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“Sorry,” she apologizes, quickly swallowing the bite in her mouth. “It’s been a busy morning, but we’ve hit a lull and David just left—he had to run—so I thought I’d grab a quick bite before the next wave hits.”

Dave Hartnett is a nurse practitioner, who usually works shifts in the ER and inpatient care. He’s my go-to when I need the outpatient clinic covered in a pinch, like this morning.

“Sure, eat up. Grabbing a bite is not a bad idea, actually. I’ve been living off coffee this morning.”

“The coffee shop had those toasted croissants with Brie you like.”

My mouth already waters.

“I just might have to go get one after I put my stuff away and change into my scrubs,” I announce.

“I can go grab one for you. I’m almost done,” Maggie offers.

“Would you? That would be great. Gives me a chance to catch up.” I fish a twenty dollar bill out of my bag. “And I wouldn’t mind a decaf latte either.”

“Gotcha.”

I walk down the hallway to my office—which is no more than a glorified closet—and drop my bag in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. Then I hang up my coat on the back of the door and sit down for a moment to read the handwritten note Dave left me on my desk. Even though patient files and doctor’s notes are fully computerized these days, Dave still likes to keep track on his notepad and leaves me his shorthand scribbles on every patient he’s seen.

After I’ve gone over his list, I slip the note in my desk calendar on today’s date, and duck into the small locker room. A single bathroom stall, four lockers—only two of which are being used regularly by Maggie and myself—a shelving unit with clean towels and scrubs, a wooden bench, a hamper, and a shower. That locker room had quite a few eyebrows in the hospital raised when the clinic was being renovated, but if you count the times Maggie or I end up with bodily fluids on us, you wouldn’t consider the shower a luxury.

I grab a clean pair of scrubs off the shelf and open my locker door. Changing quickly, I hang up my clothes, grab my stethoscope from the hook inside my locker, clip my ID to my scrubs, and close the door. I almost jump out of my skin when I turn and find the door blocked.

“Sorry to startle you, Dana.”

“Doc? What are you doing here?”

For a moment I wonder whether my mentor is developing dementia, the older man looks almost disoriented, like he doesn’t quite know where he is.

“Are you okay?”

I start to approach him when he suddenly lifts his hand, holding a gun I hadn’t noticed hanging down at his side.

“Stay where you are.”

A cold fist closes around my chest.

“Oh no…What are you doing, Doc? This is me.”

“I know. I just need you to stay there. I don’t want anything to happen to you, but I need you to listen to me. I need you to know I never meant for any of this to happen.”

My brain is scrambling to make sense of what is happening, and the thoughts are coming fast and furious.

“Did you have anything to do with the fire?”

He shakes his head violently. “God no, that was Cody. You didn’t seem too eager to let go of that property and they were getting impatient. I tried to warn you before, but you wouldn’t listen. Still, I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you so I made up an excuse to get you out of there.”

The pain of betrayal is visceral, a deep tearing sensation in my chest. Never would I have imagined sweet Doc Wilson, who’d been somewhat of a secondary father figure to me over the years, involved in anything like this.

“But why?” I can’t help ask, sinking down on the bench.

“I messed up. I was struggling after I retired. Bored, feeling useless. I started going to the Black Mountain Casino to kill a few hours here and there. Over time it became most days. The slots were okay, but I got caught on the poker tables. That’s where I met Arlo. Had no idea who he was at the time, just this bold, boisterous Texan, who threw around money like it was confetti. I went broke that night, thinking I could win back the retirement savings I’d blown my way through over time. I was ready to throw myself off the cliff right then and there, but Arlo bought me a drink, told me he’d float me some money, and I could pay him back from the winnings.”

Doc lowers his gun to his side before dropping his head and wiping his free hand over his face.

“That hole only got deeper but Arlo stayed in touch, offered more money to keep me going.” He scoffs bitterly. “I knew there’d come a time where it would all start catching up with me, but I couldn’t stop thinking the next hand would be my big win, and then the next, and the next. Then Merrick showed up at my door a few months ago. Told me Arlo had sent him. I knew my chips were due. It didn’t seem too bad then, just a loyalty vote for some development, but it sure went south after that. When I was forced to hide Arlo’s son in my own house, I knew I was in deep trouble.”

“Why didn’t you go to Savvy? You know she would’ve helped you.”