Out Of The Shadows

Without warning, Wade gathered her up in his warm, protective embrace.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he sighed into her hair. “You’re as bighearted and pigheaded as they come. And while that’s a tempting combination, I can’t be—”

“So who asked you to be my protector? I told you, I can take—”

“—care of yourself,” he finished for her. “I never meant to insult you. It’s just that, for some reason, you worry me.”

Patrice couldn’t help admitting that she was touched by his concern. “There’s no need for that. I’m fine.”

“Something is happening here,” he whispered, lifting her chin. “And I don’t know whether to run from it or straight at it.”

Patrice trembled in his arms. If he isn’t the guy for me, Lord, she prayed, speak now or forever hold Your peace….

LOREE LOUGH

A full-time writer for nearly fifteen years, Loree Lough has produced more than two thousand articles, dozens of short stories and novels for the young (and young at heart), and all have been published here and abroad. Author of thirty-seven award-winning romances, Loree also writes as Cara McCormack and Aleesha Carter.

A comedic teacher and conference speaker, Loree loves sharing in classrooms what she’s learned the hard way. The mother of two grown daughters, she lives in Maryland with her husband and a fourteen-year-old cat named Mouser (who, until this year—when she caught and killed her first mouse—had no idea what a rodent was).

Out of the Shadows
Loree Lough

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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…yea, in the shadow of Thy wings

will I make my refuge….

—Psalms 57:1

Out of the Shadows is dedicated to all the “real”

Patrices out there who dedicatedly devote

themselves to children in hospitals

all over the globe; my hat’s off to you all!

Dear Reader,

Tragedy…

Sooner or later, each of us has a head-on collision with it. If we’re strong when it hits, we pick up the pieces and move on. If not, we throw up our hands and demand “Why, Lord?”

But Christians are taught “Don’t ask why. Just have faith.” Easier said than done! Because suffering tests more than our mettle, it burrows into the foundation of our faith, making us question God’s promise: “Let all those who put their trust in Thee rejoice; let them ever shout for joy, because Thou defendest them.” (Psalms 5:11)

There’s a line in an old song that goes something like “into each life a little rain must fall.” As Wade and Patrice discovered, the Creator defended them from the rain when He said, “I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be a token of a covenant between Me and thee.” (Genesis 9:13) Alone, each was blinded by life’s briny storms, but when He brought them together, their eyes were opened to the rainbow that led them out of the shadows…to the soft, warm light of enduring love.

May you bask in that same tender radiance, all the rest of your life!

All my best,

P.S. If you enjoyed Out of the Shadows, please drop me a note c/o Steeple Hill Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, New York 10017. I love hearing from my readers and try to answer every letter personally!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Prologue

Fifteen years ago, Halloween Night

If not for that lousy D on his last report card, he’d have a car to protect him from the biting late-October wind. His mother’s stern lecture echoed in his head: “If you’re not responsible enough to get decent grades in school, Wade Michael Cameron, you’re not responsible enough to maneuver two tons of steel on the road!”

Angry—at his mom for making the stupid “C Average Required to Get a Driver’s License” rule, at Mr. Woodley for giving him the low grade in Biology, at himself for not turning in the report that would’ve earned him that C—Wade dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his windbreaker.

Scowling, he hunched his shoulders and walked faster. Why hadn’t he grabbed a heavier jacket when his mom suggested it? Well, another block and he’d be home. And hopefully when he got there, there’d be leftover lasagna in the fridge…

Ear-piercing sirens and the red-and-white strobes of fire trucks and ambulances shattered his train of thought. Sounded to Wade as though the commotion was coming from the cemetery.

His get-home-quick pace stalled as the turmoil near the railroad tracks mounted. He ran for a closer look.

The blades of a helicopter whipped dry leaves and grit round and round him, making Wade feel like he’d been trapped in a minitornado. Forearm shielding his eyes, he ducked behind the trunk of a massive oak.

To the adventure-hungry sixteen-year-old, it looked like a movie set, what with the headlights of a dozen cop cars crisscrossing against the revolving strobes of emergency vehicles. Dark-uniformed policemen bolted up and down the polished railroad tracks, hollering and yelling, some aiming flashlights into the woods, others marching through the underbrush looking for…

Looking for what? Wade wondered, suddenly forgetting how cold he’d been a moment ago.

“Found a boot over here,” one cop shouted above the whirlybird’s rotors.

“Got me a flannel sleeve,” bellowed another.

