Silently, Morgan opened the door that led from the waiting room and followed her down the hall.
“Liz?” The woman in pink stood in a doorway at the end of the hall, her back blocking his view. “There‟s a man here to see
you.”
“He‟ll have to make an appointment.” He recognized her voice. Strong and smooth, without a trace of the local accent. “Is
that the Hopkins file?”
The woman in the doorway shifted to hand off the folder, and Morgan got a look past her into the room. Big desk, small
chair, stacks and stacks of paper.
And her. Liz. Dr. Rodriguez.
She was sitting in a small, armless chair, her legs crossed, her hair caught up in a clip, her hands busy with the file. He
thought her body deserved better than those straight, dull trousers, that loose white coat.
He knew her, though. His pulse quickened. He remembered.
Elizabeth.
No longer young, despite the slim shape of her and that shiny hair. Her eyes were still deep brown and intelligent, her face
a smooth oval, her jaw slightly squared. But the creases in her neck and the lines at the corners of her eyes were a subtle
reminder of time passed and years lived. Beneath a swipe of color, her lips were pale and firm.
He moved so she could see him, so she would be forced to acknowledge him. “Hello, Elizabeth.”
His sudden reappearance had an effect on her, too, if not the one he hoped for.
Her chin rose as she looked him over. She set the file on her knee, her movements sharp and compact. “What are you doing
here?”
“There‟s been an accident,” the woman in pink answered for him.
Elizabeth‟s face drained of color. “Oh, God. Zack?”
Seeing the genuine fear in her eyes, Morgan felt an unexpected pang of remorse. But his ruse had gotten him past her first
line of defense. Any means was acceptable to the appropriate end.
“Zack is fine,” he said. He assumed. “It‟s your car.”
Her white-knuckled grip on the folder eased. “My car.”
“In the parking lot.” He strolled forward, taking possession of her space, subtly crowding the other woman from the room.
“The window is broken. I noticed it as I was walking by.”
Brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you thought you would force your way back here and tell me.”
He flashed his teeth. “I have never found it necessary to use force.”
The female behind him gasped in excitement. The one before him was made of sterner stuff.
“All right, you‟ve told me. Thank you. Nancy, can you get Chief Hunter on the phone? I need to file an accident report.”
He admired her self-possession. But he would not be deterred. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don‟t.” She stood, reclaiming her space. The movement brought her closer to him. He could smell hints of lemon
in her hair and on her skin. Fresh. Astringent. It suited her. “Chief Hunter can get in touch with you if he wants your
statement.”
“About Zachary,” he said.
She froze for a small, betraying instant. He watched as her pulse throbbed in her throat.
Her gaze flicked behind him. “Nancy? Chief Hunter, please.”
Her assistant retreated down the hall.
Elizabeth‟s jaw set, strong and square in her otherwise delicate face. “I can‟t talk to you now. I‟m working.”
“This is more important.”
“Not to my patients.”
He leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, blocking her in. “I will wait.”
“No.”
“Or I could come by your house,” he suggested.
“No . ”
Their gazes locked. Fear and frustration warred in her eyes. But he had left her no choice. He did not think she would risk
having this first confrontation within earshot of her family.
“All right.” She conceded with surprising dignity. “I get off at four. I‟ll meet you someplace.”