Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [10]
“Nurse Craddock?” She grunted and resumed thumbing through the files. “I’m Detective Bowie. I have a few questions.”
“You’ll have to wait, Detective. I’m looking for a chart for this woman here.”
I gave him a smug smile.
Sam lounged against the counter and eyed her. “Judges handing out search warrants to attorneys nowadays?”
“No, I have written authorization from the parents.”
His eyes narrowed. He straightened, all business, all cop. “Why are you here for the records? Are your clients afraid of what they may contain?”
My attorney instincts reared up and my neck muscles tensed. “What evidence do you have about Rebecca’s death that you’re not telling me?”
“I asked first, and I’m the cop.”
The best defense could be an offensive strike. “I represent Mrs. Whitman and have a right to know what your department is doing to follow up on the mutilation of her baby.”
“Oh, so you’re the one.”
“I’m the one what?”
“The hysterical woman who called the captain this morning before he even had his second cup of coffee.”
“I was not hysterical.” My head began to throb. “I simply questioned him.”
“Sounded to me more like you told the captain exactly what he could do with certain body parts. I’m glad I’m not the only male to be on the receiving end of one of your lectures.”
“Would you two take your argument home?” The nurse interrupted us. “You’re disturbing the patients.”
“We’re not together.”
“No way.”
Sam and I glared at each other and then swung to look at the nurse, who held up her hands. “Sorry. The way you two were squabbling, I thought you were married. Can you come back tomorrow? I need to look for the chart later.”
That didn’t sound right. “Is it missing?” I asked.
Irritation pinched Nurse Craddock’s face. “No, I just can’t locate it at the moment. We’re getting ready for the shift change, and I have other things to do. You might want to check back with records. They’re always misplacing things.”
“I’ll wait.” I was determined.
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh, yes I can—”
Sam motioned me to be quiet. “Ma’am, I don’t think you realize the situation.”
“I understand I have patients to check.”
“I’m investigating the possible desecration of the body of a baby who died here.”
Nurse Craddock opened and closed her mouth several times. “Desecrated? Are you talking about little Becca?” Her face paled.
“I reckon I am. I’m investigating the mutilation of that baby’s body and Ms. Sterling here represents her parents.”
Alarm flashed in the nurse’s eyes. “You’ll have to speak to the hospital administrator. I can’t help you.”
“And where would I find him?”
“Her. Dr. Cruz’s office is on the fourth floor.”
“Fine. Thank you.” Sam turned, curled his hand around my elbow and tugged.
“Wait a minute. I’m not going anywhere until the chart’s located.”
His fingers tightened like a steel cuff. “Red, for once in your life, don’t argue. You’re coming with me.”
“But—”
“The chart will be found. Move.”
I took in the determined look on his face, snatched up the medical release, jammed it in my bag and moved.
My cooperation only lasted to the elevator bank. I dug in my heels, twisting my arm. “Back off.”
He let me go. “Go back to your office, Red, and cool down.” He punched the elevator button.
“Not so fast.” I slapped a palm against his chest. “What was that ‘yes, ma’am, no ma’am’ routine with the nurse? You’re never that polite.”
His nostrils flared. “Hmm. You still smell of gardenias on a warm night.”
My cheeks heated. If the aggravating man thought a careless compliment would make me melt…
He reached out and touched a tendril that had escaped my ruthlessly sleeked-back ponytail. The callused pads of his fingers brushed against my cheek. My stomach executed a slight flutter.
“Your hair always reminds me of copper silk.”
I jerked back. “Stop that.”
He let his hand drop only to take mine. The contact of bare skin against bare skin played havoc with my already tense system, but Sam merely lounged against the wall.
“Let go!”
An elevator door opened and he waved at the disgruntled passengers. The door closed.