A boot? A shirt sleeve? Wade’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“Hey! Get a gurney over here, stat!” shouted a female paramedic. “The engineer is in full cardiac arrest!”

All activity now concentrated on the front of the freight train. Men and women who’d been searching on and around the tracks moved in. Soon, Wade couldn’t see a thing past broad-shouldered cops, EMTs and fire-fighters.

Surely these guys didn’t think the pumpkin-headed dummy Wade and his pals made had been real…. He leaned left and right, wishing for a better look. He soon discovered it wasn’t the boys’ Halloween dummy on the stretcher, but a real-life human being. The man’s face, contorted with pain, was white as the fleecy blanket covering him.

He and the guys had made the dummy, then thrown it onto the tracks to see how far the train would drag it. Evidently, the engineer had mistaken it for a real person, and radioed for help to find the “man” who was missing after he hit him.

Wade found it difficult to swallow past the hard, dry knot in his throat. His breath came in short, harsh gasps and he knuckled his eyes. Wade and his pals Luke, Travis, Buddy and Adam had done some pretty outrageous things in the past, but nothing so terrible as this!

A flurry of activity captured his attention as several men lifted the gurney and ran, full steam ahead, toward the waiting helicopter. Seconds later, the machine shot straight up into the black sky.

“Lord,” he whispered, “let that guy be okay….”

Not much chance God would listen to someone like him—especially considering…. Still, Wade repeated his prayer, just in case.

“The engineer told me he saw a guy on the tracks,” he heard a cop say to a firefighter. “Said he braked for all he was worth, but couldn’t stop in time.”

Wade squeezed his eyes shut, admitting the obvious. What the engineer had mistaken for a homeless man was nothing but an assemblage of items Buddy had ordered the guys to bring to the cemetery—an old shirt, tattered trousers, beaten-up boots—stuffed with week-old newspapers and topped by a jack-o’-lantern head, and a ragtag fedora.

Swallowing, he stepped out from behind the shrubs and walked up to the nearest emergency vehicle. Assuming his best curious-kid expression, he said, “Hey, mister, what’s goin’ on?”

The paramedic looked up from his gear and frowned. “What’re you doin’ out this time of night, son?”

Wade shrugged. “I live right over there. So what happened?”

The paramedic went back to stuffing equipment into the side of his ambulance. “Engineer had himself one doozy of a heart attack.”

Heart attack.

Wade’s heart thudded wildly. Slapping a palm over his eyes, he groaned.

“Aw, don’t get your britches in a knot over it,” the paramedic said. “Stuff like that happens hundreds of times a day.” He shrugged. “Hard as we try to save ’em, there’s nothing we can do about it sometimes.”

Maybe so, Wade thought as guilt swirled in his gut. But sometimes, they did save people. “Y’think he’ll be okay?”

“Hard to say.” He slammed the compartment door. “Doesn’t look too good, though.”

Wade swallowed. “So where will they take him?”

The paramedic slid behind the steering wheel. “University Hospital.” He fired up the truck, then met Wade’s eyes. “Now go home and get to bed. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Nodding, Wade dug his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “Yessir.”

And the instant the man was out of sight, Wade stuck out his thumb, intent on hitching a ride into Baltimore with the first driver headed for the city.

Wade waved his thanks to the truck driver who’d dropped him off at the hospital, and shoved through the emergency room doors.

The silence was almost eerie, and the reception area was illuminated only by the dim, flickering fluorescent lights above the nurses’ station. In the waiting area, a man flapped the pages of his raggedy newspaper, and directly across from him, a young girl sat on the edge of her chair, hands clasped tightly on her knees and eyes glued to the doors that read No Admittance: Staff Only.

Wade walked up to the nurses’ station. A nurse met his eyes. “Can I help you?”

“I, uh, I’m here to see how that guy is doing…the one they just brought in on the helicopter?”

She raised one eyebrow. “You a relative of Mr. Delaney?”

Wade gulped. So the engineer had a name: Mr. Delaney. “N-no, I’m a—”

“Friend of the family?”

Hardly, Wade thought, but he nodded, anyway.

“Wait over there,” the nurse said, using her chin as a pointer. “Lemme see what I can find out.”

Wade slumped into a chair, two down from the young girl. He leaned forward, scrubbed both hands over his face and shook his head.

“Who are you waiting for?” the girl asked.

From between his fingers, Wade looked over at her. She appeared to be ten or twelve years old, wearing a faded pink sweat suit and fuzzy bunny slippers. “Just some guy.” Elbows on knees, he laced his fingers together. “You?”

