Mean Streak - Page 102
She wondered if they knew about their heated argument on that topic but saw no point to mentioning it now.
Knight stood up, signaling an end to the interview. “Well, don’t want to tucker you out.”
“Will I see you tomorrow before Jeff and I leave for Atlanta?”
Knight said, “Prob’ly not.”
“Then I’ll thank you now. I know you put a great deal of time and effort into finding me.”
“It’s our job.”
“Even so, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As he and Grange were about to leave, she said, “Would you do me one final favor? Would you please ask Dr. Butler to come in?”
“Remind me which one that is.”
Grange nudged his partner toward the door. “The woman.”
When the doctor came into the room a few moments later, Emory was glad she came unaccompanied. As she neared the bedside, Emory reached out and clasped her hand. “First of all, thank you for dropping everything and driving up here today.”
“Everyone at the clinic has been frantic with worry. The office staff, nurses. Even patients. Suffice it to say Neal and I have been at wit’s end. You’re the heart and soul of the clinic.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“No false modesty allowed. The practice was your vision, your initiative. Besides that, we all love you.”
“As you demonstrated by offering the reward,” she said huskily. Then, “Lord, I need another Kleenex.” She popped one from the box and dabbed at her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re as all right as you let everyone think?”
“I’m all right. I just need to ask you to do something for me, and it’s rather sensitive.”
“Of course, Emory,” she said, moving closer. “Anything.”
“Please bring me some morning-after pills.” Emory saw her initial shock turn into alarm.
“He raped you? The man in the cabin? Have you told the deputies? Did they prepare a rape kit in the ER? What about Jeff? Have you told—”
“I wasn’t raped.”
Emory’s quiet but emphatic tone stopped her. She actually swallowed audibly.
“We were intimate, but the sex was consensual. It was—” Emory stopped before submitting to the sob pressing against the back of her throat.
Rendered speechless by the disclosure, the doctor sank into the chair recently vacated by Sam Knight and for a time simply stared at Emory. Finally finding her voice, she said, “The story you told the detectives, was it all a fabrication?”
“Not the backbone of it.” She didn’t expand on what had been half-truths and evasions and what had been complete falsehoods. The lies had to be hers alone.
“I remain flabbergasted. I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“I beg to differ. It’s so…so un-Emory-like to—”
“Have unprotected sex?”
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