Critical Diagnosis
Read Critical Diagnosis Online
Authors: Alison Stone
HER PERSONAL PROTECTOR
Researcher Dr. Lily McAllister has dedicated her life to finding a cure for a family disease and now, steps away from a promising new treatment, Lily is attacked. Only the training of army physician James O’Reilly can save her. As the would-be CEO of his family’s pharmaceutical company, James’s secret dream is to reenlist. But he can’t leave Lily with a bull’s-eye on her back. Nor can he stay and stop her from pursuing her goal. No one can, including the stalker who shadows her every move. Still, James has lost too many people he’s loved—and this time he refuses to lose Lily.
Had her stalker followed her earlier out to O’Reilly Manor to threaten her...or worse?
Lily didn’t relax until she parked her car alongside her house. When James pulled in behind her, she waved him off.
“I want to make sure everything’s secure,” he told her as he got out.
“Since when did you become a safety expert?”
He waved a hand down his dress uniform. He took a step closer, hovering over her. She resisted the urge to reach up and place her palm on his chest—to keep him away or to bring him closer, she wasn’t sure. “I know how to protect you,” he said.
The memory of James training a gun on the thug replayed in her mind. “I hate to admit it, but I’m still rattled.”
“You need to be careful.” The concern in his voice settled on her shoulders like a cozy shawl. It had been a long time since someone looked after her.
“I have never felt threatened living here,” she said.
Until tonight.
Books by Alison Stone
Love Inspired Suspense
Plain Pursuit
Critical Diagnosis
ALISON STONE
left snowy Buffalo, New York, and headed a thousand miles
south to earn an industrial engineering degree at Georgia Tech in Hotlanta. Go
Yellow Jackets! She loved the South, but true love brought her back north.
After the birth of her second child, Alison left corporate
America for full-time motherhood. She credits an advertisement to write
children’s books for sparking her interest in writing. She never did complete a
children’s book, but she did have success writing articles for local
publications before finding her true calling, writing romantic suspense.
Alison lives with her husband of more than twenty years and
their four children in western New York, where the summers are absolutely
gorgeous and the winters are perfect for curling up with a good book—or writing
one.
Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her
children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race
motocross.
Alison loves to hear from her readers at
[email protected]
. For more
information please visit her website,
www.AlisonStone.com
. She’s also chatty on
Twitter,
@Alison_Stone
.
CRITICAL DIAGNOSIS
Alison Stone
Trust in the Lord with all your heart;
do not depend on your own understanding.
Seek his will in all you do, and he will
show you which path to take.
—Proverbs
3:5–6
To my oldest, Scotty.
Congratulations
on
your high school graduation. I don’t know where the past eighteen years have gone, but I loved every minute of watching you grow into the fine young man you are today. God bless you in all you do as you move
on
to the next phase of your life. Follow your dreams, work hard and success will follow.
To my husband, Scott,
and the rest of the gang, Alex, Kelsey and Leah. You guys are the reason I work so hard. Love you always and forever.
To my beautiful niece, Lily.
The smartest four-year-old I know. I named the heroine in
Critical Diagnosis
after you. I’ll save a copy for you to read when you get a little older. Sorry, there’s no princess in this book, but it’s still a really good story. I promise.
To Rachel Dylan,
a fellow Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense author, who read an earlier version of this book and gave me some wonderful insight that made this final version so much better. Thank you.
ONE
“T
hree Saturdays in a row.” James rested his hip against the desk in the cramped nurses’ station and met Lily’s gaze. His close-cropped hair made him look every bit the army captain he was. “I appreciate it. The patients appreciate it. It seems more and more people are counting on this clinic.” He tossed the medical chart on top of the pile, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. A day well spent. The chart teetered. Lily lunged to grab it. James did the same, his solid hand brushing against hers, but he was faster.
“Oh, boy—” Lily McAllister dipped her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to be around if those charts hit the floor and all the files scatter.” She stood and divided the pile in two, stacking them neatly next to one another. Stepping back, she planted her fists squarely on her hips. “There.”