“My little brother, Timmy.” Her big eyes fixed on the No Admittance doors. “He’s been in there forever.”

Wade sat back, propped an ankle on a knee. “What’s wrong with him?”

She sighed, kicked one foot until the bunny ears flopped. “He was born with this weird heart condition. We have to bring him in here two or three times a month, usually in the middle of the night.” Another sigh. “I’ll bet he’s slept here a couple hundred times.”

“That stinks.” Wade didn’t think he’d ever seen a sadder face. He wished he had enough change in his pocket to buy her a soda, maybe a package of chips or a candy bar. “You always wait out here alone when your folks bring him in?”

She nodded. “It doesn’t usually take this long, though.” She glanced at the big double doors again. “Something’s wrong.”

He noticed that one of her bunnies had just one eye, the other was missing an ear. “What makes you say that?”

Tears welled in her big, dark eyes, and her lower lip trembled. “Usually, somebody comes to tell me something by now.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve been here nearly three hours and—”

Wade leaped to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

He knocked on the nurses’ station desk. “Um, excuse me…I hate to bother you, but that little girl over there,” he said, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder, “has been waiting three hours to hear about her brother. Do you have any idea what’s going on back there?”

The lady he’d talked to earlier leaned to the right and peered around him. “Poor li’l thing,” she said, clucking her tongue.

“She’s getting to be a regular fixture around this place,” the woman said. She looked at Wade. “Let me see what I can find out.” Then, “Say, Marsha, why don’t you see if you can scare up an o.j. or something for these kids.” She winked at Wade and hurried into the ER.

Marsha rooted around in a small refrigerator. “Here y’go,” she said, handing him two tiny cartons of chocolate milk. “Need straws?”

Wade accepted the milk. “I don’t,” he said, glancing toward the waiting room, “but she might like one.”

“You’re a nice boy,” Marsha said when he took it from her.

Nice. Yeah, right, he thought, remembering what had happened to the engineer. But “Thanks” is what he said.

Sitting beside the girl, Wade peeled back the spout of one carton and slid a straw into its opening. “You want me to see if I can get ’em to cough up some doughnuts or something?”

She sent him a hint of a smile. “No, I’m not hungry.” After taking a tiny sip, she looked straight into his eyes and said, “You’re very nice. Thank you.”

Wade nearly choked on his chocolate milk. All his life, he’d been hearing what a loser he was, and twice in as many minutes, two people had told him the exact opposite. What a joke, he thought, because if they knew him…if they’d seen him earlier tonight, at the cemetery, they wouldn’t think he was so nice!

“What’s your name?” the girl asked.

“Wade,” he said, nervously opening and closing the milk carton. “Yours?”

“Patrice McKenzie.” She tilted her head slightly. “Do you live near the hospital?”

He shook his head. “Ellicott City. How ’bout you?”

“I live in Freeland, on a farm.”

“A farm? With cows and pigs and horses and stuff?” He grinned. “No kiddin’.”

That made her laugh—just a little—but it made Wade feel good to have brightened her mood, even slightly.

The ER doors swooshed open, interrupting his thoughts. “Patrice?” a woman wailed. “Patrice, baby, where are you?”

The girl jumped up so fast, she nearly spilled her chocolate milk down the front of her pink sweatshirt. “Right here, Mom.”

Wade figured the man and woman who bundled her into a group hug must be her parents. From the looks of them, the news about her brother wasn’t good. Then Patrice started to cry. The misery seemed to start deep in the core of her, ebbing out one dry, hacking sob at a time and racking her tiny body.

As Patrice’s family trudged out of the ER arm in arm, Wade realized little Timmy must have died. He hung his head. Maybe he should’ve tried to scare up something sweet for her to eat, even though she’d said she hadn’t wanted anything. Because the way things looked, no telling how long it might be before—

“Hey, kid.”

Wade got to his feet. “Yeah?”

“Sorry, but we lost Mr. Delaney, ’bout fifteen minutes ago.”

Wade pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

The nurse he’d spoken to earlier put a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “The cops are on their way now, to tell the family. You might want to get over first chance you get, see if there’s anything you can do for ’em…since you’re a friend of the family and all.”

Friend. Shame burned hot in Wade’s gut. Funny, he thought, that until the nurse said “friend,” he hadn’t understood what the word hypocrite meant.

“How’d you get here?”

