The Surgeon by Tess Gerritsen Read Free Book Online Page B

a
man banging his head against an impregnable wall."
They both laughed as they stepped off the elevator and
walked to their suite. It was the comfortable laugh of two
colleagues who knew this game was all tongue-in-cheek.
Keeping it on that level meant no feelings were hurt, no
emotions were at stake. A safe little flirtation that kept them
both insulated from real entanglements. Playfully he'd ask her
out; just as playfully she'd turn him down, and the whole office
was in on the joke.
It was already five-thirty, and their staff was gone for the day.
Peter retreated to his office and she went into hers to hang up
her lab coat and get her purse. As she put the coat on the
door hook, a thought suddenly occurred to her.
She crossed the hallway and stuck her head in Peter's
office. He was reviewing charts, his reading glasses perched
on his nose. Unlike her own neat office, Peter's looked like
chaos central. Paper airplanes filled the trash can. Books and
surgery journals were piled on chairs. One wall was nearly
smothered by an out-of-control philodendron. Buried in that
jungle of leaves were Peter's diplomas: an undergraduate
degree in aeronautical engineering from MIT, an M.D. from
Harvard Medical School.
"Peter? This is a stupid question. . . ."
He glanced up over his glasses. "Then you've come to the
right man."
"Have you been in my office?"
"Should I call my lawyer before I answer that?"
"Come on. I'm serious."
He straightened, and his gaze sharpened on hers. "No, I
haven't. Why?"
"Never mind. It's not a big deal." She turned to leave and
heard the creak of his chair as he stood up. He followed her
into her office.
"What's not a big deal?" he asked.
"I'm being obsessive-compulsive, that's all. I get irritated
when things aren't where they should be."
    "Like what?"
"My lab coat. I always hang it on the door, and somehow it
ends up on the filing cabinet, or over a chair. I know it's not
Helen or the other secretaries. I asked them."
    "The cleaning lady probably moved it."
    "And then it drives me crazy that I can't find my stethoscope.
"
    "It's still missing?"
    "I had to borrow the nursing supervisor's."
Frowning, he glanced around the room. "Well, there it is. On
the bookshelf." He crossed to the shelf, where her
stethoscope lay coiled beside a bookend.
Silently she took it from him, staring at it as though it were
something alien. A black serpent, draped over her hand.
    "Hey, what's the matter?"
She took a deep breath. "I think I'm just tired." She put the
stethoscope in the left pocket of her lab coat--the same place
she always left it.
"Are you sure that's all? Is there something else going on?"
"I need to get home." She walked out of her office, and he
followed her into the hall.
"Is it something to do with those police officers? Look, if
you're in some kind of trouble--if I can help out--"

"I don't need any help, thank you." Her answer came out
cooler than she'd intended, and she was instantly sorry for it.
Peter didn't deserve that.
"You know, I wouldn't mind if you did ask me for favors every
so often," he said quietly. "It's part of working together. Being
partners. Don't you think?"
She didn't answer.
He turned back to his office. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Peter?"
"Yes?"
"About those two police officers. And the reason they came
to see me--"
"You don't have to tell me."
"No, I should. You'll just wonder about it if I don't. They came
to ask me about a homicide case. A woman was murdered
Thursday night. They thought I might have known her."
"Did you?"
"No. It was a mistake, that's all." She sighed. "Just a
mistake."
Catherine turned the dead bolt, felt it drive home with a
satisfying thud, and then slid the chain in place. One more line
of defense against the unnamed horrors that lurked beyond
her walls. Safely barricaded in her apartment, she removed
her shoes, set her purse and car keys down on the
cherrywood butler's table, and walked in stockinged feet
across the thick white