James laughed, his white smile bright against his tanned skin. “Nancy would have my head on Monday. She already gives me a tongue-lashing when I file the charts. Apparently, I’m messing with her system. I guess it takes more than a month for the new guy to figure out
the system.
Even though I was the one who set up the system before I enlisted in the army. Go figure.”
Lily lifted her palms in an
I-totally-had-nothing-to-do-with-it-if-the-files-get-messed-up
gesture. “I’m just the weekend help.” She scooted out from the confined space and leaned her elbows on the counter. “It feels fantastic to escape the research lab and actually practice medicine. It’s been a long time.”
“I appreciate the help.” He lifted his eyebrows and bestowed his best persuasive smile on her. She had seen it before. “You on for next Saturday, too?” The free health-care clinic was obviously short on staff. While the man running it was obviously short on tact.
Mirroring his raised eyebrows, Lily slid off her stethoscope and slipped it into her bag. “I’m beginning to think you’re taking advantage of my good nature.”
A mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Never. Think of the fine people of Orchard Gardens who count on this clinic.” He leaned in closer. “Who count on you.”
“Captain James O’Reilly, is this how it works in the army? You say ‘jump’ and people ask how high?” She rested her chin on the heel of her hand.
“I’m not in the army now, am I?” He winked. “How about it? Next Saturday? Call it a date?”
Collapsing her arms on the counter, she dropped her forehead onto her arm. Lifting her gaze, she found him watching her. “Well,” she said with an air of being put upon, “since you asked so nicely.” A flicker of a smile teased the corners of her lips. She’d fail miserably as an actress. Good thing she had succeeded beyond her wildest hopes as a researcher. Regen, her research, was currently in clinical trials. She could finally breathe. She was this close to getting a treatment on the market for the disease that had killed her mother and afflicted her niece. It had been the culmination of years of hard work and the answer to a zillion prayers muttered into her wet, tearstained pillow. So it only felt right to give back to the small community where she had been afforded so much.
Lily tapped the counter with the palm of her hand. “I’ll make sure all the medicine cabinets in back are locked. You got the front doors?” They both had to be at James’s grandfather’s eightieth birthday party in a couple hours.
“Sure.” The single word came out clipped, as if he were biting back further comment.
Lily strode down the long corridor of Orchard Gardens Clinic. Once a stately Victorian, it had been converted into a medical practice by James’s parents, both physicians, when James was still learning how to color between the lines on the pages of his Bible-themed coloring book.
James had returned home to carry on the tradition after serving as a physician in the U.S. Army for the past several years. She wondered how long he’d have time for the clinic, considering the rampant rumors floating around town. Apparently, James was slotted to head Medlink, the pharmaceutical company his grandfather had founded. Many speculated the elder O’Reilly’s health was deteriorating.
The small town was short on physicians, but not on rumors.
She pushed open the last door on the right. The high-pitched creak and the chill from the air pumping out of the AC unit perched in the window made her skin prickle. Hurrying her pace, she secured the drug cabinets, turned off the printer and the AC. Her ears buzzed with deafening silence.
A banana peel in the garbage caught her eye. Unsure the janitor was scheduled over the weekend, she decided to tug out the liner and toss it into the Dumpster. If she didn’t, come Monday morning, a ripe banana would be a nasty surprise.
Voices reached her from the front of the clinic. A last-minute patient must have come in. She angled her head and noticed Mrs. Benson, who had been in earlier with her two-year-old granddaughter, Chloe, due to an ear infection. Perhaps the sweet child hadn’t settled down quickly enough for the elderly woman. Not wanting to disturb them, Lily headed toward the solid-steel door retrofitted for the building’s second life.
