FRAMED, page 11
Tori braced herself and entered the clinic, ignoring the receptionist’s quick intake of breath. She turned her back on her and waited for the elevator to take her to the medical director’s office on the fourth floor.
His medical assistant told her Dr. Jensen was finishing up with a patient and would be with her shortly. The air in the waiting room felt thick with judgment. Nurses’ whispers prickled across her neck like spider legs while she counted ceiling tiles to avoid their stares. Her heart pounded, despite her efforts to practice diaphragmatic breathing.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Jensen walked out of an exam room, chart in hand, barking instructions to the medical assistant.
“Dr. Nelson,” he said, walking toward her with a perfunctory smile. Somehow, his smile never reached his eyes, although suspecting what was to come, Tori was surprised he was trying to smile at all. “Come into my office.”
He put a hand on her back as she rose—a power gesture that made her cringe. She resisted a strong temptation to shrug it off and instead increased her pace so that she walked ahead of him into his office. It smelled of leather polish and peppermint lozenges. The desk was scattered with files, the message clear: I’m a busy man. Don’t waste my time.
Closing the door, he walked around his desk to sit in his high-backed leather chair. He steepled his fingers, his gray eyes cold. The question came like a scalpel sliding between ribs.
“What’s this business I hear about you robbing a bank?”
Her chest and neck flushed red.
“I didn’t rob a bank.” At least her voice sounded strong and emphatic.
One white, bushy eyebrow crept toward his receding hairline. “Yet, I hear the FBI arrested you based on the photos that were circulated around the business district, including our clinic.”
His eyes hadn’t left her face, and his voice held a sharp edge.
Her tongue turned to clay, and the air conditioner’s hum filled the uncomfortable silence. His accusatory tone tapped into how small and scared she’d felt as a kid when her father tore into her for disobeying him. “I . . . I . . . It’s a mistake. It isn’t me in those photos.”
“Who do you think it is, then? A look-alike?” His voice kept its edge.
Tori struggled to control her breathing. He assumes I’m guilty.
“Apparently,” she said. “There’s no other evidence that I had anything to do with it. No motive, dye, money, or gun—nothing.”
“So why, then, did the FBI arrest a gainfully employed medical doctor?”
“They got an anonymous tip that the bank robber looked like me,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. Her livelihood, if not her career, was at stake. “But it’s a mistake. It isn’t me.”
His expression was mock quizzical. “So, they’re dropping the charges?”
Heat rose to Tori’s cheeks, and her heart pounded. Dr. Jensen—she could tell—smelled fear and was closing in.
“No. I’ve been indicted.”
Her throat tightened as Dr. Jensen’s face flushed crimson. He slammed his palm against his polished walnut desk and half-rose in his chair—another performance meant to shrink and intimidate her. She knew that was his intention, and unfortunately, it was effective.
“You’ve been indicted? You’re actually going to trial?”
Her thumb worried the hem of her shirt sleeve. Twelve years since Dad’s last outburst, yet here she sat, thirty-five years old, still flinching at the sound of a raised male voice.
“Yes.”
“Oh dear. Oh dear.” He shook his head, sat, and dropped his forehead into his hands. “This is the last straw.”
He snapped his head up and glared at her.
“As I’ve told you, I’m already dealing with complaints from Dodge Chemical, World Petrol, and others, that you’ve been stirring up their workers, urging them to file claims against them.”
“Every claim was medically substantiated.” Her voice emerged steadier than she felt.
“I’ve told you repeatedly that is not our mission here.” He slapped his hand on the desk for emphasis and Tori flinched.
“We’re here to treat disease. As far as prevention is concerned, we urge people to change those things they have control over, like smoking, diet, and substance abuse. We’re not rabble-rousers helping patients to gouge companies to pay for illnesses they didn’t cause, nor are we here to promote new causes of old diseases like cancer.”
Even if people are dying?
Ah, of course, she thought. Local petrochemical companies contribute large sums to hospitals and clinics here. There was no point in arguing with him. If he prioritized the clinic’s income over patients’ lives, they would never agree.
