Notorious D.O.C. (Hope Sze medical mystery) (17 page)

That pulled me short. I inhaled deeply,
my lips on his ear, trying to think beyond
Really?
'Cause I think you'd be an amazing fuck
.

He murmured low in my ear, "What's
the matter, can't take a compliment?"

"I guess." I wasn't used to
talking dirty. Not that I didn't like it, but the guilt was kicking in at long
last. All my life, I'd been the nice girl, the good girl, the one with straight
A's, voted most likely to attract a unicorn until marriage. And now...

My body stiffened up. I couldn't help it.

He sighed. It was a microscopic sigh. But
still, enough to quell my libido. I started to swing my leg back around and
stand up.

He dropped his hand on my thigh to block
me. I squirmed. It felt too intimate, somehow even more so because he didn't
move to stroke or caress me. He just waited.

The heat of his palm, the anticipation,
the mystery of this new man made me bite my lip and settle my leg back down.
Just for a moment.

Our eyes locked again.

He moved his hand higher.

Oh, God. Why did I wear a skirt today? I
knew why. Because I was feeling sexy and strong and I'd wanted the entire
world, including Tucker, to know it.

In this heat, I wasn't masochistic enough
to wear panty hose. Which meant only the thin fabric of his pants and my
panties stood between us. I could feel him and, from the look on his eyes, he
knew it.

I licked my lips and did not move away.

His palm rested against my skin,
mid-thigh and inching higher.

I closed my eyes. My legs were trembling.
I was so wet. In fact, he might even be able to feel it. Was I crazy,
straddling this man and potentially leaving a damp patch on his pants?
 
I veered between freaking out and fucking his
brains out. I slammed my hand down on his. "Tucker—"

He pressed the fingers of his opposite
hand to my lips. "We always screw up by talking. Let's not talk."

I hesitated.

In that moment of weakness, he slid his
hand up to the edge of my panties. His fingers brushed against the elastic.
Teasing me.

This was madness. There was no lock on
the door. I could hear someone's footsteps padding down the hallway. Dr.
Ludovich, a patient, a janitor—anyone could barge in here any minute. I
tensed my thighs to lift myself up.

He slid his finger inside the elastic to
touch my skin.

I bit back a cry. It felt so good.

Then I leapt away from him.

He jumped up with me, kicking back the
chair. "It's okay, Hope."

I was shaking with I don't know what.
Lust? Self-disgust. I wanted him so badly. "I'm sorry."

He held up his hands, not daring to come
closer but not leaving me, either. "I'm the one moving too fast.
Sorry." He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it askew. "I just
want you so much."

I could not help looking at his pants.
There was a damp spot over a very prominent area. I closed my eyes. "I
want you, too."

"I know. And I know
you're—" He took a long, ragged breath. "You're vulnerable. I
shouldn't have taken advantage of you."

Now, wait a minute. "You didn't. I
knew what I was doing."

He shook his head and tried to smile.

I retreated into my anger. It was safer.
"Look, this is just like what I was talking about when I said I was coming
back to work, no matter what you think. I know you get off on me being a
damaged maiden or whatever, but I make my own choices. Get over yourself."

In answer, he slid his finger down my
chin, down my throat, to the V neckline of my shirt. I held my breath. My
breasts were so close to his hand, I could weep.

"I'm already over myself, Hope. You
just bring out the worst in me."

I felt my nostrils flare. But before I
could object, he said, "I'm sorry. Not about this. If I had my way, I'd
take you six ways 'til Sunday. But I'm sorry our timing always totally sucks.
I'll let you make your own choice." He walked past me to the door and,
with a deep breath, threw it open.

Chapter
17

She's
smarter than she looks. Today, at the group, she gives us a riddle, trying to
be all casual about it. "Let's say a woman's mother dies and, at the
funeral, she meets this guy she thinks is her soul mate."

Everyone
starts hooting.

"That's
fucked-up shit."

"You
know what they say, someone dies and you get all horny."

"Who
says that? Are you some kind of nagrophiliac or whatever?"

"Necrophiliac,
you dumbass!"

"Language,"
says Dr. Ven, but he's looking at Dr. Laura like, what the heck are you doing?

I
see the blush on Dr. Laura's neck, but she ignores it and raises her voice.
"Here's the strange part. Three days later, she kills her sister.
Why?"

I
know the answer. It's obvious. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. But I
don't say anything. I breathe real quiet, in and out, and wait for everyone
else.

There's
silence, broken by: "Chicks, man. Who knows why they do anything?"

Now
Dr. Laura's face is all red, too, but she waits out the laugh. "Anybody
else?"

A
curly-haired girl puts up her hand. "I don't get it. Is there, like, a
right answer?"

"No.
Just say what you think. It's sort of a getting-to-know-you game."

Some
game. Dr. Laura looks right at me. I look back at her, innocent.

The
same girl chews her bottom lip. "I'm not good at tests."

Dr.
Laura tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "It's not a test. Is
it a test if I ask you what your favourite colour is?"

"Everything
here's a test."

That's
it. The room's uneasy now.

"I
plead the Fifth," says the Goth girl.

Another
mini-laugh from the crowd. I give a fake smile, better than Dr. Laura's, and
straighten out my legs like I've got all the time in the world.

Finally,
someone bites. "My great-aunt's super into funerals. She's always reading
the newspaper, looking for people who died. She's from PEI, right, where they
got nothing better to do than broadcast people's obituaries on the radio. Twice
a day. I'm not kidding."

Someone
else snorts. "What does that have to do with the soul mate guy?"

"The
guy's a red herring."

