looked…
Patricia covered her with a quilt, then ushered everyone out.
“You just happened to notice Mel leaving the house,” William Sheffield said as David brushed by him.
David calmly responded. “Yes, I did. Did you?”
The ex-fiancé flushed, glanced quickly at Harper for support, and when he got none, slunk away.
“Thank you for helping our daughter, Mr.—” Patricia paused in the doorway long enough to place a light hand on David's shoulder.
“Reese. David Reese.”
Patricia kept her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Reese. Really, we are indebted—”
“Not a big deal.”
She smiled, an expression that was sad. “To me it is.”
Before David had to summon another reply, Jamie O'Donnell burst up the stairs, demanding to know what had happened to his Melanie. A trim woman with graying Brillo-like hair and nurses' whites was hot on his heels. Ann Margaret, David heard Patricia exclaim.
David used the opportunity to exit, then paused on the second-story landing to eavesdrop. O'Donnell was adamant about being informed. Ann Margaret insisted upon seeing Melanie. Harper uttered something sharp and low under his breath. David didn't catch it, but all four adults immediately hushed up. No more conversation from upstairs, just the sounds of four adults easing into Melanie Stokes's bedroom.
The hair was prickling on the back of David's neck. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. Not since that day he'd sat in the doctor's office, waiting for the final news, then saw the look on the M.D.'s face when he walked back into the examining room. At that moment David had known that life as he knew it — as his father knew it — was coming to an end.
There was no good reason for him to feel that way here. So far he had just a doctor, a family, and a drunken reporter. Nothing that sinister, nothing that promising as an investigative lead.
And yet …What was it Larry Digger had said?
He'd received his tip on Melanie Stokes's alleged parentage from an anonymous caller who declared that everyone gets what they deserve.
That was odd. Three weeks earlier, when the Boston field office had received an anonymous tip regarding Dr. Stokes's alleged illegal surgeries, the caller had also insisted that everyone gets what they deserve.
And David didn't believe in coincidences.
FOUR
THREE A.M. DAVID Riggs's shift as a waiter for the reception finally ended and released him into the streets of Boston. He was limping badly, his back feeling the strain even more than usual. Playing waiter was hard work. It meant he got to serve drinks, replenish hors d'oeuvre trays, and scrub his knuckles raw cleaning up. It meant he got to run all over hell and back, trying to be both a decent server and a diligent agent. Next time Lairmore asked him to go undercover, Riggs would nominate Chenney. Let the rookie lead the glamorous life.
Beacon Street was deserted now, the rich folks asleep in their town houses. Farther down, however, he heard the telltale rattle of a grocery cart on city sidewalks. Not all of Boston's residents were wealthy.
David kept walking, cutting across the Public Garden, where hours earlier he'd eavesdropped on Larry Digger and Melanie Stokes. He should probably call Chenney, see how the rookie was holding up. The new kid in the Boston healthcare fraud squad was a serious bodybuilder, one of those guys who look like a giant slab of meat. Big square head on top of a big square neck on top of a big square torso. When he walked, his bulging arms arced out to the side, like an ape. He was hard to take seriously, particularly when he introduced himself as a former CPA.
David still wasn't sure what he thought of the kid. It didn't help that Chenney had no training. The academy gave agent wanna-bes only a sixteen-week basic intro to white collar crime. The real plunge into the fun-filled world of MDRs, HMOs, unbundling, uploading, Part A versus Part B claims wouldn't happen until time and budget permitted
Patricia covered her with a quilt, then ushered everyone out.
“You just happened to notice Mel leaving the house,” William Sheffield said as David brushed by him.
David calmly responded. “Yes, I did. Did you?”
The ex-fiancé flushed, glanced quickly at Harper for support, and when he got none, slunk away.
“Thank you for helping our daughter, Mr.—” Patricia paused in the doorway long enough to place a light hand on David's shoulder.
“Reese. David Reese.”
Patricia kept her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Reese. Really, we are indebted—”
“Not a big deal.”
She smiled, an expression that was sad. “To me it is.”
Before David had to summon another reply, Jamie O'Donnell burst up the stairs, demanding to know what had happened to his Melanie. A trim woman with graying Brillo-like hair and nurses' whites was hot on his heels. Ann Margaret, David heard Patricia exclaim.
David used the opportunity to exit, then paused on the second-story landing to eavesdrop. O'Donnell was adamant about being informed. Ann Margaret insisted upon seeing Melanie. Harper uttered something sharp and low under his breath. David didn't catch it, but all four adults immediately hushed up. No more conversation from upstairs, just the sounds of four adults easing into Melanie Stokes's bedroom.
The hair was prickling on the back of David's neck. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. Not since that day he'd sat in the doctor's office, waiting for the final news, then saw the look on the M.D.'s face when he walked back into the examining room. At that moment David had known that life as he knew it — as his father knew it — was coming to an end.
There was no good reason for him to feel that way here. So far he had just a doctor, a family, and a drunken reporter. Nothing that sinister, nothing that promising as an investigative lead.
And yet …What was it Larry Digger had said?
He'd received his tip on Melanie Stokes's alleged parentage from an anonymous caller who declared that everyone gets what they deserve.
That was odd. Three weeks earlier, when the Boston field office had received an anonymous tip regarding Dr. Stokes's alleged illegal surgeries, the caller had also insisted that everyone gets what they deserve.
And David didn't believe in coincidences.
FOUR
THREE A.M. DAVID Riggs's shift as a waiter for the reception finally ended and released him into the streets of Boston. He was limping badly, his back feeling the strain even more than usual. Playing waiter was hard work. It meant he got to serve drinks, replenish hors d'oeuvre trays, and scrub his knuckles raw cleaning up. It meant he got to run all over hell and back, trying to be both a decent server and a diligent agent. Next time Lairmore asked him to go undercover, Riggs would nominate Chenney. Let the rookie lead the glamorous life.
Beacon Street was deserted now, the rich folks asleep in their town houses. Farther down, however, he heard the telltale rattle of a grocery cart on city sidewalks. Not all of Boston's residents were wealthy.
David kept walking, cutting across the Public Garden, where hours earlier he'd eavesdropped on Larry Digger and Melanie Stokes. He should probably call Chenney, see how the rookie was holding up. The new kid in the Boston healthcare fraud squad was a serious bodybuilder, one of those guys who look like a giant slab of meat. Big square head on top of a big square neck on top of a big square torso. When he walked, his bulging arms arced out to the side, like an ape. He was hard to take seriously, particularly when he introduced himself as a former CPA.
David still wasn't sure what he thought of the kid. It didn't help that Chenney had no training. The academy gave agent wanna-bes only a sixteen-week basic intro to white collar crime. The real plunge into the fun-filled world of MDRs, HMOs, unbundling, uploading, Part A versus Part B claims wouldn't happen until time and budget permitted
Similar Books