But he was on a roll. “I’ve told you I hired you to build an occupational medicine program catering to businesses’ needs, to bring in an additional source of private pay income—medical surveillance, executive exams, drug testing—things like that. But no, that’s not what you’re doing. I hear you’re even setting up your own laboratory to test toxic substances in body fluids, no doubt to create more claims for occupational injury. And more headaches for the companies we’re here to serve.”
Her lab. He’d found the very thing that gave her new strength in this battle. Her shoulders straightened as she pictured the centrifuge she had ordered last month, the toxicology manuals stacked beside the donated equipment.
“And what about the people—my patients? Aren’t we here to serve them?”
Just as before, he didn’t answer. Only glared. And that said it all.
She’d heard his complaints before, but this was the first time he’d pummeled her with such vehemence. Her earlier adrenaline rush ebbed, leaving her drained and immobilized. There was nothing for it now but to wait for the axe to fall.
“You’ve left me no choice. Effective immediately, Dr. Thomas will assume your duties.”
The room seemed to close in, and the air conditioner’s hum got louder—or was it the buzzing in her ears?
“Dr. Nelson. You no longer have a future here. We’ll hand over your cases to Dr. Thomas. Please clear your office immediately.”
He rose and picked up a medical chart. “Now, excuse me, I have patients to see before we close.”
Tori rose and waited for her light-headedness to subside before following him out the door.
She filled a box with personal items from her desk and ignored the receptionist on her way out.
The June heat hit her like a wave as she stumbled to her car. Her head ached, but she paused before starting the engine to consider what this meant, especially for her patients. Dr. Thomas had neither the training nor the inclination to take on treatment for work-related illness. Her clinic work was her primary source of income. With mounting legal bills, her savings would vanish before her upcoming trial.
Oh, how I wish Jo weren’t leaving tomorrow.
She released the brake and swung out of the clinic garage.
*
As she prepared to turn onto the road, she glanced into her rearview mirror. A white van pulled into sight and followed her, a mere car’s length behind. She took a second look and saw a hulking silhouette that dominated the driver’s seat—broad shoulders, a skull smooth as river stone. Her throat tightened. Gripping the steering wheel, white-knuckled, she stepped hard on the gas, swerving at the last possible minute onto the freeway on-ramp. Horns blared, but the van clung like a parasite.
She kept her foot on the gas, though the freeway was crowded. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. The speedometer needle trembled as she wove between vehicles. She’d left the turn signal on, being too busy keeping her car intact and her breath sawed in rhythm with it. Moments later, a glance at the mirror showed only the last truck she’d passed behind her.
She took a ragged breath. The van had disappeared. When she was sure he was no longer chasing her, Tori drove onto an off-ramp and swerved into a grocery lot. All the while, her gaze flicked between rows of parked cars. Still clear.
She pulled into a parking space and opened the glove compartment. Pepper spray tumbled out, sticky with half-melted cherry ChapStick and old insurance papers. She tried several times to grasp it with trembling fingers, and once she had secured it, she dashed to a pay phone booth.
Jude’s “Hello?” barely registered through the blood roaring in her ears. Footsteps approached, and a shopping cart rattled nearby. She spun, pepper spray raised, only to see an elderly couple unpacking their groceries.
“Jude. That big, bald thug watching Jo and me at the restaurant, the gym, and The Lodge just followed me from the clinic onto the freeway. He dropped back so maybe he just meant to spook me, but I’m concerned he might know what we’re doing.”
“This is scary, Tori. I’m worried about you. Is your friend still with you?”
“She’s going back to DC tomorrow,” Tori said.
“Do you want me to come over? I’m handy with a bat. I’ll protect you.”
Tori smiled briefly, visualizing Jude kneecapping the thug. “No, we can’t call attention to our association. Have you noticed anyone like that following you?”
“No, I still haven’t, but I’ll be extra vigilant,” Jude said.
“At work, has anyone questioned you when you’re analyzing our samples?” Tori asked.
