60. BLAKE
BLAKE
I drummed my fingers against my desk, the familiar knot in my stomach tightening when Thomas entered with that look on his face—the one that meant another dead end.
“Nothing?” I asked.
Thomas shifted his weight, his usually confident demeanor softening with sympathy. As the head of toxicology and our most senior clinical pathologist, he wasn’t used to being stumped.
“Not one trace,” he said, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “I ran every test twice.”
“Let me see it.” The words came out rough, but Thomas didn’t flinch. He’d known me long enough to recognize when my edge came from fear rather than anger.
He handed me the report, and I scanned the neat columns of negatives, each one a door slamming shut on another possibility. Arsenic, lead, mercury—nothing. Every common drug, every predictable poison—nothing. The paper trembled slightly in my hands.
“We must have missed something.” I pressed my palms flat against my desk, leaning forward. “There have to be other possibilities, other poisons we haven’t considered.”
Thomas’s expression turned grave.
“Unfortunately, we’re looking at over a thousand recognized toxic substances that could cause poisoning. Metals, drugs, industrial chemicals, biological toxins, pesticides, plant-based poisons?—”
“A thousand.” The word poisoned the air between us. A thousand ways someone could be slowly killing my Tessa while I chased shadows.
“I tested for the most likely suspects,” Thomas said carefully. “Even threw in some less common ones. But, Dr. Morrison … are you still convinced poisoning is behind her symptoms?”
I stared at the sheet until the words blurred, then pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the headache I could feel building.
“I don’t know anymore,” I admitted, hating the defeat in my voice.
Thomas leaned forward. “If it were me, I’d review her chart again. Fresh eyes.”
“Go back to ground zero.” I didn’t bother hiding my frustration.
“Medicine is detective work. Sometimes, the most important clue is the one you overlooked because you were looking too hard in the wrong direction.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Most doctors don’t have the stamina for cases like these.”
“And if I still can’t shake this feeling about poison?”
Thomas stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Based on her symptoms, we’d be looking at metals, pesticides, or plant-based toxins.
We could cast a wider net, dig deeper into the obscure ones.
It would mean specialist tests, external labs.
” He held up a hand before I could interrupt.
“But,” he continued, “it would be helpful if we knew who might be doing this to your patient.”
“Why does that matter?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Knowledge. Access. Resources. A chemistry expert would have very different capabilities than a truck driver. Understanding the suspect helps us understand the weapon.”
“This shouldn’t be so hard.” I put my hands on my hips, anxiety crawling under my skin. “Why do I get the feeling that if I don’t figure this out soon, she’s going to die?”
Thomas studied me for a long moment. “This patient means a lot to you?”
My throat tightened. I turned to face the window, but I could still feel Thomas’s gaze on my back.
“She means more than anyone else in my life.” The admission felt like ripping off a bandage.
“I have this gut feeling I’m missing something.
I’ve saved countless lives, but what if …
what if I’m about to lose the only one that’s ever really mattered to me? ”
That wasn’t fair. My sister mattered to me. Greatly. Ryker and the other guys, too. But Tessa … she was on a different level from all of them.
“You can only do your best, Dr. Morrison.”
My best, apparently, wasn’t enough.
“Think about it. Let me know how you want to proceed.”
Alone in my office, I forced myself to view the suspects through Thomas’s new lens, with intel Tessa had shared with me about each.
Eli, the real estate agent. Scarlett, the marketing expert.
The creepy neighbor. The wedding planning company.
None of them fit the profile of someone with access to sophisticated toxins that could evade detection.
And ending Voss? Hadn’t stopped her symptoms.
I read the report again, then a third time, as if sheer willpower could change the results. But the knot in my stomach told me what I didn’t want to admit: I was missing something.
And whatever it was, it might cost Tessa her life.