"Nah.
I bet he told her some shit about her sister, and she offed her because of
it."

Dr.
Laura's eyes flicker and her hands tense up. She'd make a lousy poker player.
"What kind of information would that be?"

We
stare at her blankly. Dr. Laura purses her lips. "Or, as you might say,
what kind of shit would make someone off her sister?"

Even
I got to laugh at that one. She's not that much older than us, but she acts
like she's two-hundred and two.

The
little black girl says, "Oh, Dr. Lee, you said a bad word! Now you're
gonna get it!" She pretends to shave her finger at her, like it's a carrot
she's peeling. I remember doing that in grade three. We're all cracking up.

Dr.
Ven clears his throat, but Dr. Laura ignores him. She is bent on this.
"I'm interested. Come on. Have you guys ever thought about killing
someone?"

I
almost laugh out loud. Sweet Jesus. Seems like I can't stop thinking about it.

Dr.
Laura says, "It's important to be open about our feelings. That's what
this group is all about." Her eyes flash on me again. "How about
you?"

Even
Dr. Ven perks up a bit. My lips feel stiff, all of a sudden. I got to tread
carefully here. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay
what?" Dr. Laura just can't wait.

"Okay,
we should be open about our feelings." The group chuckles. Dr. Laura's
nostrils flare, so I give a bit more. "Yeah, I've gotten mad at people.
But I've never killed anyone."

Yet.

I
feel like she can read that from my head. She's breathing faster, eyes
narrowed. God, I love leading her on. I add, "If your mom dies, though,
you might go kinda nuts."

And,
like I knew he would, Dr. Ven jumps right on that like a flea on a dog.
"Let's talk about that. Have any of you ever experienced a loss? It
doesn't have to be your mother. A grandparent, a friend, even a pet. Hold up
your hand."

Out
of the corner of my eyes, I can see Dr. Laura gritting her teeth.

I
know exactly why that woman in the riddle offed her sister. She's hoping the
soul mate guy will show up to this funeral, too. Seems obvious. But since no
one else seems to get it, I'm keeping my mouth shut.

I'm
impressed, though. All these fancy degrees and Dr. Ven couldn't figure out how
to lick his own ass if that was his only ticket out of hell. But this resident,
this nothing, parachutes in, and like that, she's on to me. Or at least she's
got her suspicions.

Right
on, Dr. Laura. Keep playing.

***

Back home, I changed into a short
sundress, bolted down a glass of water, and asked Ryan, "You sure you want
to go to Mrs. Lee's?" It just might make the weirdest non-date in history.

Ryan nodded and laced up his shoes.
"I want to talk to her and get an idea of what she's looking for."

"I know it's your last night here.
I'm sorry. She said the date was auspicious." Ah, Chinese superstition. At
least with Ryan, I didn't have to explain lucky numbers while we trotted down
the stairs to the indoor garage, accessible through the apartment's basement.
"You sure you're okay with this?" I asked one more time, even as I
climbed in the car and fastened my seatbelt.

He kissed my cheek.
"Absolutely." He looked at me and his forehead crinkled. "Are
you okay?"

I adjusted the rearview mirror instead of
meeting his eyes. What he didn't know about Tucker would not hurt him. At
least, not right away. "Okay," I repeated brightly, and threw the
Ford Focus into reverse while I hit the garage door opener attached to my visor.

While the door oozed open, a cyclist
wheeled her bike into the bike rack near the washing machine. There wasn’t that
much room to maneuver in the garage, so I waited instead of risking running her
over. Obviously, I wasn’t from Montreal. She waved her thanks as she threw open
the door to the apartment basement.

"Did you see what I did at your
apartment?" said Ryan.

"Sort of," I hedged, trying not
to think about how he'd beefed up my security while I'd straddled another man.
"I know you changed the front door lock, so I'll have to give the new key
to the concierge." I accelerated out of the garage.

"I cut sticks to prop the windows
closed and stop anyone from forcing them open from the outside. There's a lot
more I could do, but I had to get the tools."

"You mean you couldn't get by with
my screwdriver and Ikea Allan wrenches?" I braked at the red light and
signaled left on Côte-Ste-Catherine.

"You needed them anyway. I'll leave
them at your apartment."

"What did you get?"

"Just the basics. A saw, a drill
with multiple bits, a hammer and nails. Oh, and some hinges and nuts and bolts.”

"I'll pay you back." Thank God
Tucker and I hadn't done more. I felt so guilty, my chest was practically
concave.

"No, it's my present to you. I
wanted you to be safe. Ever since..." Two lines appeared between his eyes
again, the glabellar lines, as they say in derm.

The light changed. I squeezed my car into
the right-hand lane despite an oncoming taxi. "Since what?"

"You know," he said.

I did know. He meant ever since I almost
got killed last month. Tucker's reaction was to make me take time off work.
Ryan's was to shore up my security. If I had to pick between their approaches,
I'd go with Ryan's. At least that was practical.

For the first time, I wondered if it was
a coincidence that my ex took a vacation in Montreal and just happened to run
into me. I rubbed my eyes.

"Tired?" said Ryan.

I nodded. And foolhardy, going to a
patient's house. But she insisted, and somehow, visiting her seemed more kosher
with company. Ryan could testify that I didn't cross any limits.

Ryan touched the back of my neck.
"You're tense."

I nodded again and gave him a pained
smile.

He started massaging my neck as best he
could from the passenger's seat. He hit a trigger point on my levator scapulae
and I yelped.

"You want me to stop?" Ryan
glanced at the bus that was trying to merge into my rear bumper.