“No. But I’m cautious. My boss did comment on my long hours, but—”
This set off alarm bells for Tori, and she interrupted. “If he suspects anything—”
“Nah, he doesn’t. If I keep up with the sampling and the analysis he assigns me, and I’m not putting in for overtime, I don’t think he gives a damn.”
Jude was silent for a moment before she said, “Are you sure you’re okay, Tori? I don’t like this. He might be following you to find out where you live.”
“He probably already knows that. Don’t worry, I’ll manage.”
“Have you heard what the grand jury decided? Did they dismiss your case?”
Tori took a deep breath, pressing the receiver against her ear, as the stark reality hit her anew. “Unfortunately, no. I’ve been indicted for armed bank robbery.”
“Oh, no! You’re going to trial for bullshit charges? I can’t believe it.” Jude’s voice rose with incredulity.
“It gets worse. The medical director at Novak just fired me.” She could feel tears starting and steeled herself to suppress them.
“He fired you? The bastard! I want to punch his lights out.”
Tori smiled at Jude’s vehemence. “I know. It’s bad news. But I’ll have more time to work on my study. No one’s going to stop me from publishing it. Unless I go to prison.”
“You can’t possibly go to prison. No way.”
Jude had never asked Tori if she had robbed the bank, and she was profoundly grateful. They discussed the upcoming arraignment, the thug, and the firing for the next few minutes. Always the optimist, Jude ended with a pep talk and affectionate endearments.
But when Tori hung up, her pulse raced, and she had difficulty taking a deep breath. Her hands trembled, and she broke into a cold sweat as she contemplated her life spinning out of control. She craved the orange pills—a blanket to smother panic, but she had none. It took all her willpower to slow her breathing and stagger to her car.
Chapter 23
Tori’s car crunched on the gravel. Jo poured a glass of fresh iced tea with a slice of lemon and hurried to meet her at the door. When she opened it, Tori stumbled in. Her face told Jo all she needed to know about the meeting with the medical director. She took Tori’s bag, set it down on the nearby table with the iced tea, and wrapped her arms around her.
Tori crumpled, her head resting on Jo’s shoulder. Jo held her for a long moment, stroking her hair and resting her cheek on its softness. Tori shuddered and gripped her tighter.
“I gather it didn’t go well,” Jo said gently. She pulled back and lifted Tori’s chin. “How about I switch out this iced tea for something stronger, and you tell me about it?”
Tori nodded and stumbled onto the living room couch, dropping into it like a rag doll. Jo hurried to the kitchen, rummaged for the bourbon and glasses, and poured each of them a finger. She handed the glass to Tori and sat beside her, shoulders and hips touching. Tori gave her a wan smile.
“Thanks.” She took a sip of the bourbon. “That thug—I’m sure it was him—followed me in a white van when I left the clinic. I lost him on the freeway, but it freaked me out.”
Jo’s eyes widened, and she took a quick breath. “This is outrageous! Freeway cat-and-mouse is dangerous. This has gone too far. Who is this guy? Who’s he working for? And who’s bugging your phone?” She turned to face Tori. “I’m willing to hire the PI for you.”
Tori put down her drink. “You’re a dear. I don’t want you to pay for it. I’ll take out a second mortgage if I have to.”
“It’s important, Tori. It must be done soon. Like tomorrow. I hate to leave you here alone.”
“I’ll be okay. If I feel scared, I can call my friend, Jan. She’d be willing to stay and loves Orange Cat. Besides, you’ll be coming back after your interviews in Oilton, won’t you?”
Jo inwardly winced. There had been a change of plan, but she hadn’t wanted to discuss it with Tori just yet. “The office is working up my schedule. Now, tell me about your meeting at the clinic.”
Tori’s face fell. “Jensen, the medical director, was aware of the details of my arrest and probably already knew of my indictment. I suppose it’s all over the press, and people will have been talking about it. He ranted about complaints from the companies he thinks I’m supposed to serve. To him, that’s more important than serving the patients. Then he fired me.”
