She took a deep breath and pushed out of her chair. It felt as if her ankles had chains attached to them as she dragged her feet to Dr. B’s office.
The red stain on the carpet in front of his desk still looked damp. She edged around the other side, nudging his chair out of the way with her knee. The filing cabinet next to his desk, the one he kept locked, had been pried open. It contained the blue file folders for the doctor’s special patients, the ones who didn’t want to be identified. She ran her fingers along the tabs, but couldn’t tell if the intruder took anything from the cabinet.
She turned toward his desk and opened each drawer, searching through the contents. Dr. B kept a messy desk, but the disorder in the drawers topped anything she’d seen before.
The killer had searched the filing cabinet and the desk. If he wanted drugs, why look here? Maybe he wanted money or a prescription pad, too.
“Looking for something?”
She jumped, jerking the drawer out, its contents spilling on the floor. Nick’s large frame filled the doorway as he propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. His white coat billowed open to reveal another expensive shirt and silk tie. The man could grace the cover of GQ.
“You scared me.” She crouched to gather the junk from the drawer off the floor. “How’d you get in here?”
“The officer in the hallway let me in. Seems he and my nurse, Petra, have formed a close bond.”
She thumbed through the papers and notebooks before dropping them back in the drawer and picking up another stack. No appointment book.
“Petra works fast.”
“So do you.”
She sliced her finger on a paper edge. “What?”
“You’re back in here so soon after the murder to take care of everything. Where are Dr. Buonfoglio’s surgical nurses?”
“They were with him a long time.” She shoved the drawer back into the desk and stood up, sucking on her finger. “I spoke with them last night, and they’re shocked. They need a few days to recover before coming in here.” Especially Jill.
“Did you hurt your finger?” He stepped forward and held out his hand.
“It’s just a paper cut, Doc.”
“Let me see it, anyway.” He cupped his outstretched hand and gestured her forward.
Might as well humor the guy. He obviously had no problem taking charge of a situation, and recalling the way he flew through the door of the office last night to attack the intruder, she didn’t have a problem with it, either.
She held out her hand, and he wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and peered at the slice on her finger that sported a tiny drop of blood. He had beautiful hands—surgeon’s hands—strong, capable, deft. She stopped. The surgeon’s hands last night delivered punishing blows, showing strength of another kind…brute strength.
“Dab some antiseptic on this and get a Band-Aid. The man last night didn’t steal all your Band-Aids, did he?”
She snatched her hand back. “I’m sure we have some in the examination room.”
“So what did he steal?”
She skirted past him and rounded the corner into the examination room. He followed.
“I’m sure he stole some drugs. I still have to compare my inventory against the mess he left behind and give a list to Detective Chu.” And the appointment book? She hadn’t found it among Dr. B’s clutter, either.
She grabbed a Band-Aid and spun around, meeting Nick’s dark eyes.
“Something else?” His brows rose.
“Last night you said the man was wearing a jacket big enough to conceal anything. Big enough to hide an eight-by-eleven notebook?”
“What kind of notebook?” Nick shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and leaned against the wall, as if to strike a casual pose. The gestures failed. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, indicating anything but casual.
What did she expect? He was minding his own business last night, heard her scream and jumped into a life-and-death struggle.
“An appointment book.” She squared her hands in front of her. “I can’t find my appointment book.”
His shoulders relaxed. “You still keep an appointment book? Don’t you have a database on your computer?”
“I keep both. Dr. B liked to see his appointments on paper, all collected in one book.”
“Just names and dates, that kind of thing?” He flicked a piece of lint off his spotless sleeve.
Why was Dr. Nick Marino suddenly developing an interest in Dr. Buonfoglio’s method of keeping appointments? Well, even if he cultivated pretense, she didn’t.
“Yeah, names and phone numbers penciled in on a calendar. Why are you so interested?”
His eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t I be? A doctor on my floor, another cosmetic surgeon, is murdered and I’m supposed to take it in stride? Shrug it off?”
She bit her lip. He had a point. She was supposed to be the caring hospice nurse and he the coldhearted, money-grubbing cosmetic surgeon.
“I’m sorry, Nick. You have every right to be concerned, and I never even thanked you for saving my life.”
He shrugged. “As a cosmetic surgeon, I don’t get to save a life every day. Do you need help with the inventory?”
“What about your patients? Don’t you need to get back to work?”
“I canceled all my appointments for the rest of the day.” He pointed to the bandage on his head. “I’m afraid this didn’t inspire much confidence in my patients this morning.”
She accepted his help, and after she grabbed the inventory list off her desk, they snapped on matching rubber gloves to sort through the mess in the supply room. She checked off each item and quantity on her list as Nick pieced together broken bottles and smashed containers.
When Nick swept up the last of the glass from the floor, Lacey sat back on her heels and frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“What?” He dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash bin they’d ordered from Facilities.
“There’s really not that much missing from this list.” She tapped the pen on the paper. “It just looked like he stole a lot because he trashed the place.”
“Maybe he grabbed the easy-to-steal sample packets. Do you keep an inventory of those? I don’t. Maybe you interrupted him before he could get down to business.”
“Why did he smash everything if he was looking for drugs to steal? Unless…” She stood up and lodged a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“Unless what?” Nick looked up sharply.
“Unless he just wanted it to look like he was after the drugs.”
He banged the lid on the trash can and leaned over it, not turning around to look at her. “What was he after, Nancy Drew?”
Why did he sound so angry with her? The fumes must’ve gone to his head. “I don’t know, but he thought he might find it in Dr. B’s desk.”
“Was anything missing other than the appointment book?” He turned slowly, still gripping the trash can behind him.
“Not that I could tell. Are you okay? Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea for you to be crouching over for an hour cleaning up with that head injury.”
He plowed