Dr. Tempt Me - A Possessive Doctor Romance

And yet she didn’t seem surprised at all by the suggestion.

“Why do you think they might have something to do with this?” she asked.

I shrugged. “They’d have the money, and buying off people if sort of what they do, right? But it’s a crazy idea. It can’t be the mob.”

“It could be.”

I stared at her, eyes narrowed. “How?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” She hesitated, running a finger along the rim of her glass. “You remember Gavin?”

“Of course. We’re still in the same fantasy league. I hear he’s doing pretty good out in California, living the dream life.”

“His wife, Erica, she was involved with the mafia.”

I stared at her then laughed, but my laughter died when she stared back at me with a straight face. “You’re kidding, right? That pretty blonde girl?”

“It’s a long story,” Fiona said, grimacing, “and it’s not my place to go into details, but I’m not joking around here. They left the city because of the mob.”

“Holy shit.” I leaned back and took a long slug of my whiskey. “That’s absolutely insane.”

“I know, but the mafia isn’t so outside the realm of possibility. I mean, they were already involved with a doctor and a patient—who knows what else they were up to in the hospital.”

I shook my head and stared at her full lips, trying to wrap my head around the idea that Gavin and Erica had something to do with organized crime. It was almost impossible to picture it—and yet they had left really abruptly, gotten married out of the blue, and certain parts of their story never quite matched up.

“The mafia,” I said softly. “Okay then. So the mafia.”

“I don’t know for sure.” She paused and tugged on her hair. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

“Are you still in touch with Gavin?”

She nodded. “I’m friends with Erica still, although we’re drifting apart a little. Hard to stay close across the country.”

“Ask them what he knows. Maybe he has some info, a contact, whatever.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them about this since they left.”

“We need to start somewhere, right? It can’t hurt.”

She finished her wine. “Can’t hurt you, since you’re not asking.”

“Don’t worry. My task is going to be much more dangerous.” I leaned toward her, eyes locked on hers. “I’m breaking into that office again.”

“Come on, are you serious? We barely got away last time.”

“I don’t care. We need to know what she’s got in there.”

“Dean—”

“I’ll be smarter about it, go in after hours. I have a night shift coming up soon. I can sneak away.”

“Shit.” She rubbed at her temples. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. Nobody will be up in that office. I can get in and out.”

“There are security cameras.”

“So what? I’m a doctor.” I grinned at her and tilted my head. “Nobody would suspect a thing.”

She groaned but waved a hand. “All right, fine, do what you have to do.”

“Okay then.” I held up my glass with the dregs of my whiskey. “Let’s have a toast to our team.”

She held up her glass. “To Watson and Sherlock.”

“And to getting to the bottom of this case.”

We drank, and I caught her smiling, which sent a thrill down my spine. She leaned her head to the side, and her cheeks were slightly pink—maybe from the heat in the cramped cafe, maybe from the alcohol, or maybe from the way I looked at her like I wanted to undress her nice and slow.

“One more drink?” I asked.

I saw her consider it, and I thought she might say yes, but she stood up and shook her head. “I’d better get home.”

“Sure I can’t tempt you with actual dinner?”

“Nice try.” She smiled at me, lingered for half a second, then turned and left. I watched her go and let out a disappointed sigh.

I left a wad of cash on the table and waved goodbye to Melissa as I stepped out onto the street. Fiona was long gone, and I wondered what she was thinking. I liked getting to know her a little bit more. I felt like I got a peek beneath her exterior, that tough, pissed-off facade she put up for everyone all the time. I understood a little better why she was like that, and I couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through, and what she’d overcome.

And I liked telling her about my family, at least a little bit. I wasn’t ready to go into the gory details—how my father would beat my mother then turn on me, all in the name of toughening us up, or whatever insane excuse he came up with after the fact—but it was nice to talk about it a little bit. I rarely brought it up, and rarely let myself get close to anyone, all because I kept wondering if that animal was inside of me, if that strange, psychotic part of my father that set him off sometimes and turned him into a piece of shit was inside of me as well waiting to come screaming out from deep inside me.