In Close Quarters. Candace Irvin

reader to hook his hind end onto the edge of the desk cattycorner to hers.

      She couldn’t help it.

      She grinned.

      Hell, maybe the next two years of residency wouldn’t be as bad as she’d expected. Not if she’d be able to break up what were bound to be eighty-hour workweeks with an occasional jaunt down to the pharmacy just to irritate the hell out of— Pharmacy?

      The note.

      Panic slammed back up her throat, strangling what was left of her smirk. She sucked in the remains, damn near choking on them as she fought the urge to double-check the armload of reference books and files she’d lugged in from her car, and the envelope Mr. Anonymous had secreted into the stack of paperwork already awaiting her arrival.

      She needn’t have bothered.

      Doug jerked his chin toward the teetering pile on her desk. “Already in over your head, eh?”

      He couldn’t see the damn thing, could he?

      The nausea returned. It must have shown.

      “By God, you are.”

      She stared into his now-gleaming gaze, at the blue rapidly turning black with triumph. Or was that satisfaction? Almost as if… Oh, Lord, why hadn’t she thought of it before?

      Had he sent it?

      The mere thought was worse than petty. It was cowardly and underhanded, as well as thoroughly reprehensible.

      And it was right up Doug’s alley.

      She drew herself up in the swivel chair and stared right back at him. “Don’t you have someone else to harass?”

      Triumph or satisfaction—whichever had caused his own smirk—went up in flames. “You were ordered not to use that word in connection with my name ever again.”

      Despite the panic still thundering through her veins, she relaxed enough to let her eyes widen. “Oh, did I mention your name? You probably misunderstood me. A nasty habit of yours. Then again, maybe it’s your guilty conscience— Oops, I forgot.” She leveled a equally steely gaze on his. “You don’t have one.”

      “Lieutenant Callahan, please dial seven-five-three-two.”

      She could have sworn that was relief edging out the fury in his eyes as he jerked off the edge of the desk to respond to the hospital’s page. He turned toward the door.

      She couldn’t help it. She grinned again. “Leaving so soon? There’s a phone right here.”

      Idiot.

      Why was she still baiting him? She needed Doug out of here so she could think. When she’d first opened the envelope, she’d assumed the accusation was true. Now she wasn’t so sure. Yeah, she definitely needed to think.

      Alone.

      Doug’s sneer was firmly in place as he turned back. “No thanks, it’s a bit too frigid in here for my taste.”

      She caught herself a split second before she stiffened. Didn’t matter—he’d already turned to the door. She waited until his hand was on the knob, the door halfway open.

      “Doug?”

      He glanced back as he stepped into the hall. “Yeah?”

      “I should have gelded you when I had the chance.”

      His sneer evaporated as the door slammed in his face. She didn’t even pause to savor the victory but spun the chair around to her desk to stare at the telltale strip of white poking out from the cover of the desk reference, instead. It didn’t matter that the words weren’t visible. They were burned into her brain.

      Right along with the implication behind them.

      Class twos are walking.

      If that note was right, someone at the hospital was stealing prescription narcotics. She raked her fingers through her newly cropped curls, groaning as she slapped her forehead onto the tome’s cover. Yup, her career was definitely over. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

      Unless…

      She stiffened. No way. She was not calling him.

      Anyone but him.

      As if TJ Vásquez would even care.

      Okay, so he might. But it would be on a purely professional basis. She’d nipped anything personal in the bud too hard and too long ago. Hell, TJ hadn’t even dropped by to see her ship off. And he certainly hadn’t been around when it had come back.

      That only left one option.

      Her best friend’s husband, Reese.

      Reese and Jade shouldn’t have left for the airport yet. She snapped her gaze to her watch, hoping the time hadn’t gotten away from her in her shock. It hadn’t. In fact, Reese might still be at work. Technically she didn’t begin her anesthesiology residency for another two weeks. Her friends would be back from their belated honeymoon by then. If Reese thought he could help, she could take two weeks leave and pretend she hadn’t read the note until he and Jade returned.

      Call him.

      And do it now, before you’re forced to crawl to TJ.

      That image made up her mind.

      A quick glance over her shoulder assured her the door to her office was still sealed shut, before she reached for her wallet to rummage through for the number Jade had given her the week before. A number she never thought she’d use, let alone need. She grabbed the phone and stabbed the buttons, only to wait through four excruciatingly long rings.

      The line was finally picked up. “Drug Enforcement Administration. How may I direct your call?”

      She took a deep breath and just did it. “This is Dr. Karin Scott. I need to speak to Special Agent Reese Garrick.”

      “Yo, Vásquez!”

      TJ did not bother glancing up from the stack of files splayed across his desk. He simply raised a hand and waved his fellow agent over as he continued to read. But moments later, as two more folders landed atop the report he was studying, he was forced to sever his concentration.

      “Gracias.”

      “De nada.” Joaquín’s wide grin greeted him as he cuffed the black motorcycle helmet from the spare chair, his gaze sweeping the DEA office discreetly as he sat.

      TJ knew full well whom his friend was seeking.

      She was not here.

      Joaquín covered his disappointment well. “What are you still doing here? You know what they say—while the cat is away, the mice should—”

      “Stay.” TJ chuckled as his friend’s grin wilted. “A joke, my friend. Go home. Your assignment tomorrow will make up for this.”

      The grin was back. “A finer temporary boss I have never had. But what of you? You should be taking off as well, no? You are last to leave—again.” His smile faded once more as he leaned forward to tap the preliminary autopsy reports he had dumped onto the desk. “The girls are dead, Tomás. Much as I dislike admitting this, a few hours more will not make a difference.”

      TJ’s swivel chair groaned as he leaned back to stretch his legs and rub his eyes. Joaquín was right. The girls were dead. A few hours more would not change this. But he had already dropped Reese and Jade at the airport. If he left now, there was naught left to do but go home and listen to his phone. A phone that had refused to ring.

      For six days.

      Once again he suppressed the sigh he had been holding throughout the week. “Soon.” He tapped the new folders. “I must review these first.”

      A frown. “She has not called then.”

      It was not a question. It also required no response.

      “I