The clock marked the hour with a soft chime. Six o’clock. Butterflies flitted in her stomach. Dr. Declan O’Reilly was due to arrive at the party at eight. That meant she had to arrive before then or risk ruining the surprise—and Mrs. O’Reilly’s wrath. She hustled down the short flight of stairs. She twisted the thumb turn, releasing the dead bolt. The back door opened onto a small parking lot. For the briefest of moments, she tilted her face and basked in the warm summer sun.
She’d be locked out if she let the door slam. A broom rested against the back wall, a perfect wedge. She set it in place and then headed toward the Dumpster in the far corner of the lot.
A tall row of evergreens separated the clinic’s property from a squat row of brick apartment buildings. A car sped past on the country road out front, the boom-boom-boom from its car speakers vibrating through her.
Clamping her mouth shut, she grabbed the small, black door on the Dumpster with the tips of her fingers and pulled. The door slid in fits and starts, getting hung up in its tracks.
Ugh.
Flies and an acrid smell hovered over the steaming pile of trash. Her lungs screamed for fresh air. She tossed the bag inside. It landed with a squishy thud.
The deep hum of an engine idling near the apartments seeped into her consciousness. Backing away from the rancid Dumpster, she drew in a breath and peered through the branches. A beat-up, lime-green car with one of those do-it-yourself paint jobs was parked on the other side. Her pulse whoosh-whooshed in her ears, as if God whispered a warning.
Get back inside, where it’s safe.
Yet she dismissed her paranoia. The small town of Orchard Gardens was one of the safest towns in America to live. It said so on the quaint sign on the main road into town.
Yet instinct urged her on. She spun on her heel and hustled toward the back door of the clinic. The trees rustled and solid steps sounded on the hard earth behind her. Her gaze darted toward the tree line. Heat swept up her neck, her cheeks. A man, his baseball cap slung low on his forehead, strode toward her. The menacing expression on his hardened features annihilated any doubts. He was coming toward her.
Her vision narrowed.
Move faster.
Get inside.
Slam the door.
The words echoed over and over in her mind. The gravel at the edge of the parking lot crunched under his determined footsteps. Lily sprinted the remaining fifteen feet to the door. She didn’t care if she mistook his intentions. Better safe than sorry. She wouldn’t let him get inside the clinic. The news was saturated with pharmacies and clinics targeted by drug-crazed thugs.
Dear Lord, help me.
Without enough time to get inside and secure the door, she grabbed the broom and pushed her hip against it. The steel door slammed shut—locked—with an air of finality. A flush of tingles blanketed her scalp. Sweaty palms compromised her death grip on the broom handle. Determined not to be a victim, she braced her feet, squaring off with the thug. Her gaze shot to the side of the green clapboard house. She’d never make it around front. The wall of evergreens mocked her. The man bore down on her, his mouth curved into a sardonic grin.
Privacy was a double-edged sword.
Bracing herself against the door, she hiked her chin. “Hey,” she said, her commanding tone at odds with the knots twisting her insides. “What do you want? The clinic’s closed.” She adjusted her hands on the broom, trying to get a better grip. White dots danced in her vision, her system flooding with adrenaline.
The stocky man had dark, beady eyes under the visor of a Buffalo Bills cap. Scruffy whiskers grew in uneven patches on his jaw. Reaching around her, he yanked on the door handle. It didn’t budge. He pounded his fist on the door right over her head. She startled. His hat slanted back, revealing an unfamiliar symbol drawn with thick marker on the bill’s underside. He quickly pulled the hat down, shading his eyes.
“Why’d ya do that for? Stupid lady.” He narrowed his gaze. His skin was pocked with acne and his eyes flashed dark. Tufts of dirty-blond hair poked out from under his cap. He glowered, intimidating her. His stale breath mingled with hers. Beer and tobacco made her nauseous with their stench.
“Clinic’s closed.” She tried her calm approach again, fully aware he wasn’t here for medical care. He was here for prescription drugs. He had to be. He slammed his fist against the door a second time, inches from her head. She slid out from under his arm, holding solidly on to the handle of the broom.
Come on, James. Come on, James.
He had to have heard the pounding.
