The Isis Collar by Cat Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

I can’t, wanting me to tell you things you’re not supposed to know. Do you have any idea how much trouble you get me into? You want information? Why come to me? Why not ask Rizzoli?”
    I took a step back, my hands coming up in a defensive gesture. Alex was practically snarling at me. This was way more attitude than usual. More than the situation deserved. I was about to say so, to ask what had her so hot under the collar, when she winked at me, her eyes flickering in the direction of a camera I’d seen posted in a nearby corner.
    Aha. Okay, so she wasn’t really pissed off. Which was good. But she also couldn’t talk. Still, she’d managed to pass on one important kernel of information. Rizzoli is Special Agent Dominic Rizzoli, FBI. Who wouldn’t be involved if this were just a local matter. Which meant that somehow, somewhere … this had crossed state lines. Holy crap.
    “Heather…”
    “Don’t you ‘Heather’ me,” she snarled. “You were Vicki’s friend, not mine. Vicki’s dead. Don’t think you can use her memory to make me forget my duty. ’Cause that’s not going to happen.”
    The words stung. Even if I’d read the wink right, that we were putting on a show for the cameras, it still hurt. Mainly because I still missed Vicki. Maybe just as much as Alex did.
    “Fine. I won’t bother you at work again.”
    “Good. Don’t.”

5
    I wasn’t able to reach Rizzoli either that day or the next. Frustrating, but not unexpected. I might have a handy-dandy consultant’s badge, but there are limits to how much good it does me. Rizzoli would get hold of me when he was ready, and not until. I, meanwhile, had other things on my mind.
    Dusk was falling as I entered the Pacific Health Complex. It wasn’t so much a hospital as a clustered group of private-practice specialist physicians. If this doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, I was afraid I was going to have to give up. Of course this one had been recommended by Gwen Talbert, my therapist and a very highly respected physician, so maybe he’d have better luck. Or more skill. Either one was fine with me.
    I looked at the building directory when I walked in. Most of the offices were closed for the day, but this particular doctor offered evening hours. And why wouldn’t he? He was an Orvah practitioner. It was an art distantly related to Voodoo whose doctors sort of depended on darkness for a lot of their healing. He was the only certified specialist in this area of the state.
    The amber-skinned receptionist with a name tag that read Simone smiled as I reached her desk. “Can I help you?”
    “Yes,” I replied, “I’m Celia Graves. I have a seven o’clock appointment with Dr. Jean-Baptiste.”
    She checked a list and then nodded before rising from her chair. “Of course. Right this way, Ms. Graves. I’ll need you to fill out some insurance forms.”
    I almost laughed and decided not to mention that said forms probably wouldn’t yield any actual payment from my insurance. I couldn’t remember whether I’d brought my checkbook.
    “The doctor is running a little behind, so we have some time.”
    Naturally. What doctor isn’t running behind? “Could we at least draw the blood? You asked that I not eat, but I have a … medical condition. I really need to get something in me so bad things don’t happen.” That was putting it mildly. I was trying really hard not to stare too long at Simone’s lovely, slender neck. Pretty, silken skin that was alive with color. One of the things I wanted to see the doctor for was how my inner vamp was wanting to come out and play more often since the bomb and it was getting harder to fight it. I clutched my purse tighter, feeling the outline of one of the nutrition shake bottles inside. It wasn’t what my stomach wanted this close to sundown, but it would satisfy the hunger.
    “Oh! Of course. We can certainly do the lab work first. I’m sorry. I remember you mentioning your … condition