“No,” Søren said with a quiet, appreciative smile. “I’m afraid that’s not in the budget. She’ll have enough on her plate coping with Glenna’s workload.”
He left the other man glaring at his back, as if Todd had built up some expectations over the past weeks. There was something very satisfying about disappointing an asshole.
By two-fifteen in the afternoon, he was at the hospital, strolling casually toward the blood bank. Nobody paid him a second look because with his stolen white jacket, they expected him to be a doctor-and that meant he had a perfect right to be here.
He told himself he had nothing to worry about.
He’d fooled them at Micor once, and he could do it again. He just needed to locate a sample with which to fool the doctors. There was no doubt if he submitted his real blood, it would match records of his DNA in their files. They kept track of their test subjects.
Just before he opened the door, a nurse tapped his arm. “Doctor, Mrs. Feldman is demanding to speak with an MD.”
Shit. Keep calm.
“Is it an emergency?”
The nurse sighed. “No, she’s just a pain in the behind. Could you give her a few? I’ll owe you big if you can stop her from ringing every five minutes.”
Søren considered. “I’ll talk to her. What’s the room number?”
“Thanks. She’s in 201.”
The nurse’s crepe-soled shoes made no noise as she hurried off to the next crisis. Søren found his way easily to 201; he could hear the strident tones halfway down the hall. Pinning a smile on his face, he stepped in and grabbed the chart, mostly because he thought it would be in keeping with his role.
He pretended to scan it and then asked, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Feldman?”
“You can tell those no-good nurses to stop stealing from me!” she snapped. “And I want some decent food. And why does it take so long for someone to help me to the toilet?”
Yeah, the nurse had been right. This old battle-axe didn’t need a doctor; she wanted company. So he perched on the edge of her visitor’s chair, fighting the memories of long hours spent in vigil for Lexie before he’d accepted she was gone for good.
“The hospital is understaffed,” he said gently. “I’m here during off hours, and I came in to check on you on a purely volunteer basis. But I’m happy to say you look lovely, and you seem to be recovering nicely from your broken hip.”
She actually blushed before remembering her annoyance. “Hmph. You’re full of it.”
Søren spent five more minutes sweet-talking her before adding, “As for the time the nurses take, I bet they’d come much faster if you didn’t call as often.”
The old woman sighed. “Then maybe you could pour me some water before you go?”
“Of course.”
The nurse’s request taken care of, he retraced his steps. Søren slipped into the storage area and began to rummage. It was a good job he’d noted the donor number on the first vial he’d nicked, three months ago now. He had never imagined he’d still be spinning his wheels at the facility. But it had taken much longer to punish Serrano to his satisfaction, so he could be patient.
At last he located the bags, but there weren’t very many of them. Guilt panged through him; somebody might need this. Resolving to give blood later, he tucked the bag into his pocket and slipped out. With an ability like his, he could come and go as he pleased, most places, as long as he was dressed appropriately. He didn’t need to focus on his gift; it worked on its own, naturally, but that meant he couldn’t shut it down, either. God knew, he’d tried over the years.
And the more targets he affected, the more energy it required. He’d made the mistake of attending a college football game once and wound up in a coma. For obvious reasons, his attendance at sporting events was out of the question. He also couldn’t attend films on opening days. Best for him to catch a matinée or, better yet, watch at home. He’d long since come to terms with his limitations and liabilities.
He hastened out of the hospital and to his car. As he climbed in, Søren checked the time on the dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes until his physical. He smiled. Everything was under control.
They were sending him to the same physician as before, so he already knew the layout. It would be easy to switch the samples. He pulled up outside the one-story red brick building and parked toward the back of the lot. After shrugging out of the white coat, he stashed the blood in his deep pants pocket. Long strides carried him through the front doors with five minutes to spare.
It was a typical waiting room with prefab furniture and annoyed-looking people flipping through old magazines. He scanned their faces once through force of habit but found nothing to alarm him. A few of them looked genuinely ill; others were probably here for a routine physical like him.
The receptionist beamed as he strode up. “Good afternoon. You have an appointment?”
“Of course. Two forty-five.”
“We have all the forms we need already on file. It will be a little while.”
Understatement. It would be a miracle if he got out of here before four. Still, it wasn’t the receptionist’s fault, so he offered a smile as he took a seat.
As it turned out, he waited nearly forty-five minutes before he was called back to the exam rooms. The nurse in the pink scrubs led him to room 4, where she took his vitals and made notes on his chart and small talk.
Søren responded with noncommittal murmurs, which didn’t deter her from talking. He tensed when she went for the needle. That, she noticed.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid,” she said, teasing.
He raised a brow. “You meet people who aren’t?”
The nurse laughed. “When you put it that way-hold still. This will only take a second.”
“If you say so.”
With competent hands she tapped a vein and then deftly connected the shunt. Since they only needed one sample, she removed the needle, gave him a cotton pad to press over the site, and then labeled the vial with a tracking number. It would go to the lab to check for cholesterol, any indication of illness, and probably drugs as well, though if they were only testing for that, he could’ve peed in a cup.
“There, we’re all done. The doctor will be in shortly to complete the process and sign your work forms, but everything looks good so far.” Her saucy look said more, but he didn’t bite.
Before she could take the sample away, he said, “Did you hear that?” And donned a concerned look.
His gift would do that rest.
“Crud,” she said, manufacturing a convenient emergency. “I’ll be right back.”
The vial lay forgotten on the counter as she hurried out. He sprang into motion, and within a couple of minutes, he’d substituted the donor blood for his own and tagged it appropriately. His own went into his pocket. By the time the doctor came in, he was sitting on the exam table, studying a poster of the human circulatory system.
Dr. Moss was on the verge of retirement, and he didn’t move too fast anymore. He ambled toward Søren with a vague smile, his chart nowhere in sight. “Let’s get you out of here as fast we can, shall we?”
“Sounds good to me.”
The doctor listened to Søren’s heart, checked reflexes, and peered into various orifices before saying, “You appear to be in excellent health, young man. Do you have something for me to sign?”
He produced the form and Dr. Moss scrawled his name at the bottom. “The receptionist can fill in the rest. See you next time!”
Not if I can help it.
Søren hopped off the table and threaded his way through the hallway crowded with the nurse in pink, an ineffectual woman, and a little girl, who was crying so hard her nose had gone red and her cheeks were blotchy. He paused, thinking of Lexie.
“Shots?” he asked the nurse, who confirmed with a nod. “Has she had a lolli yet?”