Chapter 11
I’m sprawled in a chair that definitely wasn’t designed for someone my height—or size—boots hooked on the edge of the scarred wooden table in the center of the room as the four of us discuss the job.
“And the hospital staff still swear they don’t know anything?” Hawk asks.
“Each and every one of them.” I shrug.
Damon leans forward and rests his elbows against his knees. “I still get the feeling that surgeon, Dr. Hart, knows more than she is telling us.”
We’re all going to know soon enough. Mattis has been digging into her since we talked to her, seeing whether our suspicions are correct. Hawk’s phone rings, and after a short greeting, he tosses it onto the table between us.
“I did a deep dive on Dr. Blake Hart,” Mattis shares. “I just emailed all of you the full file, triple-layer encrypted.
“Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty.”
Gunnar groans, not even remotely hiding his eye roll as I pick up my tablet. I swipe into the Aegis app to open the file transfer.
Dr. Blake Marie Hart
“All right,” Hawk says. “Highlights.”
Mattis sighs, the long-suffering sound of a man who would much rather be trying to hack into the NSA again. “Dr. Blake Marie Hart. American. Born in Baltimore, Maryland.”
I swipe through the folder, glossing over her impressive transcripts.
“She went to Johns Hopkins for undergrad,” Mattis continues, “med school at Columbia, and surgical residency at Mass General.”
Damon whistles softly. “That’s not nothing.”
“No, quite impressive.” Mattis agrees. “She practiced in the US just long enough to meet the criteria for Physicians Beyond Frontiers.”
I scroll through certifications, commendations, and letters of recommendation that make her out to be the next Mother Teresa.
“And then?” Hawk asks.
“And then she never stops moving,” Mattis says. “Conflict zones. Disaster relief. Epidemics. She’s been in South Sudan, Haiti, Yemen, Ukraine, bouncing around nearly as much as you guys do.”
Gunnar snorts. “So, she’s either a saint or running from something.”
Mattis clears his throat. “She’s clean.”
I pause my scrolling. “Define clean.”
“Like really clean.” Mattis emphasizes every word. “Impeccable credit score. Donates to charity. Calls home at least once a week. No suspicious travel patterns, beyond the obvious goes where people are dying thing.”
I lean back in my chair, tapping the edge of the tablet. “So, either she’s the most ethical human being on the planet…”
“Or she’s very good at not being seen,” Damon finishes.
“Which is usually our job.”
Hawk steeples his fingers. “What’s her connection to Maryam?”
“Officially?” Mattis says. “She was her attending physician. Unofficially… she went against hospital protocol to treat her.”
I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips as I skim the incident report.
Dr. Hart refused to comply with the family’s directive.
“Atta girl,” I mutter.
Hawk’s gaze flicks to me. “Something you want to share, Jagger?”
“Just appreciating good bedside manners.” I keep scrolling, landing on a photo of her. It’s a candid pull from her social media. Her long brown hair cascades over her shoulders, and her equally dark eyes sparkle as she laughs.
Gunnar scoffs. “You’re appreciating something.”
I ignore him and still staring, I ask, “Married?”
Mattis answers so quickly, I wonder if he’s memorized her file, “No.”
“Boyfriend?”
Gunnar groans loudly. “Jesus Christ, we don’t pay Mattis to help you find a date.”
Finally, I look up, offended. “Shows how much you know. He’s better than any dating app I’ve ever used.”
Gunnar blinks. “What is that supposed to—” He stops himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Never mind.”
Mattis clears his throat again, definitely enjoying this. “To answer your question, no. No boyfriend.”
I shoot Gunnar a triumphant stink-eye. “Was that so hard?”
“She’s cute, Jagg,” Mattis adds.
“She is, isn’t she?”
“Objectively speaking.”
Gunnar laughs. “Oh, this is going to be unbearable.”
I glance back at the tablet. At Blake Marie Hart, the Baltimore-born, seemingly perfect, globe-trotting doctor vying for sainthood.
“My gut says we need to keep an eye on her,” Hawk insists. “We need to talk to her again.”
“When?” Gunnar asks.
I grin, already grabbing my tablet to pull up her schedule for this week. “As soon as possible.”
“And you’re leading?” Gunnar asks, suspiciously.
“Obviously,” I start. “I’m by far the most charming.”