Love on Call (6 page)

But that was crazy. Somewhere her mind fixed on that fact and reason asserted itself. She pushed away from him, moving back as far as she could get.

“I…” she began, not knowing what to say. “We can't—”

Reason seemed to come to Brad, too. He moved away. What had they been thinking? They hadn't been. They had been reacting, pushed together by his ordeal and her lack of sleep.

Mallory knew she was rationalizing. She knew Brad had found a way into the locked part of her heart, and she didn't want him there.

Looking at him, she guessed from his expression that he didn't want her anywhere near his heart, either. She stepped forward and picked up her coat. Not bothering to push her arms into it, she headed for the door. Neither of them said a word. Nor did they need to. Mallory knew there would be no mention of this by either of them. What happened tonight would neither be spoken of nor repeated.

Mallory let herself out the door and walked silently to her car. The sun was rising higher in the sky. The city was waking up, ready to begin another day. Mallory knew there would never again be another day like this for her. Brad Clayton had altered her life.
She left his house a different woman than the one who had entered it.

She wasn't sure who that woman was or where her life would go from here, but one thing was certain—no other man had ever rocked her world the way Brad Clayton had. And it didn't help when she looked up to see him smiling from the doorway.

I
t was Brad's experience that a secret burned a hole in the jaw muscle. The person holding it just had to tell someone, immediately. Yet Mallory appeared to be true to her word. No mention had been made by the other doctors or nurses of Brad's encounter with the police. Mallory had been off yesterday, but she was due in to the hospital today. With each passing hour he had expected to hear the story, distorted by facts that changed as word of mouth embellished every detail. Yet his secret was apparently safe.

Brad entered the nurses' station on the fourth floor. It was positioned in the center of the floor so only a single one was necessary and anyone coming or going had to pass the station on one side or the other. The circular work space was set up with computers and
bright lighting, and a printout of the residents' schedule was posted on a clipboard inserted into a vertical file near the entrance. Brad scanned it as he often did, checking to see which residents would be on his rotation. Before, he'd only glanced at the names to make sure everyone was there when he was ready to begin. Now he specifically looked for one name; Mallory Russell. He wanted to know when she was on his rotation, and if not, where she was.

Her name was missing. Why? he wondered. She'd been off the day after she'd picked him up, so she should be in today. Brad flipped the paper to see if there was another page under it. The brown clipboard stared blankly back at him.

“Dana?” He turned to one of the nurses on duty. Dana Baldwin was reading orders and preparing morning medication for the patients in her care. “Where is Dr. Russell?” Brad indicated the clipboard.

“She left about an hour ago.”

“Left? I thought she was off yesterday.” He replaced the clipboard in its space and took a step toward Dana.

“She got called in yesterday morning, just after the shift started.”

Brad frowned. That would be about the time she'd left his house.

“She's always the first one they call.” Dana gave a frown of disapproval.

“But she'd been…” He stopped himself. He al
most said she'd been up all night. If she'd just left, she'd been awake more than twenty-four hours.

“Been what?” Dana asked, drawing Brad's attention back to the present.

“Been on my rotation.” Half of the residents were male. Some were married. The females were mostly single, but a few had children. Mallory had no dependents. She was composed and efficient and her presence had a calming effect on the patients. The nurses knew that. And Brad was beginning to think they abused it.

“Mallory never refuses,” Dana said.

Brad moved to the computer behind the nurse. He pulled up the computerized schedule that the printout had been taken from. Looking at the history, he verified what Dana had said. Mallory was called three times more often than the other residents.

“Well, she's about to get some R and R,” Brad stated, his voice low. Dana stopped adding pills to small white cups and stared at him. Brad ignored her. She knew he rarely intervened in the administration of the hospital, but any doctor would be concerned about overworking a resident. “If these schedules are correct, she's been working way too many hours.”

“They're correct. I tried to tell her to take it easy, but I think that incident with Wayne Mason scared her more than she lets on.”

Brad was keenly interested. “What do you mean?”

“She is tired a lot, more so since the incident than before.”

“Some days she's bright and well-rested, and others she's tired and withdrawn,” Brad stated.

“Exactly,” Dana agreed. “She's my friend, but I'll tell you what I think.”

