Doctor's Orders

Her spirits lifted when she saw her good friend, Kim Abernathy, sprawled on one of the couches in the main room. The petite brunette was wearing street clothes, indicating that she’d finished her shift upstairs in the Neonatal ICU.

Kim had her head propped up with a pillow, and her eyes were closed, and for a moment, Mandy thought she was fast asleep. Then the corners of Kim’s mouth turned up. Without opening her eyes, she said, “Hey. You’re late.”

Mandy crossed to her locker, already shucking out of her scrubs. “Did we have plans?”

“Try checking your cell phone every now and then. The Wannabes are getting together down at Jillian’s. They’re expecting us.”

Which probably meant Kim had set up the party in the first place. She’d always been the glue holding together the dozen or so premed students who’d met in college and had stayed friends in the years since. Members of the gang had come and gone over the years as relationships and jobs changed, but the spirit had remained the same. It was a group of up-and-comers who wanted to be so many things—doctors, researchers, professors, successes…some had made it big right out of school, others hadn’t yet found their stride.

Mandy figured she fell somewhere in the middle. She’d met some of her goals, like finishing med school and separating herself—mostly, anyway—from her father’s influence. Other plans were in the works, like the fellowship. Still others, like finding love and starting a family, seemed further away each year.

At the thought of love and marriage, Radcliff’s image popped into her head, causing her to mutter a curse as she dialed the combination to her locker and pulled out her jeans and a sweater.

“Problem?” Kim asked, opening an eye to look over at her.

“No. Well, yes.” Mandy paused on her way to the changing area, her mind switching gears to the other thing that was weighing heavily. “One of my patients died last night. She had a husband, and two little kids, and yes, I know that shouldn’t make her any more or less important, but…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just not fair.”

It didn’t take a psych specialist to point out the parallels between Irene and Mandy’s own mother—both women in their early forties, both women struck down suddenly, leaving a family behind.

But while Mandy’s mother had been murdered in a home invasion gone wrong, Irene had died of a disease. But what one? She’d been healthy aside from the pain, which had sprung up suddenly out of nowhere. Mandy’s examination had turned up little more than a few bruises and a patch of healing road burn the patient said had come from having been mugged a few days earlier. None of it had explained the debilitating pain, or her death.

“Come on,” Kim said. “I prescribe bar food and some Wannabe love. It might not fix everything, but you’ll feel better. I guarantee it.”

“You’re probably right.” Telling herself she was overtired and feeling vulnerable, that was all, Mandy changed into her street clothes and pulled on a heavy parka, hat and gloves as protection against the fierce New England winter.

She and Mandy left the E.R. together and crossed the main Atrium, with its soaring ceiling, central fountain and nearly deserted coffee shop, and then pushed through the revolving doors to Washington Street.

Outside, Mandy squinted against a sharp slice of wind, wishing she’d worn another layer. When Kim turned toward the nearby MBTA stop, though, Mandy paused. She waved for her friend to keep going. “You head on over. I’m going to take a quick detour.”

Kim narrowed her almond-shaped eyes suspiciously. “Where to? You’re not trying to get out of having fun with the Wannabes, are you?”

“No, I just—” Mandy broke off, not really sure where the impulse had come from, or what she hoped to find. “I need to check something out. You go ahead and I’ll catch up. I won’t be long. Promise.”

Kim muttered a good-natured insult under her breath, but headed for the T station while Mandy hung a right and crossed Kneeland Street, headed for Chinatown.

It was nearly 10:00 p.m. and no moon was visible in the winter sky, but she felt safe enough. There were plenty of streetlights and passing cars, and her destination was at the edge of the Patriot District, an upscale historical neighborhood that had little in the way of serious crime.

“Strange place for a mugging,” she said to herself as she crossed the main street, headed for the alley where Irene Dulbecco had said she’d been attacked.

Mandy wasn’t even sure what she was looking for—a dead rat, maybe, or a spore growth that shouldn’t have been there.

Which just goes to show you’ve been watching toomany medical detective shows lately, she thought as she stopped in front of the intersection Irene had described. It wasn’t a street, so much as an alley between two tall brick buildings, creating a space of dark shadows that formed a stark contrast to the well-lit main street.

When nerves shivered down her spine, Mandy fumbled in her purse for her overloaded key ring, which held a miniature flashlight and a tiny can of pepper spray. She unclipped the pepper spray so she could hold it in one hand while using the flashlight with the other.

Feeling a little braver now that she was armed and semidangerous, she moved into the shadowed alley with only a slight quiver of fear, a faint sense that maybe this wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had.