“Walked,” he fibbed, knowing if he said “hitch-hiked,” he’d probably be in for a safety sermon. The nurse seemed like a nice enough woman, but Wade was in no mood for a lecture, no matter how well intended.

“So, how you gettin’ home?”

Wade shrugged. “Same way, I guess.”

“I could call you a cab….”

Shaking his head, Wade got to his feet. “Nah. I’ll walk. It’s not far.” You’re gettin’ awful good at fibbin’, he told himself. Better watch it.

Truth was, there were thirty miles between here and his house, but he’d walk every step of it. It’d do him good, having all that time to think.

The nurse frowned. “This isn’t the best neighborhood, so you keep your eyes peeled, y’hear?”

Wade fought the impulse to exhale a sarcastic snicker. Nothing was going to happen to him; bad things only happened to good people.

“Okay, then, if you’re sure….”

He nodded, and the nurse headed back into the ER, leaving Wade alone in the waiting room.

Alone, and feeling more lost than he’d ever felt in his life.

Chapter One

Present day, Halloween Eve

As he stepped off the elevator, Wade glanced at his watch, then ran a hand nervously through his hair. He’d never honed the ability to keep an emotional distance from his patients; especially when the patient was a kid.

Knowing it would be the toughest visit of his rounds, he’d saved this patient for last. Just outside her hospital room, he took a moment to get his head on straight. Then, one hand on the door handle, he froze as a whisper-soft voice from inside the room said, “And may God bless Emily and speed her recovery.”

Wade grimaced. Fat lot of good your prayers are gonna do, he silently scolded this patient’s mother, ’cause if the Big Guy exists, He ain’t listening.

Only yesterday, Wade had spent nearly eleven hours in the OR with little Emily Kirkpatrick. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of God would stand idly by as a six-year-old endured such intense and constant pain. Now, shaking his head, he forced a bright smile and shoved his way into the child’s room.

“Dr. Cameron,” Emily’s mom said, hands still clasped in prayer, “how good to see you.”

Humbled by the gratitude on the mother’s weary face, Wade felt himself blush. “How goes it, Mrs. Kirkpatrick?” He grabbed Emily’s chart from the plastic slot attached to her door, tucking it under his arm as he met the woman’s eyes. “Get any sleep last night?”

“Oh, I managed to catch a few winks. How about you? You’re the one who spent eleven hours in the operating room.”

Long ago, he’d accepted that now and then, he’d run across someone who seemed to have turned nurturing into an art form. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was one of those people. “Slept like a baby,” he answered.

Laughing, Emily’s mom grabbed her purse. “If you don’t mind, I’ll run down the hall and grab a quick cup of coffee while you’re examining Emily.”

“Take your time,” Wade said, dragging a chair closer to Emily’s bed.

Emily opened sleepy eyes. “Hi, Doc.”

He perched on the edge of the chair. “Hi, yourself, kiddo. How y’doin’?”

Emily managed a wan smile. “Hurts,” she said, pointing to her chest.

“Sorry to hear that, sweetie.” Gently, Wade laid her chart beside her on the mattress. “You’re due for a little medicine soon, so by suppertime, you’ll be feeling much better.”

She gave a weak nod.

“So how’d you sleep?” Gently, he touched a finger to the end of her upturned nose. “Did those busybody nurses keep you awake, taking your temperature and stuff?”

Her smile broadened a bit. “Yeah, but it’s okay. Mommy says they’re just trying to help me get better.”

He took her tiny hand in his. “What’s this?” Wade asked, grinning.

“A ladybug, crawling on a daisy,” she said. “This nice man came in and painted it on me.” Her blue eyes darted around, then settled on something across the room. “Miss Patrice brought him here.”

Wade followed Emily’s gaze to where “Miss Patrice” stood, entertaining Emily’s roommate. If the young woman had seen him enter, she gave no sign of it; her attention was fixed on her one-child audience.

Which was fine by Wade; volunteers had good intentions, what with their puppets and face paints and musical instruments, but in his opinion, their main contribution was to wear out his patients and generally get in the way.

“And if Nurse Joan tells me you don’t eat your supper again tonight,” Miss Patrice made her monkey puppet say, “I’m going to tell my best friend.”

The child snickered. “Yeah?” the girl demanded, grinning. “Who’s your best friend?”

“Why, Santa Claus, of course!” Miss Patrice manipulated the sticks controlling the puppet, making it tousle the child’s hair. Wade would have bet the kid’s peals of laughter could be heard all the way to the bank of elevators down the hall. He couldn’t help but notice that her merriment had crept to Emily’s side of the room, too.

