Meet Me at Midnight

Chapter 1

ONE

Laurel straightened her shoulders and added some extra swing to her hips, because he was watching her walk away.

She knew he was. His gaze tickled the back of her neck, but she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she concentrated on the way her ass swayed with each step.

She’d bought the dress specifically for this moment, because she wanted Brian to appreciate what he’d lost. It was slinky and red, stopping just below her knees, and it showed off all her best assets, if she did say so herself.

She worked hard for this body, dammit. Yes, her career demanded a certain level of physical fitness, but right now, she just wanted him to feel something as he watched her walk away.

Laurel pushed through the glass doors at the end of the hall and stepped onto the pleasantly warm sidewalk on Atlantic Avenue.

She turned left, her stride never slowing.

She wouldn’t pause until she was well away from the lawyer’s office, where she’d just finalized her divorce.

The signed papers added a tangible weight to her shoulder bag, but despite that weight, she felt lighter than she had in years.

Too many years.

As she walked, she caught admiring glances from passersby. A satisfied smile bloomed on her face. The revenge dress was working. She looked good. She felt good. At some point—any minute, really—the adrenaline would fade, but for this moment, she was riding high.

She couldn’t feel the ache in her feet from back-to-back surgeries earlier that day or the gnawing emptiness in her stomach from rushing straight to the lawyer’s office as soon as she’d finished her shift at the hospital.

The time she might have spent eating, she’d instead used to change into this dress and apply a fresh coat of lipstick.

Who needed food, anyway? Right now, she was fueled by the look on Brian’s face when he saw her walk into the lawyer’s office.

That look? Better than filet mignon. Better than the finest wine.

He’d checked her out with a hungry gleam and more than a little regret in his eyes, and oh yeah, she was well fed, all right.

Laurel turned another corner, finally allowing her pace to slow as she considered whether to request a car or take the subway home. She’d had to come all the way to Brooklyn for this meeting, and getting to her condo on the Upper East Side was going to take a frustratingly long time.

Her gaze settled on several women in cocktail dresses walking ahead of her, laughing and chatting, clearly in a celebratory mood. They entered a restaurant at the end of the block, and Laurel’s steps faltered as she realized she should have made plans of her own this evening.

She was in the mood to celebrate and dressed for the occasion, but nothing awaited her except the empty apartment she’d lived in for a year and still hadn’t found the time to decorate.

She hadn’t made time for friends lately, either.

There was no one to buy her a drink and say, “Here’s to you, Laurel.

Fuck Brian. He didn’t know what he had while he had it. ”

And suddenly, she wanted someone to celebrate with.

She wanted someone to appreciate her. Hell, she wanted to get laid.

She and Brian had been separated for the past year, and they hadn’t had sex for a year or so before that.

Okay, fine, she’d been working long hours, more focused on advancing her career than her marriage, not that it excused him cheating on her.

She was one of the most sought-after neurosurgeons in Manhattan, after all. Her work was important, which Brian had never really seemed to grasp or appreciate.

Her ankle wobbled in her wildly inappropriate heels.

Truthfully, she rarely wore heels, and these…

well, they looked good, and that had been the whole point.

But her feet were starting to throb. She glanced inside a bar as she walked past, drawn to its dim lighting and the people clustered around tables, sipping cocktails.

Perhaps she should stop. Have a drink…or two…or many. She didn’t have to work tomorrow, and who said she needed someone to celebrate with? Laurel could celebrate perfectly well on her own. After all, the whole point of the divorce had been the freedom to make her own decisions.

Right now, she wanted a drink. Decision made, she reached for the handle, just as someone nearby screamed. The doctor in her immediately snapped to attention. She released the handle and spun to look for the source of the scream.

There was a disturbance in the street near the end of the block, although she couldn’t tell what had happened. People were clustered around something or someone, looking concerned. Laurel strode toward them, sore feet forgotten. “What’s going on?”

