Ian moved closer, his black wing tips tapping on the wooden floor as he moved about, and he looked at his computer and then at me. “If you need something, just ask me. I’d rather you didn’t feel free to do what you want around the clinic.”

Ouch. Chastised by a twentysomething. Oh well, I told myself. There were a lot of things in this business that I had to learn to ignore, and getting myself into trouble or being embarrassed was one of them.

“I’m so sorry, Ian. It’s just that I’m used to taking care of my patients and…well, doing whatever is necessary to care for them.” I sat myself on the edge of the desk-partly out of defiance and partly out of pride so that Ian wouldn’t throw my butt out of the clinic.

He eased past me, clicked on the mouse, and his screen disappeared to the desktop. A lovely paradise island. “I understand you are used to working other places, but around here, no one is allowed behind the desk…except me.”

Now I really needed to get on the good side of Ian. There were other computers in the back room, but in my gut I knew Ian’s private computer held whatever I might need.

Had to pull out the big guns. “Understood, and I’m truly sorry. Hey, let me make it up to you and take you out to lunch.”

I could see a “never” forming on his lips, and no wonder. Not only had he caught me snooping, but also I was not dear Ian’s type-even in my sexy pink scrubs. Quickly I added, “With Goldie.”

Ian’s eyes brightened. “I’ll be ready in ten. I have some business to attend to first.”

And I had a friend I needed to convince to pretend to put the moves on him-despite him being my other friend’s lover.

What the hell was I doing?

Suddenly I thought of Jagger and how he’d gotten me out of trouble on more than one occasion. Well, I really wasn’t in any trouble or danger right now, but I would have to do some fancy footwork to make picking up the lunch tab worth it.

“Yum! This place smells wonderful.” I looked around The Market on the Boulevard and had to swallow in order not to oversalivate.

Along one wall ran the deli counter-with one section for meats, salads, and cheeses from around the world-and continued all the way down to the bakery section. I stood in front of the prepared foods, which ranged from cooked cocktail shrimp to fabulous looking beef tenderloin. The place was a baby boomer’s dream-gourmet food and no cooking.

I was starving after my jog and having found out something about Daphne Baines-even if I had no idea if it would help-I stood there getting hungrier by the minute. “Great choice, Ian.” No harm in buttering him up over and over and over.

He turned to me, and I could tell he was glancing at Goldie over my shoulder. I looked around. Yep. Goldie was eyeing the specialty cheeses.

“Yes, Pauline. This is where the locals shop. Great gourmet food.” His gaze followed Goldie toward the bakery section.

I’d be heading there myself real soon. Ian was proving to be a tough nut to crack, and I was about ready to pull out the chocolate. Not for him though. For me.

“Next,” the college-aged girl behind the counter asked. She had an adorable Irish brogue, and I found out that several foreign students worked there and at various other places in Newport.

I waved my hand since Ian was still engrossed with watching Goldie. “That’d be me. I’ll have a cup of clam chowder to start and three cocktail shrimp.” Even as I said it, I winced. The little delicacies were over twenty bucks a pound, but I figured I could afford three of them-and fill up on the free oyster crackers that sat in various baskets above the salads and next to the white plastic silverware.

After I received my chowder and shrimp, I got a free cup of water, and then sat at a table by the window. The tables were all very close together, but I found one that was next to an unoccupied one. If I got anything out of Ian, I didn’t want any local ears eavesdropping. Not that they’d know what we were talking about, but I’d learned from the best in this business (Jagger) never to assume anything or talk about a case in public.

Okay, I was bending that last rule since “the best way to a man’s anything is through his stomach” rule overrode the public one. Ian should be pleasantly satisfied by the time I had to pay the bill.

And hopefully I’d have something to work with other than, well, frankly-nothing.

Goldie sat down with his goat cheese, salad, and side order of pesto tortellini. Ian had some kind of roast beef wrap. Everything looked great.

I glanced down to see the liquid butter slosh around my clam chowder as I stuck my plastic spoon into the delicacy. On first taste I think I moaned. Damn. Fat and calories aside, it was delicious.

Goldie started the conversation with small talk and soon we found out that Ian had been at the clinic only three years. The way he ran the place, I would have guessed longer. But, still, three years is long enough to help me out here, I thought.

I stuffed the last of my horribly expensive yet fabulously delicious shrimp into my mouth. After the cocktail sauce had my eyes watering just so, I swallowed and said, “Ian, you must have seen some interesting cases being at Highcliff Manor for so long.”

Yes, he did eye me over his wrap as if I really thought three years was “so long.” But he was a gentleman, since at the same time Goldie gave him his world-famous smile, and Ian nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’ve seen plenty.”

Goldie and I looked at each other and laughed. It didn’t sound as fake as I thought it might. Like one of my little nieces, I leaned toward Ian and said, “Tell us. Tell us your most memorable story!”

Now I know what the term “pregnant pause” meant. It always sounded stupid to me, but I imagine when you lived through one, it would be very similar to nine months of pregnancy then hours of labor. You could hear Goldie’s Rolex ticking.

Goldie touched Ian’s hand. “Hey, man. Don’t worry. Pauline and I are trustworthy. We’d never tell a soul.” He leaned over more. “Just us friends talking.” With that he held onto Ian until the guy looked as if he’d explode.

I said a silent prayer that dear Ian wouldn’t get hurt. I knew Goldie would never do anything to cause Ian heartache, but the look in the younger guy’s eyes said he might already be hopeless.

He turned toward Goldie, smiled and said, “Well, sometimes we get these women who have had that bypass surgery and lost oodles of weight.”

I got stuck on the “oodles” and wondered if the obese women would have thought of their accomplishment in that term.

“And they take off pounds and pounds of skin,” Ian added.

Goldie winced.

Ian chuckled.

And I bit my lip in order not to scream.

About ten more Ian stories later we had nothing. Nothing except the gruesome details of surgery. Seemed as if Ian had been a bit preoccupied with the actual procedures, and confessed to sneaking into the back of the O.R. to “peek.”

Oh, great.

The horrible thought that Ian might not be my best snitch going sprang from my brain.

I was about ready to get up and order an entire ten layer chocolate cake when dear Ian finally made my offer of lunch pay off.

“There are some frequent fliers at Highcliff.”

I put chocolate thoughts on hold. “Frequent fliers?” I knew he had to be talking about repeat customers but wanted to hear it from him. Another thing I’d learned in this business was to get clarification when a snitch told you something. Could save face and your salary in the future.

“Yeah,” he said and looked at Goldie.

Darling Gold smiled, took a sip of his Perrier and said, “Tell us about them, Ian.”

Poor Ian seemed to melt into a puddle of male receptionist with a foible for surgery viewing.

“Well,” he said with a mouthful of wrap. “There’s a couple. I guess about seven patients that keep coming back. I can’t get over how much they have had done, and the next thing I know they are back.”