Special Agent Nanny. Linda Johnston O.

caregivers did. And the impression he made on Kelley was all-important.

      On impulse, he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of a minimall. He pulled out the cell phone stashed in the glove compartment and called Colleen.

      “I made some progress today,” he told her, watching a kid walk by eating a hot dog from the nearby convenience store.

      It was the truth. Just not all of it.

      “I started my examination of the arson site. I continued my inquiries. And I got our number one suspect to agree to talk to me tomorrow.” That was something he looked forward to. A lot.

      “Good job,” Colleen said. “I’ll be interested in your next report.”

      Me, too, Shawn thought. He was determined it would be a lot better than this one.

      THE NEXT MORNING, Kelley visited Jenny after Randall left her at KidClub. Fortunately, Jenny, though teary-eyed, didn’t create a scene when she left.

      Unfortunately, Shawn Jameson bulldozed her into setting a time and place for their impending meeting.

      If she hadn’t had her mind on that discomfiting situation, she might not have felt so blindsided by what happened later that morning. But when she walked into the room of the third patient on her rounds, she was taken aback to see Dr. Madelyne Younger beside her patient’s bed. The other bed in the room was empty, so there was no mistaking who Madelyne was there to see.

      “Good morning,” Kelley said, but her eyes asked her friend and colleague if anything was wrong.

      “Hi, Dr. Stanton,” Madelyne said cheerfully. “Just came in to see how Tom’s doing today.”

      The patient, Tom Layton, had been admitted for emergency treatment of an aneurysm a week earlier. His surgeon had been Randall.

      Occasionally, despite all the care taken at the hospital, surgical patients like Tom developed infections. That was one of Kelley’s specialties—caring for the infrequent postsurgical infection cases. She had put Tom on a regimen of antibiotics that seemed to be working.

      “And how are you doing?” Kelley smiled at him.

      Tom Layton was a middle-aged man who had indulged too much in his passion for eating and had apparently believed that joining a gym satisfied his need to exercise, whether or not he ever went there. His small brown eyes were morose, but Kelley thought that might be the way he always looked. “Better, but—” He looked toward Madelyne as if for assistance.

      Kelley’s heart sank. She knew what was going on. “You’ve requested a second opinion from Dr. Younger,” she said. “An excellent idea.”

      It had happened more often than usual in the past weeks…since the fire. She had no idea how the rumors circulating the hospital made their way to patients’ ears, but she could guess.

      Yet why would Randall stoop that low? It could bite him in his own wallet. If her reputation disintegrated because of allegations that she had not treated patients properly, her medical practice would disintegrate, too. Then Randall would have to pay more in child support to make sure their daughter was properly provided for.

      “Tom’s family has asked me to take over his care.” Madelyne’s voice was uncharacteristically modulated, and the distress in her eyes told Kelley that she felt embarrassed.

      But the reality was that Kelley had been replaced. Again.

      “Well, then,” she said too cheerfully, making a note on the chart on her clipboard. “I wish you all the best, Mr. Layton. And if there are any questions I can answer for Dr. Younger or you, I’ll be glad to.” She turned and left the room.

      Of course Louis Paxler would be right there, by the nearest nurse’s station. “Dr. Stanton, may I see you for a minute?” he called.

      “Sure,” she replied. “After I powder my nose.” As if she ever refreshed her makeup while on rounds. Today, she wished she carried an under-eye concealer with her, to hide the redness. But that would not dispel the threatening tears.

      She hadn’t felt so upset the first couple of times this had happened. But now…

      It took her a few minutes to calm herself. When she finally left the rest room, Paxler was gone. “He said to call later and set up an appointment,” a duty nurse told Kelley. “He wants to talk to you.”

      “Thanks,” she said. She could guess what the administrator wanted to talk about.

      She could conveniently forget to call. Or get too busy. Or— She glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was almost eleven. Darn! That was when she had agreed to meet Shawn for coffee.

      She’d figured, when she gave in to his insistence, that she could deal with coffee one time. Make it quick.

      Maybe even learn what he had really been doing in the burned-out records room last night.

      But now she felt too upset to talk to anyone.

      Particularly Shawn. Not that it mattered, but she didn’t want to appear disheveled and weepy to him.

      With a sigh, she headed toward the cafeteria.

      Not to have coffee with Shawn, but to tell him she was too busy.

      SHAWN DIDN’T BUY IT. Or maybe it was simply that he was so damned disappointed.

      Hell, it didn’t matter if she didn’t want his company. He had a job to do. He kept his voice neutral. “Another time, then.”

      They stood just inside the doorway to the cafeteria, where he had been waiting. She had arrived a minute late, her usual clipboard under one arm—only to tell him she hadn’t time for coffee with him.

      “Sure.” She seemed relieved when he acted so understanding. “Another time.”

      To hear her over the roar of voices in the crowded eating area, he had moved close to her. Close enough that he could inhale her clean female fragrance.

      Stop getting distracted, Jameson, he commanded himself.

      He focused instead on the way she looked. Beautiful, as usual, of course. But there was something else, as well.

      “Is anything wrong, Kelley?”

      Her expressive brown eyes held a stricken look, as if someone had dealt her a blow. One the lovely doctor seemed determined to be brave about, but she was clearly having a tough time.

      He wanted to know what was bothering her.

      “Sorry if I seem preoccupied,” she replied with a small shrug of one slender shoulder, “but I’m concerned about a case.” Her smile looked forced. “Doctors worry about patients, like you worry about the kids in your care.” Her soft auburn brows rose as if she expected him to confirm his professional concerns.

      “You’ve got that right.” Actually, he did worry about the kids—and whether what he did would cause them to kill each other. Or him. So far, so good. No one in his charge had suffered an injury worse than a scraped knee.