Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Cillian pulled into the parking lot of Weston Neurology. No surprise the clinic Dr. Henry Weston shared with three other neurosurgeons would be solely named after him. He did likely draw the most clientele and profit to the business.
Cillian swung his jeep into a stall by the front entrance, staring at the modern one-story building without really seeing it. Hard to concentrate on the malpractice investigation when another one was heavier on his mind.
His blood still boiled when he remembered the thug slamming Victoria to the floor. What a coward, knocking a woman down on purpose to try to make his getaway.
And it had unfortunately worked. For now.
Victoria had been right when she’d stopped Cillian from going to the police about the incident.
The detective and lieutenant wouldn’t have believed it and might’ve hassled Victoria for going to the house and sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, as they saw it.
He and Victoria needed more hard evidence before they approached McCully or Willis again.
It would have to be really good to convince those two.
If only they’d hurry up with the autopsy results. That would prove Victoria was right. With any luck, it might also reveal something that could lead them to the killer. Maybe the same guy Cillian had chased out of the mansion last night.
That guy was probably the one who’d left the note on Victoria’s windshield. The threat.
Cillian clenched his jaw. If he ever got his hands on the—
Someone walked across his field of vision, breaking through the intensity of his thoughts. A woman, holding the hand of a boy who looked about eight years old. Hopefully, the kid wasn’t the one who needed neurosurgery.
Cillian pulled in a long breath, trying to calm his system. He wasn’t going to be able to charm anyone if he went in like Jack Reacher looking for revenge.
He opened the door of the jeep and got out, the crisp air like a cooling balm to the heat of his anger.
He should’ve caught the guy. Or stopped him from hitting Victoria.
The attacker must’ve hidden behind the door when she’d opened it.
And the coward went for her instead of Cillian when his back was turned.
Cillian reached into the back seat and grabbed the bouquet in a glass vase he’d spent way too much money on. But Victoria was more than worth it. If he could free her from her dad’s hold, they could finally have a future together.
He headed for the building, straightening his shoulders and trying to look cheerful.
The third malpractice plaintiff he’d looked into admitted he had simply run out of money. Didn’t seem to be anything suspicious or helpful for Cillian there.
But that second lady he’d spoken with…Marsha Faint. She’d acted so scared. So strange. That was the case he needed more intel on. The one that might hide the skeleton Cillian could drag out of Henry Weston’s closet to make him back off.
Nobody knew more about doctors than their nurses. If he could get one of them to talk, he might be able to find out what had happened to Marsha to make her drop the lawsuit and shut up.
He wasn’t likely to run into Dr. Weston himself at the clinic, since doctors didn’t usually hang out in the reception area where Cillian would be.
And Victoria’s old man probably wouldn’t recognize Cillian even if he did see him.
Cillian had been a skinny young kid with long hair the one time he’d met the famous Dr. Weston in person for like two seconds.
The angry doctor had barely looked at him.
Which meant Cillian could saunter right onto Dr. Weston’s home turf now.
He pulled open the glass door and quickly surveyed the small lobby.
Two receptionists worked behind a curved desk that faced the door. A couple of patients sat in chairs along one wall about fifteen feet away.
The redheaded receptionist glanced at him from behind her computer.
He donned a smile and strolled to the desk. “Good morning.” He held the bouquet in front of his chest as he stopped in front of the receptionist.
Nametag said Lydia Sommers. The middle-aged woman shot a quick glance at her younger officemate before she smiled at Cillian. “What gorgeous flowers.”
The twenty-something brunette leaned back in her chair like she was trying to see him better. “Are they from you? For somebody here?”
He recognized that light in her eyes and the way she scanned him instead of the flowers. Good. If she liked what she saw, she or Lydia would be more likely to give him the info he needed.
He gave her an angled grin. “No, they’re from my grandmother.”
“Your grandma?” The girl shot another conspiratorial look at the older receptionist as she stood and walked to Lydia’s chair. “That’s so sweet.” She fastened her attention on Cillian.
He quickly checked her nametag. Brooke Denton.
He broadened his grin. “My grandma is very sweet.” He shifted his gaze to include Lydia.
