“Excuse me,” she said to Groome. “I have work to do.”

“Flanders, Iowa. Just keep it in mind,” he said, and with a wave, walked out of the building.

Claire picked up the mail, headed straight to her office, and shut the door.

Sitting at her desk, she swiftly shuffled through the envelopes, then sank back with a sigh of relief. Another day’s reprieve; no attorney’s name was on any of the return addresses. Maybe Paul Darnell had been bluffing; maybe there would be no repercussions after all.

For a moment she sat with her head tilted back, her tension melting. Then she reached for the first envelope and tore it open. Seconds later she was sitting up, rigid, in her chair.

Inside was a short note from Rachel Sorkin, the woman who’d reported Elwyn Clyde’s gunshot wound.

Dr. Elliot, This letter came in my mail today. I thought you should know about it.

Rachel.

P.S. I don’t believe a word of it.

Attached to it was a typewritten letter:

To whom it may concern, I am writing to inform you of a disturbing incident. On November third, Dr.

Claire Elliot assaulted a hospital patient. Although there were a number of witnesses, this event has not been made public. If Dr. Elliot is your physician, you may wish to reconsider your options. Patients have a right to know.

A concerned health care professional * * *

There were three men waiting for her in the medical staff office. She knew Dr.

Sarnicki only slightly, but her impressions of him had been favorable. A comfortably rumpled man with a gentle voice, he was known to be a caring physician as well as a skillful diplomat who had helped ease tensions during the hospital’s recent contract negotiations with the nurses. The second man was Roger Hayes, the hospital administrator, whom she scarcely knew at all except as a bland and smiling man.

The third man she knew only too well. It was Adam DelRay.

They greeted her with polite nods as she sat down at the conference table. She was already strung so tight she felt close to snapping in two. On the table in front of Sarnicki was a copy of the same anonymous letter that Rachel had forwarded to her.

“You’ve seen this already?” he said.

She gave a grim nod. “One of my patients sent me a copy. I’ve called around, and so far I’ve confirmed that at least six others have received it.”

“Mine arrived in the departmental mail this morning.”

“This has been blown completely out of proportion,” said Claire. “I certainly did not assault the patient. The letter’s designed to do only one thing, and that’s to damage my reputation.” She looked directly at Adam DelRay. He returned her gaze without flinching, without even a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

“What exactly happened on November third?” asked Hayes.

She answered evenly: “I drew blood from Taylor Darnell, to send off for a comprehensive drug and tox screen. I’ve already told Dr. Sarnicki who else was in the room. Who witnessed it. I didn’t abuse the patient. It was just a blood draw.”

“Tell them the rest,” said DelRay. “Or are you going to leave out the most important detail? Which is, you had no authority to draw his blood.”

“So why did you?” asked Hayes.

“The boy had a drug-induced psychosis. I wanted that drug identified.”

“There is no drug,” said DelRay.

“You don’t know that,” she said. “You never ran the test.”

“There is no drug.” He slapped a sheet of paper on the table. She stared in dismay at the letterhead: Anson Biologicals.

“I have the the results right here. Apparently, Dr. Effiot managed to get a blood tube out to the reference lab without the father’s knowledge. Or permission. Anson faxed the report to the hospital this morning.” He added, with a note of smugness, “It’s negative. No drugs, no toxins.”

Why had the lab disregarded her instructions? Why had they sent the report to the hospital?

She said, “Our own lab found an unidentified peak on gas chromatography. There was something in his blood.”

DeiRay laughed. “Have you seen our lab’s gas chromatography machine? It’s an antique. A hand-me-down from Eastern Maine Medical Center. You can’t trust our results.”

“But it did need a follow-up test.” She looked at Sarnicki. “That’s why I drew the blood. Because Adam refused to.”

“She made an unauthorized blood draw,” said DelRay.

Hayes sighed. “It’s a mountain out of a molehill, Adam. The boy wasn’t harmed, and he’s doing fine at the Youth Center.”

“She ignored the father’s wishes.”

“But one blood draw does not make a lawsuit.”

Claire’s chin snapped up in alarm. “Is Paul Darnell talking about legal action?”

“No, not at all,” said Hayes. “I spoke to him this morning, and he reassured me he wasn’t suing anyone.”

“I’ll tell you why he’s not suing,” said DelRay. “It’s because that ex-wife of his threatened to sabotage any lawsuit. It’s an automatic reflex for bitter ex-wives. Whatever the husband wants, the wife blindly opposes.”

Thank you, Wanda, thought Claire.

“Then this whole incident is now a nonissue,” said Sarnicki, looking relieved.

“As far as I can see, no action is necessary.”

“What about the letter?” said Claire. “Someone is trying to ruin my practice.”

“I’m not sure what we can do about an anonymous letter.”

“It’s signed ‘A health care professional.” She looked pointedly at DelRay.

“Now wait a minute,” he snapped. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Paul Darnell, then,” she said.

“There were a couple of nurses who were there too, remember? In fact, this sort of sneaky letter is more a woman’s style.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she shot back in outrage. “A woman’s style?”

“I’m just calling it as I see it. Men are upfront about these things.”

Sarnicki warned, “Adam, this isn’t helping.”

“I think it is helping,” said Claire. “It shows us exactly what he thinks about women. Are you implying, Adam, that we’re all liars?”

“Now this really isn’t helping,” said Sarnicki.

“She’s putting words in my mouth! I didn’t send those letters, and neither did Paul! Why should we? Everyone in town’s already heard the gossip!”

“I’m cutting off this meeting now,” said Sarnicki, banging on the table for silence.

That’s when they all heard the announcement over the hospital address system. It was barely audible through the closed doors of the meeting room.

“Code blue, ICU. Code blue, ICU.”

Instantly Claire shot to her feet. She had a stroke patient in the ICU. She bolted out of the meeting room and ran for the stairwell. Two flights up, she stepped into the intensive care unit and was relieved to see that her patient was not the one being coded. The crisis was in cubicle six, where a crowd of personnel had massed around the doorway.

They parted to let Claire enter.

The first thing she noticed was the smell. It was the odor of smoke and singed hair, and it came from the massive, soot-streaked man lying in the bed. McNally from the ER was crouched behind the patient’s head, trying without success to insert an endotracheal tube. Claire looked up at the heart monitor.

The rhythm was sinus bradycardia. The patient’s heart was beating, but slowly.

“Does he have a blood pressure?” she asked.

“I think I’m getting a systolic of ninety,” said a nurse. “He’s so big, I’m having trouble hearing it.”

“I can’t get him intubated!” said McNally. “Go ahead, bag him again.” The respiratory tech clapped an oxygen mask on the patient’s face and squeezed the reservoir bag, forcing oxygen into the lungs.

“His neck’s so short and fat I can’t even see the vocal cords,” said McNally.

“Anesthesia’s coming in from home,” a nurse said. “Should I also call a surgeon?”

“Yeah, call him. This one’s gonna need an emergency tracheotomy.” He looked at Claire. “Unless you think you can intubate him.”