Doctor's Orders. Jessica Andersen

because he was in a mood.

      When he reached the Atrium at the main hospital entrance, where the lack of sensitive medical equipment and the bustle and foot traffic meant he could use his cell without being overheard, he dragged out his phone.

      Ducking into an alcove filled with potted plants, he dialed Stankowski’s number. The moment the phone clicked live, he skipped the pleasantries and said, “One of my doctors is curious about the Dulbecco case.”

      Granted, Mandy had only just learned of her patient’s death, but unless she’d changed drastically over the past four years—and he didn’t think she had—her next step would be to check the test results and look for similar cases, which would raise some serious red flags.

      “Tell her to leave it alone,” Stankowski said in his trademark laid-back fashion, which camouflaged the fact that the young homicide detective had a hell of a sharp mind.

      “I tried.” Parker grimaced. “Trust me, that won’t get very far. Mandy—Dr. Sparks is a pit bull on this sort of thing. Add in the fact that Dulbecco had a husband and two kids under the age of five—upping the sympathy factor—and she’s not going to give it up easily. Either I figure out how to distract her, or we’re going to have a problem.”

      There was a pause, and a note of speculation entered Stank’s voice. “Mandy, huh? Is she cute? Maybe I could distract her.”

      “She’s—” Parker broke off, surprised by the quick punch of anger that hit him in the gut at the thought of Stank getting anywhere near her. “She’s not your type.”

      Actually, the long-legged, willowy California blonde was exactly the sort of type Stankowski gravitated toward—gorgeous, stacked and smart. She was also Stank’s age, both of them in their early thirties, and they’d look good together, like they’d just stepped from the cover of a magazine devoted to young, upwardly mobile professionals who played extreme sports on their days off.

      There was no way in hell it was happening, though. Not over Parker’s dead body.

      Four years earlier, fresh out of his divorce, he’d gotten involved with Mandy even though she’d been so wrong for him it had been laughable. He’d figured they could have some good times while it lasted, which had only proved his ex-wife’s point—he didn’t understand women, or their emotions. He hadn’t realized Mandy thought they were in love until it was far too late, and he’d dealt with the guilt by being harsher than necessary.

      “I get it,” Stank said, a new note entering his voice. “She’s your type. Interesting. I was starting to wonder if you even had a type.”

      “She’s nobody’s type,” Parker snapped.

      “So if you’re not going to let me distract her, what do you suggest we do?” Stank asked.

      Parker muttered a curse. “We need to move faster.”

      “No kidding.” Stank paused, no doubt waiting for Parker to come up with a bright idea. When none were forthcoming, he sighed heavily. “Look, I think I might be onto something at this end. Just keep your doctor away from Dulbecco’s case for the next few days, and we might be able to finish this thing for good.”

      “That’d be a relief,” Parker said. “Thanks.” But as he hung up, he wasn’t feeling particularly relieved because Stank was right—there was no way he could see to get around it.

      In order to keep Mandy out of trouble, he was going to have to do something he’d been avoiding for the past month.

      He was going to have to spend time with her.

      MANDY DID HER BEST to keep her mind off Irene Dulbecco’s case during her shift. Her patients helped, providing the variety that was one of the biggest draws of E.R. medicine. Against the standard backdrop of sniffles and sexually transmitted diseases, sprains and lacerations, she dealt with one toy car-up-the-nose, two MVAs—motor vehicle accidents—that she sent straight up to surgery, and a pregnant teen whose only ailment was a serious attack of nerves.

      Though she normally would have spent time with the girl, Mandy knew Radcliff was watching her turnover figures, so she handed the mother-to-be over to a social worker and sent a quick prayer that everything would work out for the best.

      Finally, exhausted from a single shift that had felt like an eternity, Mandy signed herself off the board and headed for the staff lounge, which was a comfortable room with a TV, kitchenette and couches, along with a row of lockers where staff members kept their street clothes and other personal effects.

      Her spirits lifted when she saw her good friend, Kim Abernathy, sprawled on one of the couches in the main room. The petite brunette was wearing street clothes, indicating that she’d finished her shift upstairs in the Neonatal ICU.

      Kim had her head propped up with a pillow, and her eyes were closed, and for a moment, Mandy thought she was fast asleep. Then the corners of Kim’s mouth turned up. Without opening her eyes, she said, “Hey. You’re late.”

      Mandy crossed to her locker, already shucking out of her scrubs. “Did we have plans?”

      “Try checking your cell phone every now and then. The Wannabes are getting together down at Jillian’s. They’re expecting us.”

      Which probably meant Kim had set up the party in the first place. She’d always been the glue holding together the dozen or so premed students who’d met in college and had stayed friends in the years since. Members of the gang had come and gone over the years as relationships and jobs changed, but the spirit had remained the same. It was a group of up-and-comers who wanted to be so many things—doctors, researchers, professors, successes…some had made it big right out of school, others hadn’t yet found their stride.

      Mandy figured she fell somewhere in the middle. She’d met some of her goals, like finishing med school and separating herself—mostly, anyway—from her father’s influence. Other plans were in the works, like the fellowship. Still others, like finding love and starting a family, seemed further away each year.

      At the thought of love and marriage, Radcliff’s image popped into her head, causing her to mutter a curse as she dialed the combination to her locker and pulled out her jeans and a sweater.

      “Problem?” Kim asked, opening an eye to look over at her.

      “No. Well, yes.” Mandy paused on her way to the changing area, her mind switching gears to the other thing that was weighing heavily. “One of my patients died last night. She had a husband, and two little kids, and yes, I know that shouldn’t make her any more or less important, but…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just not fair.”

      It didn’t take a psych specialist to point out the parallels between Irene and Mandy’s own mother—both women in their early forties, both women struck down suddenly, leaving a family behind.

      But while Mandy’s mother had been murdered in a home invasion gone wrong, Irene had died of a disease. But what one? She’d been healthy aside from the pain, which had sprung up suddenly out of nowhere. Mandy’s examination had turned up little more than a few bruises and a patch of healing road burn the patient said had come from having been mugged a few days earlier. None of it had explained the debilitating pain, or her death.

      “Come on,” Kim said. “I prescribe bar food and some Wannabe love. It might not fix everything, but you’ll feel better. I guarantee it.”

      “You’re probably right.” Telling herself she was overtired and feeling vulnerable, that was all, Mandy changed into her street clothes and pulled on a heavy parka, hat and gloves as protection against the fierce New England winter.

      She and Mandy left the E.R. together and crossed the main Atrium, with its soaring ceiling, central fountain and nearly deserted coffee shop, and then pushed through the revolving doors to Washington Street.

      Outside, Mandy squinted against a sharp slice of wind, wishing she’d worn another layer. When Kim turned