Free About Last Night... by Stephanie Bond Page B

shoulders. He opened the door to Dr. Pedro and a tall blond man who
    introduced himself as the general manager. The doctor carried a black leather bag, and the manager sported a clipboard that
    held down a one-inch stack of papers. Both men appeared weary, their eyes bloodshot.
    "Mr. Stillman," the doctor said. "I understand you're not feeling well. I need to examine you, draw some blood and record
    your symptoms."
    Derek invited them inside. The general manager hung back, then peered around warily as he entered. "Isn't Janine Murphy in
    this room?"
    A strange sound emerged from the bathroom. The men stopped and Derek identified the low noise as the world's worst
    rendition of "You Light Up My Life." He looked at Mr. Oliver and nodded toward the closed door. "Janine." When she hit a
    particularly off-key note, he felt compelled to add, "I don't really know her."
    The doctor offered him a tight smile. "She informed us of your, um, unusual circumstances." While Derek pondered that
    conversation, the shorter man pulled the straight-back chair toward the foot of the bed. "Shall we get started?"
    Derek sat in the chair and allowed the doctor to take his vital signs. "What's the status of the quarantine?"
    "Still on," the man muttered, while peering into Derek's ears with a lighted instrument. He made notes on a pad of yellow
    forms.
    "Have you identified the illness?"
    "Yes," the doctor replied. "But not the source. Open your mouth and say 'ah.'"
    Derek obeyed, realizing he'd have to drag answers out of the man. Meanwhile, he watched Mr. Oliver pivot and take in
    details of the room. The man stopped, his gaze on the pink-and-black bustier lying on top of the bedcovers where Derek had
    tossed it after using it as a shield. With an inward groan, Derek resisted the urge to jump up and discard the misleading
    evidence. Mr. Oliver's perusal continued, this time stopping to stare at the stash of honey on the nightstand. One of the
    manager's eyebrows arched and he slid a glance toward Derek. Great, Derek thought in exasperation. He thinks I'm doing kinky
    things with that woman braying in the bathroom.
    "Your throat is irritated," the doctor announced.
    Derek gagged on the tongue depressor, then pulled away and swallowed. "I could have told you that."
    "When did you arrive at the hotel?"
    "Yesterday, around three o'clock."
    "When did you first start exhibiting symptoms?"
    "Around five o'clock, I guess."
    "Describe your symptoms."
    Derek shrugged. "Congestion, sore throat."
    "Body aches?" the doctor prompted.
    He nodded. "Some."
    "Vomiting?"
    "No."
    "Diarrhea?"
    "No."
    Mr. Oliver stepped forward. "Did you eat in the hotel restaurant?"
    He nodded.
    "When and what did you eat?" the manager continued.
    "A burger and fries, around four o'clock."
    "What did you have to drink?" Dr. Pedro cut in.
    "Water and coffee."
    "Decaf?"
    "No, I was tired and needed the boost."
    "Have you eaten anything else since you arrived?" the doctor asked.
    Derek shook his head.
    "Honey, perhaps?" The general manager nodded toward the nightstand with an amused expression.
    He frowned. "Only a taste. And just this morning."
    "What else?" Dr. Pedro asked, scribbling.
    "Some over-the-counter medicine I picked up in the gift shop."
    "I'll need to see it."
    Derek jerked his thumb toward the bathroom where Pinky continued her teeth-grating performance. "It's in there."
    The doctor gestured toward the bathroom. "Is Ms. Murphy ailing?"
    "Sure sounds like it, doesn't it?" Derek asked wryly, then rose. "Give me a minute or two." He walked over to the bathroom
    door and rapped loudly. The singing, thank goodness, stopped, although he could still hear the hum of the Jacuzzi and the gurgle
    of bubbling water.
    "Who is it?" she called.
    He rolled his eyes. "Derek. I need to get my medication."
    "Just a minute." A rustling noise sounded through the door. "You can come in."
    With a backward glance to their visitors, who seemed rapt, he opened the door and leaned inside, patting the