“If Santa finds out you’re not taking proper care of yourself,” said the puppet’s gravelly voice, “there’s gonna be T-R-O-U-B-L-E.” She made the monkey wiggle a hairy finger under the girl’s nose. “And you know what that spells!”

“Trouble!” Emily answered, grinning from ear to ear. For the moment, at least, she appeared to have forgotten her pain.

Patrice whirled around, eyes wide and smiling, and, puppet balanced on her forearm, stepped up to Emily’s bed. “And just who do you think you are, li’l missy, the Spelling Bee Queen?”

“No, silly,” she giggled, “I’m Emily Kirkpatrick.”

“Pleased t’meetcha, Emily Kirkpatrick!” The monkey tickled her chin. “My name is Mortimer Mohammad Mastriani McMonkey.”

“That’s a long name!”

Mort did a little jig on the edge of Emily’s bed, then tapped a paw to his chin. “Yes, it is a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it. Tell you what…you can call me Mort.” The monkey’s hands rested on its hips. “Now tell me, cutie, how’re you doin’?”

“I had a op’ration yesterday.” She gave Wade an adoring look. “Dr. Cameron fixed the hole in my heart.”

The puppeteer met Wade’s eyes. For a moment, no one spoke…not even Mort McMonkey.

“Yes, so I heard,” Miss Patrice said at last.

The puppeteer had the most expressive face Wade had ever seen. The short, reddish-brown curls topping her pretty head reminded him of the elves on those cookie packages. He wondered why she allowed it to cover one eye; it seemed to him those big brown eyes were so warm, they could thaw an igloo.

She looked vaguely familiar, and he was about to admit it when she moved Mort aside enough to expose her name badge. Patrice McKenzie, it said.

“Will you be having supper with us tonight, Emily?” Mort asked.

Wade was too stunned to hear Emily’s response. He’d met a Patrice or two since that night, but how many Patrice McKenzies could there be? Can’t be that Patrice, he told himself.

Could it?

She blinked, confused, he presumed, by his scrutiny.

It had been fifteen years since he’d shared a bleak ER waiting room with a teary, terrified girl, but he’d recognize those big brown eyes anywhere. If the young woman on the other side of Emily’s bed wasn’t the same Patrice, he’d eat his stethoscope.

Mort started hip-hopping again. “Well, well, well,” the monkey said, “it looks to me like your Dr. Cameron is a real live hero, Emily Kirkpatrick!”

The girl’s mother stepped into the room just then. “Yes, yes he is,” she said, standing beside him.

Hero? The very idea was laughable! Wade wanted to warn them all that, in the first place, though Emily’s condition was much better than it had been at this time yesterday, she was far from out of the woods. And in the second place…

The train fiasco that had sent him to the ER all those years ago flashed through his memory. Heart pounding, Wade checked his watch. “So, are you ready to show me your incision, Em?”

She nodded. “Okay, I guess.”

Because of her heart condition, Emily wasn’t as big as other girls her age. The operation made her seem even smaller, frail, vulnerable. Wade finger-combed golden locks from her forehead. “Say goodbye to Mort,” he said gently, “’cause we need to close the curtain.”

She shook the monkey’s tiny, hairy hand. “G’bye, Mort. See you later?”

“You betcha!” The puppet waved at Emily, at the child in the next bed, at Mrs. Kirkpatrick, then at Wade. “See yas later, ’gators!”

As Patrice started for the door, Wade grabbed her elbow. “Mind hanging around a minute? I have something to ask you.”

Her dark brows rose slightly, as if to say, What could you possibly want to ask me?

“Okay,” Mort answered in Patrice’s stead, “but it’s gonna cost ya, Doc.”

For a reason he couldn’t explain, Wade abandoned his all-business demeanor. “Name your price, monkey face.”

The kids and Mrs. Kirkpatrick laughed as Mort slapped both fuzzy hands over his mouth. “Monkey face? Well, I never!” He shook a furry finger at the doctor. “It was gonna be just a cup of coffee, but after that remark, you’ll hafta throw in a slice of pie, too!”

Small price to pay, Wade thought, for a private session with Mortimer Mohammad Mastriani McMonkey…and his handler.

“I’ll be in my office,” Patrice said.

For the second time in as many minutes, she’d used her own voice. Like everything else about her, it was adorable.