An anxious look crossed her face. “My patients will think I’ve abandoned them.”
“Oh, Tori, I’m so sorry.” Ever the problem solver, she racked her brain for a solution. “Could you open a temporary office and . . . ?” She stopped when she saw Tori’s dubious expression.
“I can’t afford the overhead with my legal bills. The clinic owns the medical records, and I have no contact information for my patients to get them to sign releases.”
“We could call Mary Williams and ask her to spread the word,” Jo said, then bit her lip. She could see that Tori lacked enthusiasm. She remembered that Tori’s MD Anderson presentation was scheduled for late July, that her study had yet to be published, and that her trial was looming, not to mention her divorce. Perhaps eliminating hours seeing patients was a blessing in disguise, despite the loss of income.
“No, Jo, I can’t handle it now,” Tori said with a note of finality.
Jo nodded to show she understood. They sipped their bourbon, both lost in their separate thoughts.
Impulsively, Jo broke the silence.
“Maybe you should get away from here for a while. Stay with me in DC after your talk at MD Anderson. I have a spare room. You can work on your study there.”
The words had just slipped out, an impulsive offer she hadn’t thoroughly considered.
Stupid, she chided herself. Kate won’t approve. Plus, she’d just assumed Tori would remain free before her trial.
Tori’s eyes found hers with such tender longing that Jo’s breath caught in her throat. Tori’s fingers brushed against Jo’s cheek, making her heart speed up. She’s straight, Jo reminded herself, even as Tori’s thumb touched the corner of her mouth. Married to a Rick, for God’s sake. There was a hitch in Tori’s breathing, and her gaze dropped to Jo’s lips.
Jo nearly stopped breathing.
Tori jerked her hand back as if she had been burned and swiped at her own cheek with the heel of her hand.
“I doubt the court would allow me to leave Texas.”
Jo let out the breath she’d been holding. “Right, I wasn’t thinking straight for a moment,” she said, watching Tori retreat behind the familiar armor of pragmatism—talk of second mortgages, selling the house, the I’ll manage refrain.
A wistful look crossed Tori’s face, the same one Jo had seen the other night. “I wish you didn’t have to leave for Oilton so soon.”
She felt obligated to bring Tori up to date. “I had hoped the news of your arrest would stay local, and my law firm wouldn’t hear about it until after your case was dismissed. Then, I’d tell the partners, if they asked, that your arrest was due to mistaken identity.”
She wanted to crack open the floorboards and let this house swallow her whole before she admitted the truth. It had to be done now, though. She didn’t have the luxury of choice.
“Unfortunately, they’ve already gotten wind of it and want me to fly back to DC tomorrow.”
She looked back at Tori. “I’m sorry, but your arrest has put the future of our lawsuit and the plaintiffs’ plight in Oilton in peril.”
Tori squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head.
“I’ve met many of those people, treated, and tried to help them. Believe me, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Chapter 24
Jo popped up and dressed at six on Sunday morning, planning to slip out before Tori awoke. In the cool dawn, she loaded her bag and briefcase into the trunk, pushed the lid down, and got into the car. She was about to back out when the front door flew open, and Tori came flying down the porch stairs to the car, her crimson robe billowing behind her like a distress flag.
“Christ,” Jo muttered. She put on the brakes and rolled down the window.
“Please don’t let your partners talk you out of continuing with the lawsuit,” Tori said, almost breathless in her rush. “I’m getting information that will break the case wide open.”
Jo’s brow furrowed. “What information? From whom?”
Tori bit her lip. She was clearly weighing something. Suddenly, she seemed to make up her mind.
“I know an industrial hygienist who works for World Petrol. She has access to years of air-monitoring data that show the company has been exceeding government standards for worker exposure to various toxins. She’s also been testing the air for carcinogens beyond the fence line. The readings for benzene, for example, are high—very high.”
Jo drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Damn. Tori is a party to corporate espionage. And now she’s told me, I can’t walk away from it.
