straight to the window, drew back the floor-to-ceiling drapes and cracked the windows to let in some fresh air. They were fifteen floors up with an unobstructed view of Lake Michigan. The sight of sailboats gliding on the blue water made her smile. She wished she were out there, where the only thing she had to worry about was the wind and the rigging.
“This view is the reason I picked this building,” she explained. “I’m a little farther from the hospital than I’d prefer, but being this close to the lake and having this view makes the trek worth it.”
“Fantastic view, but a security nightmare,” Kyle commented as he moved to stand directly in front of her. He propelled her back several feet.
She cocked her head. “How can you say that? No building lines up directly with this one.”
“A sniper doesn’t need a direct angle.” He rocked back on the heels of the loafers he’d changed into earlier. “I could make the shot from the roof of the structure to the right no sweat.”
She peered over his shoulder to the rooftop of the closest apartment building. Chills swept over her despite the humidity. Great. Now she had to worry about snipers too.
He drew the drapes closed, shrouding them in a false sense of intimacy.
“I’m starved.” Kyle flashed a breath-stealing grins.
She didn’t know if she’d get used to that. He’d been a constant distraction all day. She’d had to force herself not to glance at him during her surgeries for fear she’d make a mistake and slice where she shouldn’t.
She normally didn’t have a problem concentrating while preforming an operation. In fact her single-minded focus set her apart from other doctors who liked to talk or listen to music during a procedure. Not her, she needed the room quiet so only the patient had her complete attention.
But today...though Kyle had remained quiet and out of the way near the door as promised, he might as well have been wearing a neon flashing light. The man disturbed her on so many levels.
“We can order in or there’s a good Thai place around the corner,” she said, glad for the neutral subject.
“Thai sounds good. Plus, we can talk about how this is going to work. Set some ground rules.”
“Rules?”
His grinned widened. “Yep.”
Her stomach clenched.
Needing some space, she said, “I’ll change and we can go eat.” And talk about the rules. Oh, joy.
She retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom and closed the door, grateful for the momentary respite from his overwhelming presence. There was something about him, his energy and charisma that made the air around him vibrate. It was exhausting. And thrilling.
She quickly changed out of her hospital attire and into casual clothes. She hesitated before stepping out of her room. How was she going to survive the next few days with that hunk of a man in the other room dogging her every step? Physical distance from him wasn’t possible. He was here to protect her that meant sticking close. But she could keep an emotional distance. She was good at that.
#
Kyle studied the professional portrait hanging over the gas fireplace in Brenda’s living room. The image captured a very stern looking man--whom Kyle guessed was Brenda’s father--a perfectly coiffed dark-haired woman--presumably Mrs. Storm--and Brenda as a young woman. Probably late teens, Kyle decided.
Her raven hair was gathered to one side by a thin ribbon, her face fuller, her smile uncomfortable as if she’d posed for far too long and wanted to escape. Brenda resembled both parents in various ways. She had her mother’s brunette hair, her father’s slim nose. The shape of her eyes was more the father’s, while the color was a tad darker than the mother’s.
He wondered what it had been like growing up with two parents. Two parents who cared.
He shook his head to dispel that mis-truth. His mother had cared before she’d died. His father...not so much.
Thoughts of his past had no place in this assignment. He turned from the portrait and moved to look at more framed photos gracing the cream colored wall leading to the hallway. Each photo was posed, with perfect lighting and perfect expressions. Not one candid shot among the lot.
In fact, he couldn’t remember seeing anything in the apartment during his security check that wasn’t perfectly arranged, perfectly ordered.
Very little to suggest someone actually lived here.
His gaze made a slow sweep over the condo. Except for her purse sitting on the little stand by the door, there was nothing personal in view. The place reminded him of a hotel suite.
Something was off here. From all accounts, Dr. Brenda Storm was a highly skilled surgeon sought after by the best hospitals in the world. She was paid well for her work and had prestige most would envy. Yet, she lived like a guest in her own home.
A door down the hall opened and Brenda emerged from her bedroom. She’d changed from the austere black outfit, which she’d put back on after discarding her operating scrubs, to a fitted navy skirt that showed off her curves admirably and white sleeveless blouse that made her look delicate. Her idea of casual?
A knock sounded on the door.
Kyle stilled, his senses standing at attention. “Expecting someone?”
Brenda shook her head, her eyes growing round. “No.”
Kyle motioned her back toward the kitchen. He approached the door from the side and peered through the peephole. An array of pink and purple flowers blocked the view. Whoever was on the other side of the door was holding a bouquet of flowers in front of his or her face.
“Know of anyone who would send you flowers?” he asked.
“No one.”
Kyle withdrew his gun.
Time to meet this threat head on.

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