“That dog…” A woman gestured toward a small brown dog lying in the street. “It was hit by a car.”

“I’m a medical doctor.” Laurel pushed her way through the crowd to the animal.

She saved humans, not canines, but trauma was trauma.

She knelt beside the dog, giving it a quick visual examination.

It was conscious, panting and watching her out of eyes so wide, the whites showed, both of which were probable signs of distress.

There was an open fracture on the dog’s right front leg, but luckily, the bleeding seemed to be minimal. She wanted to perform a more thorough physical examination but was hesitant to touch the dog, aware that frightened and injured animals were more likely to bite.

“Easy does it,” she said, using the firm but calm tone that soothed panicked patients. “I’m going to have a quick look at you, all right?”

The dog eyed her warily. Laurel wished she had access to a stethoscope or other medical equipment, but since she didn’t, she would do her best to stabilize the dog before sending it off to a vet.

“Whose dog is it?” she called over her shoulder.

“I don’t know,” a man responded. “It was wandering around in the street before it got hit. Might be a stray.”

Indeed, the dog was collarless and dirty, now that she was paying attention.

The idea of someone leaving a dog to roam the streets made her blood boil.

Who would take it to the vet? Who would pay for its treatment?

There were more murmurings behind her, people adding unhelpful comments to the conversation, all variations of “I don’t know whose dog it is. ”

Laurel tuned them out, focusing on the dog.

Gently, she began her examination, sliding a hand down the dog’s body while her other hand rested against the side of its head to prevent herself from being bitten.

The dog remained quiet and cooperative, which hopefully meant it had a gentle disposition, not that it was too far gone to struggle.

Its abdomen was firm beneath her fingers, which might indicate internal bleeding. This dog needed to see a vet as soon as possible. Oh, and it was a female.

“Can someone search the nearest emergency vet for me?” she called over her shoulder.

“I also need something to use as a splint. A stick, a ruler, something long and hard, and tape or string to secure it to the dog’s leg.

And something I can put her in to transport her to the vet. A large box, maybe?”

There was more murmuring behind her.

Laurel tuned it out as she continued her examination. Hopefully, the crowd of onlookers would make themselves useful. Sure enough, an elderly Black woman approached, bending over to offer Laurel knitting needles and a ball of yarn.

“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the items. Knitting needles were the perfect size to splint this small dog’s leg. Quickly, she got to work. “Scissors, anyone?”

A white man with tattooed arms handed her a pocketknife, which she used to cut several lengths of yarn.

“I’ve got the address of the nearest emergency vet for you,” a young redheaded woman said, crouching beside Laurel as she held out her phone.

“Great.” Laurel reached into her bag and unlocked her own phone, then handed it to the woman. “Please use my account to request an Uber to that location.”

“Sure,” the woman agreed, just as a young man of Asian descent darted out of a nearby bodega, carrying a long, flat piece of cardboard and a separate cardboard box.

“I thought maybe you could use this like a backboard to lift her,” he said, crouching beside her. “And then put her in the box for the ride to the vet?”

“Perfect,” Laurel said, assessing his offerings, which seemed the right size to do exactly as he’d suggested. “Thank you.”

With her splint complete, she slid the dog onto the strip of cardboard. The dog watched, as compliant as ever. Laurel placed the dog in the box and stood, then winced as she belatedly registered that she’d been crouched the whole time with her bare knees against the pavement.

It had been a while since she treated a patient in the field. Now she was flooded with adrenaline all over again. What a rush.

“Here you go. The car will be here in two minutes.” The young woman handed Laurel’s phone back with the Uber app opened, displaying her driver’s information.

“Thank you.” Laurel wiped grit from her knees. She’d just adjusted her dress and fixed her hair when she saw the car approaching. She picked up the box.

Now she was on her way to an emergency vet, the last place she’d expected to visit after finalizing her divorce. She would do her good deed for the day, and then Laurel was definitely getting that drink.