Brad waited for her to continue. He was anxious to hear it.

“I think she's having nightmares about that guy.”

It was plausible, Brad realized, and it would explain his own observations. Being a doctor meant having a certain level of fatigue, but Mallory's ups and downs seemed a little more than what was expected. Brad couldn't say he'd noticed any tiredness in her when he'd had her in his arms. But she had been drinking coffee when she picked him up, and at his house they had more. Existing on caffeine wasn't good for anyone. Mallory Russell was burning out.

“Have you asked her about Wayne Mason?”

Dana nodded. “She says she's fine. That she doesn't even think about him or that night.” The nurse lowered her voice as if the two of them were coconspirators. “But I'm sure that isn't the truth. How could someone not be affected by a crazed addict holding a knife to your throat?” She moved her hand to her own throat protectively.

Brad saw the logic in Dana's words, but something didn't sit right with him. He'd seen Mallory up close and she didn't appear to be nervous or afraid, traits he would expect in someone suffering from stress.

He remembered holding Mallory in his arms, smelling the scent of her perfume and that indefinable fragrance that was her. Remembered her mouth on
his. Her softness as he'd held her…. Quickly he threw cold water on those thoughts. Dana Baldwin was more observant than the other nurses and he didn't want any rumors starting about him and Mallory. Since there was no basis for them.

Do you want there to be?
The question came unbidden. Brad didn't have time to think about it now. He went back to the computer screen. He checked Mallory's efficiency level, finding it consistently high. Whatever was bothering her wasn't affecting her performance. According to the computer timetable, the night she'd picked him up at the police station she'd worked three hours past her schedule. Then she'd stayed up all night with him and been called in the next day.

Obviously the woman didn't know how to say no—that is, to anyone but him.

 

Mallory pulled her jacket off the hanger in the doctor's lounge and pushed her arms through it. She slammed the door to her locker and spun the combination lock.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” she muttered on the way to her car. A week. She was ordered to stay out of the hospital for a week. What would happen to her patients? Not the ones in the regular rooms; there was coverage for them. But what about the coma patients? She needed access to them. She needed to talk to them. They were alone.

Mallory was still angry when she pulled up in front of the house that, except for medical school and a
two-year period, she'd lived in all her life. Since her sister had moved to Atlantic City, Mallory occupied the four-bedroom, red-brick colonial alone. She left the car and started for the front door, but stopped short when she saw Dr. Clayton step out of his SUV.

She stared at his silhouette. The streetlight behind him prevented her from seeing his face, but she recognized the lines of his body. At another time, Mallory would have been glad to see him, but after her meeting with the hospital administrator she never wanted to see him again. She had to pass him to get to her house. If she didn't she would have ignored his presence.

“What do you want?” she asked, hiding none of her hostility.

“I came to tell you why I suggested you take some time off.”

“You're not my father. I'm fine. I didn't need any time off. And I don't need your concern.” She tried to pass him, but his hand curled around her arm.

“What is it, Mallory?”

She yanked free. “It's nothing. I don't know why you thought there was a reason, but you're wrong.”

“The nurses call you three times more often than the other residents and you're always in the hospital. You're wearing yourself out. You need some down-time.”

“I don't need you to be my keeper. I'm thirty-two years old, with enough brains to know when I'm in over my head.”

She ran up the steps and pushed her key into the
lock. As she'd done just three nights ago at his house, Brad followed her inside as if he were an invited guest.

“If you don't need a keeper, explain what is going on,” he asked. “Why can you barely keep your eyes open some days and others you're as bright as the sunshine?”

Mallory went into her living room, keeping her back to Brad. “I do my job.” She flung the words over her shoulder.

He stepped up behind her, took her shoulders and spun her around to face him. “Yes, you do, and you're quite efficient at it, even when you're tired. But how long do you think your body can keep going like this?”

“As long as it takes.” Mallory stepped back. Brad's hands dropped to his sides. She felt a coldness invade the places they had been.

“I didn't come here to fight with you.” His voice was calm, devoid of any anger.

Mallory wanted to tell him why she was tired. She wanted to explain everything to him, tell him about the patients in the coma wing, about herself and what had happened to her, but she couldn't.