The thug cursed at her with a gruff voice. He stalked toward her; his menacing expression made her chest ache and she gasped for a breath. He raised his arm again and this time Lily mustered courage she didn’t know she had. She hoisted the broom and slammed it down against his forearm. The wood splintered.
His bold laugh vibrated through her, frying her frayed nerves. He snatched the broom from her hands and tossed it aside. Seizing her shoulder, he shoved her down, her knee taking the brunt of her weight. A sharp pain exploded through her kneecap.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” He kicked the loose gravel, the tiny pebbles assaulting her bare arms. Looking up, she squinted against the sunlight. The taut muscles in the thug’s jaw spoke of his restraint.
Please, dear Lord, protect me.
“Don’t hurt me. I’m a doctor here at the clinic.” She scrunched her eyes shut against another onslaught of gravel. She pulled her legs in and maneuvered around. Slowly. “I’m going to sit here.” She lifted her hands in a nonthreatening gesture. “You don’t have to hurt me.”
“You think that gives you a pass? Just because you’re a
doc
-tor?” Spittle flew from his lips. The deranged look in his eyes sent fear coursing through her, making her limbs tremble. “Maybe I score extra points if I get me a
lady
doc
-tor?”
Her mind raced. “Please, you don’t have to do this. You haven’t done anything you can’t undo. Please.” Leaning against the side of the house, she pushed to a standing position. He seemed too agitated to notice.
The back door burst open, catching Lily’s ankle. The thug growled at her, scrabbled backward, his arms pinwheeling before he crashed to the ground. With amazing agility, he sprang to his feet and reached behind him at his waist.
Lily’s throat tightened.
“Stop!” James roared, training a gun on the thug. The man’s mouth flattened; something flickered across his flinty eyes only she could see. Indecision? Recognition? Defeat?
The attacker seemed to hesitate a fraction before spinning around and jackrabbiting out of there, escaping through the evergreens. A loud muffler fired up and a vehicle tore away from the apartment parking lot. Closing her eyes, Lily breathed a sigh of relief and fell against the house.
James tucked the gun into his waistband.
Lily lifted a shaky hand. “You have a gun....” It seemed a ridiculous thing to say; he was in the army, but still. She hadn’t expected him to have it at the clinic. Her teeth chattered.
What if he hadn’t?
“Are you okay?” He gripped her forearm possessively.
She blinked against the grit scraping against her eyelids. Discreetly, she tested her weight on her knee, careful to keep her expression neutral. “Fine,” she bit out. “Just a little banged up.”
James eased his grip and gently ran his thumb down her arm, deep concern radiating from his kind brown eyes. “He got away so fast, I didn’t get a good look at him. He had his hat tugged down. What happened? What did he do to you?”
“I...I think he wanted drugs. From the clinic.” She licked her parched lips. “He never said. When I tried to stop him, he threw me on the ground. But I’m fine. Really.” Sidestepping his touch, she brushed her khakis. Her violent fall had torn a hole at the knee. She was going to be sore tomorrow, that was for sure.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Tell me what happened.”
“He came from there.” She pointed at the trees. Reality was settling in behind her eyes, pulsing, throbbing, aching. “I had the back door propped open so I could take out the trash. But I got it closed just in time.”
James ran a hand over her shoulder. “Why would you slam the door shut?” A line creased his forehead.
“I was afraid of what would happen if he got inside. I saw you with Mrs. Benson and her granddaughter. I was afraid of what he might do.” Her knees bent, then straightened. “I’ve heard so many stories of crazed druggies....” The memory of the thug’s sour breath made her nauseous. Blinking, she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the smell of summer and clean. James always smelled so clean.
“My only thought was to keep him outside. Away from the clinic,” she said.
He smoothed her hair and tucked a strand behind her ear. “You should have never tried to take him on yourself.”
Lowering her gaze, she bit her bottom lip. A new feeling, one she didn’t want to acknowledge, softened the shield around her heart.