RYAN WAS IN his lair with the encrypted files he’d stolen. He was at his desk, about to start working on trying to crack the encryption process, when Claire knocked and walked in.
“Bad time?” she asked.
“Good time,” Ryan replied, swiveling his chair around to face her. “I was just about to get into these files I took from the hospital.” He waved the USB drive at her. “But I haven’t shoved this baby in yet, so I’m all yours.” He frowned, seeing the upset expression on Claire’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I just spent fifteen minutes with Dr. Gilding—which was all she would grant me. Sort of like a follow-up visit for a patient with a cold.”
“What did Bitch Doctor say?” Ryan asked. He could see that Claire was more than upset. She was pissed.
“Bitch Doctor is right.” Claire folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve met more than my share of nonbelievers. It’s a downside of my talent, and I accept that. But Sharon Gilding wasn’t just a nonbeliever. She went out of her way to insult me. And not just me. She covered the gamut, tearing apart the very idea of claircognizance, clairvoyance, clairsentience, clairaudience, clair—”
“Okay, I get it,” Ryan interrupted. “She beat the shit out of every clair in existence. Does that really surprise you?”
“Actually, yes.” Claire inhaled deeply, and then blew out her breath to calm herself. “Not her disbelief, but her scathing comments. I’ve never met a professional who was quite so vicious and denigrating.”
“Yeah, that is kind of extreme. So I assume that all you got out of this meeting was that Bitch Doctor lives up to her nickname, and that she gave off tons of negative energy about your skills.”
“Untrue.” Claire shook her head. “I picked up on lots of things. I’m on my way upstairs to see if Casey is here so I can to talk to her. Sorry I interrupted your computer hacking. I just needed to blow off steam.”
Ryan stood up, and walked over to Claire. He tipped up her chin, lowered his head and kissed her. “Don’t let Sharon Gilding get to you. She probably needs to get laid.”
“Oh, no, she doesn’t. She’s getting plenty of that already. I just need to figure out by whom.”
“Wow.” A corner of Ryan’s mouth lifted. “Poor guy, whoever he is. Now you’ve really piqued my interest. I’d come up with you to see Casey and hear all the sordid details, but I’ve got to get started on these files. It could take a long time to crack.”
“Then get started.” Claire reached up and brushed her lips against Ryan’s. “I’ll fill you in later.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
* * *
Casey was in the conference room having a heated negotiation with Emma when Claire walked in.
“Oh, come on, Casey,” Emma was saying, sitting across from her boss at the conference table and leaning forward as she pled her case. “I did everything you asked me to do and more. I sucked up to that loser forever, and I got Ryan what he needs. Why can’t I come back here now?”
Casey crossed one leg over the other, looking as if she were lecturing a petulant teenager.
“First of all, it was a week, Emma, not forever. And yes, you did a great job. I’m proud of you.” Casey held up a palm to silence Emma’s next outburst. She shot a quick look at Claire. “Urgent?”
“It can wait a few minutes. Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” Emma said. “I could use some support.”
“You’re not getting any,” Casey replied. “Let’s clarify the situation. I didn’t say you couldn’t come back to FI. I said you can’t come back yet.”
“Why?”
Emma’s youth was showing, Claire thought. She had yet to learn patience and to sacrifice immediate gratification for the big picture. But she’d get there. Then she’d really shine. There was no doubt in Claire’s—or any of the other team members’ minds—that Emma was a natural addition to their team.
Two more months and it would be official.
“Because,” Casey was explaining, “it would be glaringly obvious that I’d put you there as a plant.”
Emma chewed her lip. She couldn’t argue with that one.
“Tha
t would undo everything the team did to work the hospital system,” Emma admitted grudgingly. “Yeah, I get it.” She gave Casey a measured look, and asked the dreaded question. “How long do I have to stay in that hellhole, changing bed pans and smiling as if I love doing it?”