“Why did you come here, Dr. Clayton?”

She watched him flinch, as if she'd hit him.

“It isn't often that I intervene in the workings of the hospital, and since word was bound to get to you, I wanted to tell you myself.”

“I've heard already.”

“Mallory, you need a rest.” He stepped forward, then stopped.

“All right, Doctor. I need a rest and thanks to you I'll get it. Five days off. What would you suggest I do?” She turned from him and walked around her living room. This had been her parents' house. She and her sister had grown up here and she was lucky to have gotten into a hospital that allowed her to stay at home. Houses died when people didn't live in them. Hers had sat dormant for several years while no one tended to it. It had taken her ages to instill life back into it.

“Soak in a hot bath and sleep until your body wakes you up,” Brad answered.

She hadn't really wanted medical advice.

“You've got dark circles under your eyes.” He waved a hand toward her face. “Sleep will make them go away.”

His voice was caressing. He moved closer to her. Mallory felt the heat swelling around her. She tried to maintain her anger, but it burned away. She heard his concern. He was looking out for her welfare. She should be thankful for that. Other than her sister, no one had done that for her since her parents died. At least no one she knew. There was someone who'd been pulling for her, someone who came to her in her dreams, but she had no more knowledge of who that person was than she did the substance of moonbeams.

“Brad—” Mallory didn't know what she was about to say, but at that moment his cell phone rang.
He looked at the lighted display before putting it to his ear.

“Dr. Clayton.” He spoke into the phone. “Detective.” Mallory could hear only one side of the conversation. She assumed it was the detective who'd helped him the other night. Brad's voice was different, professional, as if he'd turned on a switch. Mallory made no attempt to distance herself from his conversation. As Brad listened, she watched his body language. He stiffened, locking his spine and lifting his strong chin. “I'll be right there.”

He pressed a button and returned the phone to his belt. “I have to go,” he said. “Will you get some rest?”

Mallory nodded. She could use a good night's sleep. She headed for the door, Brad behind her. On reaching it, she immediately pulled it open, hoping he'd go right on through, but she was out of luck. He stopped and faced her.

“I promise,” she said before he could give her an order.

He looked at her a long while, his eyes dark and piercing as they had been the time he'd kissed her. Mallory wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to feel the pressure of his lips on hers, his arms slipping around her waist as passion overtook them and his mouth devoured hers. Brad leaned forward and she knew what was coming.

Mallory put a hand out and pressed it into his chest, stopping his forward motion. She shook her head.
“We seem to have started something that shouldn't have begun.”

He retreated as surely as a turtle crawling into its shell.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Call it chemistry. Call it lust. I don't care. I'll take the blame for everything, but I'm not here for an affair.”

Brad stared at her.

“You think I'm offering you an affair?”

“It doesn't matter what you're offering,” she said. “I'm not going to accept it.”

“Does the other night have anything to do with this?”

She wasn't sure which part of the other night he meant—the part at the police station or the part in his arms?

“When I kissed you,” he explained.

“Partly,” she hedged. “I started medical school much later than most students and I have a lot of catching up to do. I think it would be best if we kept our relationship on a professional level.”

“You're right,” he agreed.

Mallory was a little disappointed. She hadn't expected him to give in so easily. Her heart sank. Part of her wanted him to fight with her, but the other part, the logical part, told her to stand clear of Bradley Clayton.

“You'd better go.”

He said nothing, only looked her directly in the eyes, then turned and went through the door.

Mallory closed it after she'd watched him go down
the steps and head for his car. She stared at the dark wood of the door. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but none fell. She'd chosen her life. She had priorities and goals that needed to be tended to, and Brad Clayton wasn't part of the plan. It was better to stop this relationship before it got started, she told herself.

But her heart didn't believe it.

 

“What did you find?” Brad asked as he slipped into a booth at the Camden Diner in nearby New Jersey. Detective Simon Thalberg had a cup of coffee he was drinking. In front of him sat a plate with a half-eaten piece of apple pie on it. He slid a folder across the table to Brad.

“What can I get you?” a waitress asked. She was holding a pot of coffee.

“Coffee is fine.”