But wait—had she said her office? “Since when do hospital volunteers have offices?”

Patrice laughed, the sound reminding him of the small copper bells that used to hang on his mom’s back porch.

“Technically I’m not a volunteer,” she explained, walking backward toward the hall, “But I am the person who makes sure there are volunteers for the children. I’m the pediatric social worker who heads up Child Services.” She opened the door. “You know where the Zoo Lobby is?”

Wade didn’t like admitting that he hadn’t a clue. “Ellicott General is like a small city, and I’ve spent most of my time in the ‘heart’ of town, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

Mort came to life again. “I get it, Doc,” the monkey said. “Cardiologist…heart…. Ha-ha-ha.” Mort patted Wade’s shoulder. “First-floor elevators to the giant stuffed animal cages, left down the hall, office on the right.” Clapping, the monkey added, “The sign above the door says Child Services. Got it?”

Wade was about to echo “Got it,” when Patrice winked and ducked into the hall.

“She spreads such joy wherever she goes,” Mrs. Kirkpatrick said as Wade pulled the curtain around her daughter’s bed. “And isn’t she just the cutest thing?”

“Yeah, cute,” he muttered halfheartedly, opening Emily’s file. He’d never been a big advocate of non-family members meandering in and out of the hospital, overstaying their welcome, leaving behind their germs. And Patrice McKenzie had built a career of inviting them to do just that.

He wondered how much joy she’d feel like spreading if he gave her his two cents worth on the subject.

He pictured the long-lashed, dark eyes, heard her lilting voice in his memory, and found himself fighting an urge to rush through Emily’s examination so he could make his way past the Zoo Lobby to the Child Services office…

…and the lovely lady who’d breathed life into Mortimer Mohammad Mastriani McMonkey.

She caught sight of her reflection in the silver frame that held a photo of her father, taken before the fiery car crash. Instinctively, she fluffed her hair, effectively hiding the scar. The hideous, horrible welt coiled from just below her right earlobe to the corner of her eye, like a rope that tied her, permanently, to the accident that had paralyzed her father.

Patrice sat back and squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t until her knuckles began to ache that she realized how tightly she’d been gripping the chair’s wooden armrests. It had taken several sessions with her pastor to realize why she refused to get rid of the picture…and the scar. Flexing her fingers, she sighed. “Someday,” Pete Phillips had counseled, “you’ll give them both to God. Until then—”

Footsteps, just outside her office door, cut short the memory. Grabbing a pen, she hunched over the papers piled high on her desk and feigned hard work.

“Knock, knock….”

She recognized the charming baritone: Dr. Wade Cameron.

Patrice looked up and smiled. “Hi,” she said, standing. “Come on in.”

He placed a partitioned cardboard tray on one of the chrome-and-blue upholstered chairs in front of her desk, then sat in the other. “All they had was cherry,” he said, handing her a plastic-wrapped slice of pie. “Hope that’s okay.”

A nervous giggle popped from her lips. “Oh. Wow. I, um, I was only kidding,” she said, as he put a disposable cup on the corner of her desk. “About the pie, I mean.”

He held up one hand. “We had a deal.” Grinning, he glanced at the puppet, leaning on the silver picture frame. “Well, the monkey and I had a deal, anyway.”

She liked his smile. Liked his eyes, too. There was something familiar about him. No big surprise; thousands of medical professionals made up the Ellicott staff. She’d probably passed him in the halls, or shared an elevator, or stood in the cafeteria line with—

“Your directions were great,” he said. “I found your office just like that.” He snapped his fingers, then glanced around the room. “Kinda dim in here. You want me to hit the lights?”

She lifted her chin. “No. Thank you. Fluorescent light…” Pausing, Patrice folded both hands on the file folders stacked on the blotter. “It’s…it’s hard on my eyes.” Not quite a lie, but not exactly the truth, either. She found the incandescent glow of the sixty-watt light-bulb in her desk lamp more than adequate to work by, and it prevented people from seeing her scar.

“Well,” Wade said, pointing at the mess on her desk, “I can see you’re busy, so I’ll get right to the point.” He leaned forward, balancing both elbows on his knees. “I think we’ve met before.”

She put her hands in her lap. “Really?”

He nodded. “Fifteen years ago, in the ER at University Hospital.”

Patrice swallowed. Hard. Because fifteen years ago today, her brother had died. She felt her mouth drop open. “So that’s why you look so familiar. You’re the nice boy who bought me chocolate milk.”