The Abandoned - By Amanda Stevens Page 0,3

overheard was blackmail pure and simple—if blackmail could ever be pure or simple. The whole conversation had left her shaken and she knew that she would revisit it later, dissecting every disturbing nuance. But what could be done about it? As ugly as it was, the situation had nothing to do with her.

Still, she couldn’t dismiss a dark foreboding, and she knew the threats and innuendoes she’d heard in that office would forever change her perception of Nicholas Farrante. But…time enough later to dwell on her fallen hero. Right now she had to get out of there.

She turned to leave, then remembered the package she’d placed on the assistant’s desk. If Dr. Farrante spotted it tonight, he’d know that someone had been there. A quick word with Trudy McIntyre would reveal Ree’s name, and she had a sinking feeling that academic censure and immediate dismissal from the hospital might be the least of her troubles.

Easing back to the desk, she lifted the envelope and paused. The rumblings from the inner office reassured her that she hadn’t been made. She crept across the room, her footsteps blessedly silent on the plush rug, and was just slipping into the hallway when she heard the doors slide open behind her and the voices grew louder.

Ree cast about frantically for a means of escape. She’d never reach the stairs in time and there was no place to hide. Whirling, she stepped back up to the door as if she’d only just arrived and halted in feigned surprise as a man came rushing out of Dr. Farrante’s office.

He looked to be in his midforties—tall, wiry and with the kind of everyman appearance that would allow him to go unnoticed in a crowd. But Ree was good with faces, a trait she’d inherited from her P.I. father. She automatically implanted his features in her memory—the weak jawline and chin, the puffiness around his eyes that suggested a propensity for drink. As their gazes met, it hit her rather forcefully that she was staring straight into the eyes of a blackmailer.

His gaze flicked over her, assessing and dismissing, before he crossed the room and brushed past her. Ree would have glanced after him, but her attention was caught by Dr. Farrante. He stood in the doorway of his office, rage contorting his distinguished features.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Ree…Hutchins.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed her nervous hesitation. She drew a breath, trying to regain her composure. “One of the nurses asked me to leave this on your assistant’s desk.” She held up the package.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I just got here. I’m sorry to bother you. I thought you’d already left for the evening.”

He took in her scrubs. “You’re an employee of this hospital, I gather?” His subsiding fury was replaced by a kind of cold calculation that made Ree even more nervous.

“I’m a volunteer. I’m also in one of your classes at Emerson.”

“So that’s where I’ve seen you.” As he slowly came into the room, Ree fought the urge to retreat. Why had she never noticed before the almost serpentine grace of his walk?

“Your lecture last week on human emotion and cognition was…it was brilliant,” she stammered.

“I’ll assume you weren’t the one snoring from the back row then.”

Was that amusement she heard in his voice? At one time, Ree would have been charmed by his self-effacement, but now she had to suppress a shudder.

She drew another quick breath and smiled. “Never. I always look forward to your class.”

“How long have you volunteered here?” he asked. “And why have I not seen you around before tonight?”

“I’ve only been here two months and I’m assigned mostly to the south wing.”

Maybe it was her imagination, but Ree thought his attention quickened. His appraisal, however, remained subtle. “Then you must know one of my favorite patients. Violet Tisdale.”

Not her imagination, Ree decided. Mentioning Miss Violet out of all the patients in the south wing couldn’t be a coincidence. Which meant he must suspect she’d overheard at least a portion of that incriminating argument. Now he was testing her, observing her response to the name.

She forced a wistful tone to her voice. “Miss Violet was also one of my favorites.”

An elegant brow shot up. “Was?”

Now it was Ree’s turn to gauge his reaction. “Oh…you haven’t heard? Miss Violet passed away a little while ago.”

No more than a flicker of emotion crossed his handsome countenance. “No, I hadn’t heard.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place—”

“Was she alone?”

Before tonight,