The Patient Is a Shark [Shape-Shifter Clinic 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (4 page)

Rainer stayed completely still, his body straight in the chair, not leaning back at all, his feet flat on the floor. He tried not to be tense, but that was a bit hard right now when he couldn’t imagine what his boss planned to ask him. Well, if he could do it, he would. Having a clinic just for shape-shifters was a wonderful innovation. Rainer had already seen a dozen or so patients come in almost crippled with pain from injuries and usually within a few short weeks they were moving so much better again it was amazing.

“So that shape-shifters know this clinic exists, I’ve been gradually making contact with some of the shape-shifter communities. There’s a large werewolf pack which runs a website. People who don’t think shape-shifters exist see it as a kind of fun thing, but true shape-shifters can see below the fluffy promotional top layer and understand that help may be found there. They’ve allowed me to put a very small advertisement about the clinic on their website.

Oscar looked at him, seeming to expect a response, so Rainer nodded. That all seemed perfectly reasonable to him, but why was Oscar telling him?

“They had a request for information from an injured shape-shifter in California. As it happened, one of the people monitoring the website knew her father. It seems he has a bit of a reputation as a fighter and travels a lot. This werewolf had met up with him years ago and remembered both him and his daughter, so they knew she was genuine.”

This time Rainer was able to nod more enthusiastically. So there was an injured female werewolf in California somewhere. Rainer assumed they’d be flying her over here to help her. Perhaps Oscar was going to warn him that the daughter might be as argumentative and prone to fighting as her father had been. He could deal with that. She still had a right to be healed and made well again.

“Since she’s moving over here, she wants to bring her possessions with her, and it’s her knee that’s injured—she needs an anterior cruciate ligament reconstruction—so I don’t want her driving so far. She doesn’t need a nurse, just someone who understands her pain and can keep an eye on her that she isn’t doing too much on her knee, making it worse.”

“Do you want me to fly over there and share the driving as she comes back here? I can do that and look after this ill wolf for you.”

“Oh, she’s not a wolf, she’s a shark. You’ll have to stop each night so she can swim. I’ve already got Ambrielle looking into how that can be arranged.”

“Shark?” Rainer had to struggle not to let his voice turn into a screech. Now that, he definitely hadn’t been expecting.

“Yes, sorry, she’s a shark and has to swim every day. As I said, Ambrielle’s going to sort that out for you. I was thinking you and one other person should fly over to collect her so she doesn’t have to drive at all. She can stretch out her leg on the backseat and rest it most of the time. Who do you want to ask to go with you?”

Rainer didn’t even need to think about it. “Quinn.”

Oscar smiled. “Good choice. He has the physical skills to deal with any problems with her property or her car, and you have the medical skills to ensure she doesn’t strain herself. You two will be an excellent team. I’ll go right now and ask him. Ambrielle will let you know the arrangements. Likely in two days’ time you’ll leave, I expect. Can you be ready by then?”

“Sure thing.”

“Good. Thank you so much, Rainer. I knew you were the best man for the job.”

Rainer left Oscar’s office feeling like he’d been caught up in a tornado and spat out the other side. Flying over there he’d need to take medications for his patient so wouldn’t be able to bring much luggage. Oh well, he could always buy a few T-shirts on the way back if he needed more clothes. And it meant he’d spending long days in Quinn’s company. He especially liked that idea.
I wish he could be my Dom. But I’m not into fucking men. I prefer women. It’s such a waste of a wonderful Dom. I just hope this little shark isn’t going to want to fight me all the way across the country.

* * * *

Quinn sat at Ambrielle’s desk with Rainer. He was still a little breathless at the speed this project had moved. He’d only found out he was going to California yesterday and last night he’d had to make a run to town to pick up enough food for his animals for a couple of weeks in case this all took longer than they expected. Fortunately Danny Davies, the clinic carpenter, was happy to feed his animal companions for him each night while he was away.

“Quinn, are you listening?” asked Ambrielle. Guiltily he grinned at her. “I am now,” he said.

“Okay, the whole journey is about two thousand four hundred miles and should be about thirty-four hours driving time. You travel through California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and then Ohio. The plan is for you to do it in three days driving. Three very long days driving, I admit.”

Quinn opened his mouth to interject, but Ambrielle raised her hand in a stop sign at him, so he shut his mouth again.

“The real problem is Wynter Hall is a shark who needs to swim every day, and you’re pretty much travelling through the middle of the country where there’s not only no coastline, for there to be beaches and sea, but mostly it’s desertlike land, so there no lakes either. And I’m sure you understand she can’t just jump into anyone’s swimming pool and turn into a shark.”

Rainer laughed. “Well, I guess not.”

“Fortunately the werewolf pack has some friends, and there’s a group in
Albuquerque, New Mexico, who’re happy for you to spend the night there, and another group about one hundred miles short of St. Louis. Both places have swimming pools and don’t mind if she transforms and swims as much as she needs to recover from the day’s travel. They’ll also feed you and give you any help you need. It’s possible you’ll only need to spend one night at each place, but if Wynter’s in too much pain or the travel has been held up too much by construction, you can spend two or even three nights at each stop. That’s understood.”

“How far is it each day?” asked Quinn. He was pretty sure Albuquerque to St. Louis was a hell of a long way.

“From her home in California to Albuquerque is around eight hundred miles so likely eleven hours driving, plus stops of course. It’s the next leg of the journey that’ll be a challenge. Albuquerque to about one hundred miles short of St. Louis is almost one thousand miles, so about fifteen hours on the road. Add in a few stops and it’ll be a very long day. You might need to stay there two or three nights for her to recover enough for the last day’s drive to here, which is a bit over six hundred miles, so eight hours or so, maybe nine hours if construction is as bad as it’s been lately.”

