daughter will be staying for at least tonight.”
Nick frowned. “It’s serious, then, for Finn?”
“Could be. Brain damage is a big concern. I didn’t mention it to her, but the peds team is thinking about hyperbaric treatment. At any rate, they’ll be aggressive.” She sighed. “Why on earth don’t they require carbon monoxide monitors in these old buildings? But then she shouldn’t have been using a camp stove. And should have called to be sure her babysitter arrived, not blindly trust . . .” Her words trailed off as she met Nick’s eyes for a brief second, then looked away.
Like you shouldn’t have trusted me?
“Anyway,” Leigh said, glancing at her watch, “she’s worried about the Child Crisis investigation. Apparently she’s had some trouble before, related to the children’s father. A drug problem, it sounded like. She said you know the situation, and maybe you could put in a word for her. She’s very insistent on talking with you.”
“I’ll talk to her. But while I’m here, I wondered if we could sit down and talk about some things.” He watched her eyes, told himself to take a breath and keep going. “I know I promised to stay away, but we’ve never talked, really talked.” His chest constricted at the expression on her face. Leigh, don’t . . .
“No. I’ve told you before, there’s no reason to talk. Even if there was, I don’t have time. I shouldn’t even be out here.” She glanced toward the ER entrance. “I need to get Mrs. Baldwin hooked up with psych services and send the Johnson baby upstairs to peds. Then I’ve got to try to find a minute to speak with that Child Crisis—” She stopped as he caught her arm.
“You need to know something. I need to tell you . . .” He saw the wariness in her beautiful eyes, knew she was about to protest again. “It’s not about the divorce. It’s about that investigator.” He fought the memory of the moment he’d told Leigh about the affair. The hurt on her face and pain in her voice: “Who is she? What’s her name? Oh, God . . . who is she?”
“The investigator is Sam,” he said, suddenly as dizzy as the moment he heard that Toby—Sam’s brother—was dead. “Samantha Gordon.” He watched the color drain from Leigh’s face, her pupils widen. “I’m sorry, Leigh. But it’s like she said: this was bound to happen someday because our work—mine, hers, yours—they intersect.” His eyes searched hers, willing her to understand that it wasn’t personal. It was work, nothing more. “She’s as uncomfortable with this as you are.”
“Uncomfortable?” The color returned to Leigh’s cheeks. She crossed her arms, her body trembling. “ Uncomfortable is what you say about a hangnail or a splinter. Or a stupid pebble in your shoe.” She flinched back as he tried to touch her again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me, Nick; don’t try to talk to me. And don’t use that calm, rational, police officer voice to tell me that your lover is standing in my ER, and that she’s as uncomfortable as I am.”
“Leigh, wait.”
“Leave me . . . alone!”
+++
Leigh whirled away, white coat flying and heart pounding so loudly in her ears that if a Code 3 ambulance raced in with sirens wailing, she’d never have heard it. She kept moving, jogging past the gazebo, gulping in air to clear the nausea, to push the frightening snarl of anger and humiliation away. And to get away from Nick. Because if she weakened and started to cry, or if she began pounding her fists on his chest and screaming—things she hadn’t done, depths she wouldn’t allow herself to sink to all these long, miserable months—he might think she wasn’t over him. That she wasn’t ready to move on, move away.
She took another deep breath, slowed to a walk, and squared her shoulders. Kept her eyes on the doors to the ER and calmly tried to recall the only photo she’d seen of Samantha Gordon. Online, in an old San Francisco County