LITMIR.BIZ

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Rose Mountain?”

      She flushed. “Oh. How far away are we?”

      “About thirty minutes.”

      “I guess I’m more used to big-city living than small-town.”

      “Which big city are you from?”

      “Atlanta.”

      A soft whistle escaped him. “Wow, you’re serious when you say big city, aren’t you? What brought you to our little mountain town?”

      A frown furrowed her forehead. “Let’s just say I needed a change. The slower-paced lifestyle appeals to me.”

      Well, that was good news. That might mean she planned on staying for a while. He lifted a brow. “So? You want a ride?”

      “Um … sure. Let me just get my things.”

      A knock sounded at the door and Dylan moved to pull it open. A large man decked out in green scrubs pushed a wheelchair. He flashed her a bright smile. “Your limo is ready.”

      Paige frowned. “I don’t need a chair.”

      “Hospital regulations, ma’am.”

      Dylan watched the frown slide off to be replaced with resignation. “Fine.”

      After she was settled, the three of them left the room. Dylan jogged ahead to get the car and pull it around.

      Once Paige was in the passenger seat, Dylan asked, “Where am I going?”

      She gave a little laugh—and winced.

      He frowned. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

      “Yes, now stop asking. I live on Mockingbird Lane in Knightsbridge Subdivision.”

      He lifted a brow. “That’s not too far from where Will and I live.” A surge of elation slid through him at the idea of her living so close to him. Then he wondered why it mattered. But it did. The attraction he felt for her, the connection she seemed to have with Will—both excellent reasons for keeping her nearby.

      “So, Dr. Seabrook, you didn’t have to see patients today?”

      Before he could answer, his cell phone rang. Grabbing it from the clip on his side, he said, “Hello?”

      “Where are you, Dylan?” Margaret, his secretary and friend from church. They’d dispensed with formalities when he’d hired her after her husband had died of a massive heart attack.

      He frowned. “Taking a friend home from the hospital. What’s wrong?”

      “I have a young man standing here who said you promised to meet him this morning to give him a reference letter.”

      Dylan racked his brain—and found what he was looking for. “I totally forgot. I have it all ready. I just need to print and sign it. Tell him if he can give me about thirty minutes, I’ll be there.”

      “You got it. See you then.”

      He looked over at his passenger. “Is your head all right? Do you mind if we swing by my office when we get into town?”

      She shrugged. “Fine with me.”

      “I promised a reference letter for a very promising young man in my church. He wants to get into medical school, and I think he’d make an excellent doctor.”

      Thirty-five minutes later, Dylan pulled into the parking lot and noticed one of his partners, Graham Bailey, hadn’t arrived yet. The man was going through a pretty messy divorce and his days seemed to start later and later. Henry Satterfield, his other partner, would field patients until Graham arrived. Dylan had already requested time off to be with Will, so no one expected him to be there.

      Dylan entered the building with Paige right behind him. Margaret Rogers, his efficient as always, salt-and-pepper-haired secretary in her early sixties sat at her desk fielding calls. She pointed to the young man sitting in the waiting room.

      Two women with toddlers chatted in the children’s corner. A teenager slumped on the couch, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

      Dylan nodded and turned to speak when Margaret hung up the phone with more force than needed. He looked back at her. “What is it?”

      “Doctor Bailey won’t be in today. He’s sick.” She kept her expression clear, her voice in a monotone, but he could see the disgust in her eyes.

      “Okay, let me take care of this, then I’ll … figure something out about Graham.” He made quick introductions. “Paige, Margaret Rogers and Kyle Barrett. Margaret and Kyle, this is Paige.”

      Kyle nodded. The women greeted each other while Dylan walked over to shake the man’s hand. “Give me a minute, Kyle. The letter is sitting on my computer, I just need to print it off and sign it.”

      “Thank you, sir.”

      Kyle sat and Dylan made his way down the hall to his office.

      Twisting the doorknob, he stepped inside and came to an abrupt halt.

      In shock, he took in the mess that had been his spotless office less than twenty-four hours earlier.

      The gasp behind him made him turn to see Paige staring over his shoulder. Then she looked up at him and raised a brow. “You either need to fire your cleaning crew or call the police.”

      Even after the sheriff arrived, Kyle hovered in the background, eyes wide like saucers. “Looks like the tornado sirens should have sounded.”

      While Paige watched the officer take notes on the scene, Margaret clucked like a mother hen, muttering under her breath. Paige listened to Dylan give a statement and clamped her teeth on her tongue. Itching to be a part of the investigation, she told herself to cool it. That wasn’t going to happen.

      But she couldn’t help sidling up next to Dylan and asking, “Who would do this?”

      He shook his head. “I have no idea. This is crazy.” He gestured to the uniformed man. “Paige, this is a good friend of mine, Sheriff Eli Brody.”

      She nodded, then asked, “How did whoever did this get in?”

      Eli shook his head. “We’re working on figuring that out.”

      Margaret huffed. “Well, I’m usually the last to leave and I always set the alarm.”

      Dylan smiled at her. “No one is questioning your competence.” He looked thoughtful and then shook his head.

      Paige’s gaze went back to the office. The overturned chair, the dumped drawers. “It looks like someone was looking for something.”

      “Sure does.”

      Dylan shrugged. “But what? Drugs? Any junkie would know they’re not kept in an office.”

      “The drug cabinet wasn’t touched as far as I can tell,” Margaret offered. “I just checked.”

      Paige looked at Dylan. “Has anyone threatened you or Will?”

      He blinked. “No. Why?”

      Okay, that answered that question. “What about your prescription pads?”

      Cocking his head, he looked at the sheriff. “Do you mind if I look?”

      “I’ve already dusted the desk. Go ahead.”

      Dylan walked behind the desk, inserted a small key into the top drawer and gave the handle a tug. Looking in, he shook his head. “Everything’s in order.”

      The sheriff blew out a sigh. “All right.”

      Paige’s eyes bounced back and forth between the men. Would no one say it? She bit her lip. Should she bring it up?

      “You … uh … don’t suppose there’s a connection between the car trying to run Will down and this break-in, do you?”

      Both

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