Free Fatal Reaction by Belinda Frisch Page A

divided the examination and waiting rooms from the staff offices. The stale air smelled of heat and construction dust, the aged ventilation in desperate need of cleaning now that the remodeling was finished. Dorian opened the window an inch to let in the cold breeze. His office had been straightened. The charts he needed to review were stacked neatly in the center of his desk. On top of them, a copy of the next day’s schedule was marked with red ink. He picked up the paper, rolled his eyes, and grunted. His first hour had been blocked, his patients rescheduled, and Noreen had written Meeting with Mitchell in their place. He collapsed in his chair and buried his face in his hands.
    “Everything okay?”
    He nearly shot out of his chair at the sound of Noreen’s voice. “Jesus, Noreen. Announce yourself or something, would you?”
    Fresh snowflakes clung to her wispy bangs, and she wore a loose, baby doll dress instead of the scrubs he’d seen her in earlier.
    “Aren’t you freezing?”
    “I’m comfortable enough.” She lifted her arm to show him the wool trench coat draped over it. “I was on my way home and saw your car parked out back. I figured I’d better make amends. I’m sorry I lost my temper earlier. It was unprofessional, and it won’t happen again.” She hung her coat on the empty chair across from him and leaned forward, giving him a look down the wide neck of her dress. Her nipples were visibly erect beneath the black lace, demi-cup bra.
    “Noreen, I really have to get these charts done. I’m exhausted.”
    She smiled when he stared longer than he should have.
    “Let’s see if I can help with that.” She stood behind him, kneading the tension from his shoulders.
    The massaging felt so good that Dorian lowered his head and closed his eyes.
    “You’re really knotted up. What happened today?”
    “Where to start?” he whispered, the question punctuated with a soft moan.
    “How about with Stephanie Martin?”
    The mention of her name drew Dorian immediately back. He pushed Noreen’s hands away and opened one of the charts on his desk. “Did you get her the private ICU room I asked for?”
    “I did.”
    “Then you know what happened.”
    “I know you had to reverse the transplant. What went wrong?”
    “Clotting. She would’ve died if I waited. First surgery is an official failure.”
    Noreen reached across his lap and pulled open his top desk drawer, brushing his groin with her hand. “Maybe this will make you feel better?” She handed him an envelope with the flap tucked inside. “I delivered Mitchell his, too.”
    Dorian examined the watermarked bank check in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars.
    “Derrick had it couriered over first thing this morning.”
    “Think this’ll help with tomorrow’s meeting?” Money always eased things with Mitchell.
    Noreen shrugged. “Can’t hurt, right? I talked to the nursing staff in the ICU, and they understand that Emily Warren never transfers to the surgical floor. I don’t see any reason to risk the Martins and Warrens crossing paths, especially not while we’re keeping the news about Stephanie quiet.”
    “That’s all I need, Riley talking to Derrick. The guy’s nervous enough as it is.”
    Noreen set her hand back on Dorian’s shoulder. “Riley Martin is upset, but there were no guarantees. We have every legal waiver and consent, signed, in Stephanie’s chart.”
    “That’s not the problem, and you know it.”
    “We’re covered, Dorian. Relax. There’s no paper trail, nothing to tie Stephanie Martin to Sydney Dowling. You took care of your end, right?”
    Dorian nodded, starting to see the light at the other end of this.
    “Then there’s nothing to worry about.” Noreen pushed his chair back from the desk and stood in front of him. “You need to let this go,” she said, putting his hands on her hips.
    Dorian buried his face in the thin fabric covering her stomach and closed his eyes. The delicate smell of