Splashes of light reflected in from the main road, enough for her to pick out the general shapes of Dumpsters and darkened doorways on either side of the narrow space.

“Let’s see what we have here,” she said quietly, clicking on her tiny flashlight and aiming the weak beam toward one of the Dumpsters, where a puddle of something had frozen to a hard slick in the winter air.

Thinking for a second that it looked like blood, she stepped closer and crouched down to investigate. As she did so, her flashlight beam caught a glint of something caught behind the wheel of the massive Dumpster. Feeling partly foolish, partly adventurous, she wiggled the thing free and came up with a flat disk that looked like a CD only smaller.

When she shined her light on the minidisk, she saw that it was labeled “ID.”

Excitement worked its way through her. The letters could stand for Irene Dulbecco.

“Then again they might not,” she muttered under her breath. She flipped the disk over, saw that there was a long scratch on the opposite side and shrugged before she pocketed the disk and straightened away from the Dumpster. “Let’s see if there’s anything else.”

She squinted and swept the light from side to side, then focused the beam over into the far corner. The light was too weak to be much good, and she took two steps further into the alley.

A heavy blow hit her from behind without warning, driving her onto her hands and knees.

She screamed as she hit, heart locking on sudden terror. The key ring flew from her hand and skidded away as she twisted, rolling to her back just in time to see the darkened silhouette of a man leaning over her, holding something that glinted in the faint streetlights. For a second, she thought it was a gun. Then he shifted, and she saw that it wasn’t a weapon.

It was a syringe.

Chapter Two

Mandy screamed and tried to roll away, but her attacker grabbed her jacket with his free hand and pinned her arms by holding onto both of her sleeves at once. She thrashed wildly as he kneeled partway across her, forcing her torso flat against the unyielding pavement.

Panic poured through her, and adrenaline gave her struggles renewed strength, but not enough to budge the man. He leaned down, and as he did, a shaft of light reflected in from the main street, giving her a glimpse of his face.

She got the impression of bitter gray eyes hidden within the hood of a heavy black sweatshirt, and saw lighter material covering his nose and mouth. Then he shifted his weight, pinning her fully with his legs so he could grab her upper arm and hold it steady.

Without a word, he swung the syringe sharply downward, plunging the needle through her parka, but missing her arm.

Mandy screamed as her attacker cursed and withdrew the needle, then aimed it at the meat of her arm. Just as the syringe descended a second time, a dark blur erupted from the shadows and slammed into him, jolting him off to one side.

She lay dazed for a moment, hearing grunts and the sounds of a struggle. Then a familiar voice snapped, “For the love of—Run!”

Radcliff? The shock of hearing—and recognizing—his voice sent a new burst of adrenaline through Mandy’s system. Before she was even aware of moving, she’d scrambled to her feet and staggered back several paces. Then she stood, swaying, while the world spun around her.

In the dimness, she could make out the shapes of two men squared off opposite each other. The stranger wore a hooded sweatshirt and a light-colored mask beneath, along with what looked—oddly enough—like surgical gloves. Radcliff, on the other hand, wore dark jeans and a heavy leather jacket, and had a knit cap pulled over his ears.

The oddness of seeing him in street clothes rather than a lab coat created a disconnect in Mandy’s brain, one that had her hesitating for a second. Then the hooded man growled something and lunged at Parker, swinging the syringe in a deadly arc.

Mandy screamed, “No!”

“Get out of here!” Radcliff bellowed. He ducked low and caught his assailant in the gut with his shoulder, folding the guy and deflecting his aim. Then he twisted and sidestepped, and grabbed the other man’s wrist, fighting for control of the syringe.

Mandy wavered for a second, poised between running away from the fight and running toward it. Radcliff had ordered her to go, but as she watched, she saw his braced arm give under the other man’s weight, saw the syringe drop a few inches closer to its target.

Don’t be a fool, the cautious side of her inner self said. Go get help. Call nine-one-one.

But her cell was in her purse, which lay on the pavement just behind the combatants. There was no way she could reach it, no way she could get to her phone, and by the time she found help it might be too late.

Before she was aware of making the decision, the other side of her inner self—the one that was always making mistakes and getting her into trouble—had her launching into action. She lunged, not for the fight, but for the nearby Dumpster. Stretching her arm beneath it, she felt around in the frozen clutter, grimacing until her fingers found the tiny bottle of pepper spray. Heart pounding, she scooped it up and scrambled to her feet.