Carol Ericson - A Doctor-Nurse Encounter

He took his guardian angel duties seriously, too, sort of like a knight in a white coat instead of on a white horse. Before she ducked into her car, he held her shoulders in a caress and told her to be careful.

She shook her head and slurped her tea. He probably loved this new role, which gave him the chance to play hero to all his adoring female fans.

The ringing phone halted any further thoughts about the mysterious Dr. Marino. She placed her cup on the coffee table, bounded up from the sofa and scooped the phone from the counter. “Hello?”

“Hi, Lacey, it’s Jill.”

“I’m so happy to hear your voice.” Lacey sank back onto the sofa and grabbed a pillow. “I tried to call you earlier when I heard about Debbie.”

“I—I was out all day. It just seemed safer.” Jill’s husky voice almost whispered across the phone line, sending a chill creeping along Lacey’s flesh.

“What do you mean, safer? Are you in danger?”

“We’re all in danger, Lacey, even you.”

“What’s this about, Jill?” She dug her fingernails into the pillow. “Who killed Dr. B and Debbie?”

Jill sobbed. “I shouldn’t tell you anything, but I can’t do this alone. You see, I have the key, not Debbie, not Dr. B. I have it.”

“What key?” Jill sounded an inch away from total hysteria. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I could give the key to Lacey. She doesn’t know anything. They won’t hurt her. She can give the key to the FBI. The FBI won’t punish her. She didn’t assist in the surgeries.”

“Jill.” Lacey’s voice was as sharp as the pain in the back of her head. She had to bring Jill back from the brink of panic. “Where’s the key, Jill? What does it unlock?”

“I keep it with me always, close to my heart. Can I give you the key, Lacey? They won’t hurt you. I promise. Or you can go on the run with me. I always wanted a daughter, but they wouldn’t let me. I could never have a family. You don’t have a family, either. We could be a family, Lacey.”

Through her tears, Jill babbled about keys and families and daughters, no longer forming coherent sentences.

“Jill? Hang up the phone and lie down.” Lacey spoke with a calmness her trembling hands belied. “I’m on my way over.”

With frightening clarity, Jill answered, “They’ll kill us. Pack your bag. We’re leaving tonight,” and then ended the call.

Lacey sat clutching the phone in her lap for a moment, her hands clammy and her mouth dry. The murders of Dr. B and Debbie had hit Jill hard…that’s all. The three of them had been together for years. Jill and Debbie didn’t have families. They put everything into their work, and naturally Jill felt the loss down to her bones.

That had to be it. Lacey didn’t want it to be anything more sinister. After the turbulence of her childhood, she’d plotted and planned her life carefully to follow an even course. Fate couldn’t play such a cruel joke on her.

Tossing the pillow to the side, she pushed off the sofa. She replaced the phone in the kitchen and dumped her tea in the sink. Time to act like a nurse.

She grabbed her jacket and dropped the sample pack of Xanax Nick gave her last night into her pocket. Jill needed it a lot more than she did.

The moist air caressed her face as she stepped off the porch of the little house in Sunset her mom bought after she and Dad sold the more luxurious digs in Nob Hill. Dad enjoyed all the flash and image. That’s why he left Mom for that young pharmaceutical saleswoman.

The heavy fog rolled off the bay, creating a damp curtain around her as she moved toward the Jetta parked on the street. She’d been to Jill’s apartment just once, but she’d looked up the address in her phone book, and its location just up from Fisherman’s Wharf would be easy to find.

Thirty-five minutes later, Lacey’s car rolled to a stop across the street from Jill’s apartment building. The fog, thicker down here, smelled of fish and brine, and she moved into its embrace as she approached the pink stucco building lit by floodlights. She found Jill’s name on one of the labels next to the dull gold buttons, which she jabbed with her finger.

Damn, no answer. Had Jill fallen into an exhausted sleep? Maybe she’d been drinking and passed out.

She stepped back and a sliver of light fell across her shoes. Her gaze tracked the light to a crack in the door where someone had wedged it open with a magazine. So much for security measures.

Lacey pushed open the door, slick with moisture, and wiped her hands on her jeans. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the lobby, musty like old shoes. The elevator doors creaked open. She stepped inside, punching the button to the third floor over and over, as if that could make the old car move faster.

The threadbare carpet in the corridor muffled her steps as she trailed a hand along the wall, peering at apartment numbers etched into brass plates on each door. She reached number 329 at the end of the hallway and tapped on the door. Silence.

If Jill didn’t answer, maybe she could get the manager to open the door. She could always claim to be Jill’s daughter. After that hysterical phone call, Lacey wanted to check on Jill even if she was sleeping.

She rapped one knuckle on the door while trying the doorknob. The handle turned and Lacey glanced down, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. If Jill was worried about her safety, why’d she leave her door unlocked?

A whisper of fear brushed the back of Lacey’s neck as she gripped the door handle. She put her ear to the door, hearing nothing but the resounding beat of her heart.

She nudged the door with her hip and poked her head inside. A Tiffany lamp burned brightly in the corner of the room, throwing triangles of color on the wall.

“Jill?” Lacey stepped into the room, leaving the front door open behind her. She tiptoed forward, sucking in a breath when she saw a desk drawer pulled open and papers scattered across the hardwood floor.

God, not again.

Somewhere in her head, a voice cried, “Run, run, run,” but her feet plodded one after the other, moving to another instinct that commanded her to help Jill.

An orange ball of fur rushed past her, skidding to a stop in the bathroom. The cat’s plaintive cries echoed throughout the apartment, bringing a rash of goose bumps to Lacey’s arms.

She hovered at the entrance to the short hallway, which branched into a bedroom, a bathroom and a closet, its door gaping open. She had a clear view of the bathroom and the orange tabby meowing on the tattered bath rug. The bedroom door stood ajar, an almost palpable menace oozing from its interior. Still her feet carried her forward. The door whined on its hinges as Lacey pushed it open.

Jill’s body lay sprawled across the bed, the chintz coverlet clutched in one fist, her eyes bulging from their sockets. Discoloration marked her neck, and her other hand lay across her breast, fingers inches from her throat and the silver chain she always wore.

Lacey brought one of her own fists to her mouth and pressed it against her lips as sour bile rose up her gut. She inched toward the bed and crouched beside it, careful not to disturb anything around Jill’s body. Just like she did in Dr. B’s office, Lacey felt for a pulse…and got the same result.

An intake of breath behind her stirred her hair, and a scream gathered in her lungs. Before the scream escaped her lips, a large hand clamped over her mouth, pressing the back of her head against a solid thigh.

She twisted her head and bit the hand that held her captive. The hand dropped, and she spun around on her knees, ready to launch out of the room when the intruder grabbed her arm.

“Lacey, it’s me.”

Her gaze flew to the stranger’s face, only he wasn’t a stranger at all. Dr. Perfect’s perfect features were gathered in a scowl as he sucked on his hand.