“Grandma had surgery performed by Dr. Weston three years ago in June.” Which just happened to be the time when Marsha Faint had a surgery that she later sued over.
“She really wants to thank the wonderful nurse who was especially kind to her.”
“You mean these flowers are for the nurse?” Lydia’s eyes widened.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Wow. That’s very kind. Our nurses don’t usually get personal thank-yous like this. Which nurse is it?”
“That’s the problem.” He gave a small wince.
“Grandma’s memory isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be, and I’m afraid she can’t remember the nurse’s name.
But she wanted to thank the nurse so badly that I offered to bring the flowers and hopefully deliver them to the correct lady.
Office assistants rule the world, so I figure you two can help me out.
” He landed his attention on Brooke, since she continued to stare at him with a melting expression.
Her cheeks flushed as if she’d been caught. Then she touched Lydia’s shoulder and looked down at her. “You can figure out who it is, right?” Brooke must be too new to accomplish the task herself.
He shifted his gaze to Lydia. “I and my grandma would be so grateful. It’s been several years, but she had a lot of healing to do, and she’s said every year since that she still needs to thank that special nurse. I’d like to thank her, too, at least with these flowers.”
Lydia smiled and nodded. “Well, I’m sure it would’ve been either Hannah or Mary. They’ve both worked with Dr. Weston for over ten years.” She glanced at the computer screen to her left. “But I’m afraid I don’t have access to records that would tell me which of them saw your grandmother.”
Names. That was all he needed. “That’s great.
I was afraid we wouldn’t even get a first name.
I’ll ask my grandma if one of those names rings a bell.
I think she’ll remember. Thank you so much, Lydia.
And Brooke.” He aimed his smile at each of them in turn, earning another blush and eyelash flutter from the younger receptionist.
“Oh, and you two keep this for your kindness.” He set the bouquet on the elevated part of the desk to the right.
“Oh, my goodness.” Lydia stared at him in pleased amazement. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Have a wonderful day, ladies.” He gave them a nod and turned away.
Brooke’s giggle reached his ears just before the door closed behind him.
He chuckled as he returned to his jeep. But his smile slid away as he sat behind the wheel and took out his phone.
Opening the Internet search bar, he pulled up Weston Neurology’s website. He navigated to the Our Staff page and scanned the photos and names.
There. Hannah Pyle and Mary Hovde.
Perfect. With full names, he could track them down and talk to them next. If he could charm them into sharing as easily as the receptionists, he should be able to learn the truth behind what had happened to the frightened Marsha Faint.
If it was illegal or at least unethical, as he suspected, he could be very close to the leverage he needed to change Victoria’s life, and his, forever.
Victoria navigated the heavy traffic on the residential street as she mentally reviewed the patient visit she had concluded a few minutes ago.
At least, reviewing and planning ahead for the visit documentation was what she should be doing. She blamed her distraction on the aches and bruises that kept her from getting comfortable in the seat and reminded her of the evening before.
The man had come at her so fast she hadn’t even known what was happening. A surge of fright had hit her at the same moment he had, but she’d had no time to react or try to defend herself.
She’d never been so thankful Cillian was with her.
After he had impressively chased the attacker away, he’d returned with fury simmering in his eyes.
But he’d treated her with a gentleness she didn’t know he had, asking if she was hurt, guiding her to the car with a strong hand of support on her back, offering to drive her home in her car and return for his motorcycle later.
He hadn’t cracked a joke or blamed her for getting in the way. He’d only muttered something about teaching the coward a lesson for knocking down a woman.
The memory of Cillian’s protection and sweetness sent a tingle through Victoria’s torso, ending in her fluttery stomach.
But she shouldn’t allow such feelings, so similar to what she’d felt for him when she was fifteen.
Caring for Cillian would still bring trouble, to her family and to her.
She hadn’t seen or heard anything from him to indicate he had come to Christ in the sixteen years of his absence.
As a new Christian herself when they’d first met, she hadn’t had the knowledge or spiritual maturity to avoid a romantic relationship with him on the basis of being unequally yoked.
Now would be quite different. Not that she was even considering romantic—
The classical strains of Chopin interrupted the thoughts that were only making her more uptight than before.