“If we take food and water with us, and only stop for gas and bathroom visits, it’s doable, but it’s not going to be a picnic, that’s for sure,” said Rainer.

“Hell yes, especially if this Wynter chick is in a lot of pain. Is Oscar sending us with some painkillers for her?” asked Quinn.

“Yes, Oscar will put together a package of things for you to take, and he’ll give you some suggestions as to what to take in the car with you for her. You’ll be pulling a U-Haul trailer with all her things in it. Likely when you’re packing that you can get her to tell you which things she might need to use and you could put some stuff in the car trunk for her if she needs it.”

“Like what?” asked Quinn.

“Her favorite music maybe, or get her to download some e-books she could read onto her phone or a Kindle? It’s possible she does a craft like cross-stitch she could take with her to do, too,” suggested Rainer.

Of course. He hadn’t thought of that. They’d be busy driving and navigating, but poor Wynter would likely be bored to tears sitting in the backseat for fifteen hours a day.

Ambrielle gave them more details, and Quinn asked her some questions to help him understand this woman they’d be caring for. Thank God Rainer was with him and would understand the medical side of things. He couldn’t imagine how frightening it must have been for her knowing she needed surgery but couldn’t afford it. Now she’d be able to recover with other shape-shifters. Not that he’d seen any shape-shifting sharks before, but at least she’d have something in common with the people around her. Surely that would be an encouragement for her.

Ambrielle printed out their airplane tickets and boarding passes and handed them to him.

“Eight o’clock in the morning? The flight leaves that early?” Quinn was counting backward, working out what uncivilized hour of the morning he’d have to get up to get to the airport on time.

“It was that or midafternoon, and I thought you’d like to have time to get to know her while you hire the trailer and pack up her possessions,” said Ambrielle.

“So kind,” Quinn muttered. But she was right. They might as well get there and get started. It just didn’t leave him much time to decide what to pack and take with him.

* * * *

Wynter stared at the strange e-mail. It was a letter telling her that Thorne House Clinic was being run illegally by Dr. Oscar Thorne on land not belonging to him, and that patients were advised not to attend there as he was possibly some kind of cult leader or charlatan.

Is this true? Am I going to travel the whole way across America with some strange people and likely be raped and murdered or sold to a science laboratory and tortured to death or something?

Fear raced through her body like a fire, making her heart pound, her palms grow sweaty, and bringing tears to her eyes. Had she been lied to? Was this all a hoax? Was someone going to jump out at her and yell “April Fools” or something? No. It had to be true. It had to be real. It was her only hope of being healed.

She knew the big werewolf pack was genuine. Her father had known some of the people there, although it was likely ten—no, fifteen—years ago. Still, that was her best lead. Determinedly she gathered her courage around her like a blanket and found the website, looked up the contact number, and pressed the buttons on her cell phone to call them.

“Hi, this is Wynter Hall. I need to speak to someone who knew my father, please.” She spoke as firmly as she could, yet still sounded polite. At least, she hoped she sounded polite.

“What is your phone number, please? I’ll put your request through and someone will call you back.”

“This is urgent. It needs to be today.”

“No worries, ma’am. Please give me your contact number.”

Wynter rattled her number off, then plugged her phone in to recharge. The last thing she needed was a flat battery in the middle of the call. At least, since they were going to be calling her, she wouldn’t run out of credit on her phone. There wasn’t a whole lot left, but she was almost out of money. That was another worry. What if the people driving her wanted to stay in expensive hotels? She simply couldn’t afford even cheap hotels. Sleeping in the car was pretty much her only financially viable option. At least she’d made a list of rivers they would have to cross. Hopefully she’d be able to swim in enough of them that her skin wouldn’t itch too much.

When they put her possessions in the trailer she was going to make sure there was nothing piled on the bed. That way her drivers could have the bed and she’d sleep in the car. Since they were both men, it’d be a little crowded for them, and she hoped they didn’t mind, but she didn’t have the money. Every cent had to be saved for her leg, and she would still likely have to sell her car to pay for medical expenses. Actually she was almost positive she’d have to sell the car. But driving was cheaper than flying, even allowing for the cost of gas. And this way she’d have her stuff. Probably there were other things she owned she could sell if she needed more money.

Her brain was still running in the worrying groove of her nonexistent finances when her phone rang.

“James McHaig, Wynter. I met your father in Oregon, quite some time ago. You’d have been eight or nine years old. The cutest little thing with blonde pigtails.”

Suddenly Wynter remembered she didn’t just have financial problems. She may be about to put herself in the care of a bunch of lunatics or a cult.

“Hi, Mr. McHaig. I saw an advertisement on your website about a clinic for shape-shifters.”

“That’s right. I told Dr. Thorne you were genuine. That I’d met your father.”

“Thank you, they’ve been very kind and helpful, but I just got an e-mail saying they were a cult.”

“What? Can you read it to me? Better yet, can you forward it to me? I’ll give you my e-mail address.”

Wynter forwarded the e-mail to him, and he said he’d get back to her and hung up.

What if she wasn’t about to go to a clinic? What if the man who’d seemed so kind and helpful was someone who was going to use her for scientific experimentation or for something illegal? Was that why he’d been so accommodating and helpful? He didn’t care about her—a total stranger—at all. All he cared about was another recruit for whatever bad things he was doing.

Wynter leaned back against the couch cushions and took deep breaths, but that didn’t help her. She had almost no money. Her leg hurt far too much for her to be able to get a job, even one sitting at a desk all day. She would be totally at the doctor’s mercy when she arrived there. Hell, she’d be totally at the mercy of the two staff he was sending to drive her to Ohio. They could take her anywhere, do anything to her, and she couldn’t stop them. She was in too much pain to even walk away from them let alone run away anywhere.