Emory stiffened, but didn’t stop me. Well, she stopped me with her hand firmly on top of mine when I got close to feeling whether her panties were lacy or not. I never really intended to do anything in the middle of a diner, especially with an overprotective MC president around somewhere, but I wanted to see how far she’d let me. And hell, now that my fingers were caressing the tender skin of her inner thigh, I wasn’t planning on moving it. I would eat left handed. I just had to pick something from the menu that didn’t involve using a knife.
24
EMORY
* * *
Quake, in his black boots, jeans and black T-shirt came to the table instead of the waiter. “What can I get you?”
I ordered first, which was good because I couldn’t concentrate with Gray’s hand on my thigh. I wasn’t going to remember I wanted the Chicken Pot Pie, let alone my name, in a few minutes. It settled just shy of my panties, his thumb moving slowly back and forth, as if telling me he wasn’t going any farther and that he liked that spot just fine.
I liked the spot just fine too, but it had gotten awfully hot in the restaurant, and my new pink panties were noticeably wetter than when I first arrived. Gray did nothing untoward or inappropriate the entire meal, but I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t move his hand. In fact, he ate left handed. The idea that he didn’t want to let go of my leg had me feeling… giddy. It was a real first date—a restaurant, a dress—although we did have chaperones, including Quake. If they knew about the inappropriate hand placement under the table, they didn’t let on.
It was only when after our plates were cleared and Quake pulled up a chair, spun it around and sat down in it backwards at the end of the table, did Gray move his hand. It seemed neither of us wanted the distraction for whatever the man had to say.
“I heard someone is mad at you for not giving him drugs.”
Quake was looking at me and didn’t waste time by mincing words. Everyone else glanced at me as well. Drugs? Me? “What are you talking about?”
He rubbed a hand over his beard. “You work at the free clinic?”
I nodded. “On Saturday mornings, yes.”
“You prescribe pain meds?”
“Yes.”
Gray took my hand in his, gave it a squeeze.
“You’ve cut off someone’s supply, and they aren’t happy.”
My mouth fell open as I processed his words. “God, at first I thought you were accusing me of being a drug dealer, peddling meth on the street corner to little kids.” I sighed. “I write prescriptions for pain pills all the time. It could be any number of people.”
Quake tugged on the end of his beard as if it were something he did while thinking. “This person, I’ve found out, hurts women, so they’re seen at the clinic and get pain meds. Then keeps it for himself.”
“What does this have to do with Emory?” Gray asked.
“Rumor is they want her keys to the clinic to get more.”
I glanced at Paul and Christy, who were listening carefully, confusion and surprise on their faces.
“I can’t get into the meds,” I told him. “That’s not how it works. Most meds are filled at pharmacies. Some things we have, but the clinic has this big machine that requires a password. Each person has their own access number. It’s a big pill vault and has a computer connected to it to dispense only the number of pills in the order. It’s not like it gives me a bottle of Oxy, and I can take as many as I want. As for the people who want a key, there is no key.”
“There’s one in each department at the hospital as well. It’s strictly monitored and doesn't have all medications,” Christy added. “Like Emory said, the pharmacy in the basement has the bulk of the meds.”
I nodded at Christy's words. “It keeps nurses and doctors from stealing and keeps records of what goes in and out. Harder stuff is delivered direct from the hospital pharmacy. At the clinic, there are no serious meds like morphine because we'd transfer them to the ER if they were needed.”
“Then he just wants the prescriptions, most likely the women get them filled, and he takes the meds from them,” Quake said. From his tone, he didn’t sound happy. “Either way, you’ve cut off his supply… or one of them. Did you deny drugs to anyone recently?”
I thought back over the past month or so at the clinic then remembered the woman from last weekend. Broken rib. I’d given her a script for pain pills twice before, but that was more than enough for her recuperation time. Had this man broken her rib just so he could get the pain meds for himself? What was her name? Alice something.
“There was a woman last weekend,” I replied. “Broken rib and wanted more pain meds, but I didn't give her a refill. I can’t tell you her name. Confidentiality laws.”
Quake held up his hands. “I don’t need the name, just word that this scenario is possible. I’ll take care of this.”
I didn’t know how he’d take care of this. It most likely involved breaking laws and a bullet to the back of a head. I really didn’t want to know.
“If this guy’s been doing this for a while, he’s got to know we don’t have pills at the clinic. So why break into my house? I have nothing for him there.”