Old habit.
You don’t plan three hundred weddings without learning to get everything in writing.
I came out on six.
At the far end of the hall, the elevator opened.
Nate stepped out.
Jeans.
Gray sweater.
No badge.
Marcus was right behind him.
“Doc, stop!”
Nate didn’t stop.
He was walking fast toward the glass doors at the end of the hall.
Office of the Chief of Surgery.
Owen stood outside them.
One hand on the handle.
“Owen!” Nate shouted.
Owen turned.
“Don’t,” Nate said.
“Don’t you dare.”
Marcus caught Nate’s arm.
This time, it wasn’t gentle.
Nate yanked free.
Marcus grabbed him again.
Nate’s shoulder hit the wall.
A framed photo of the hospital board rattled on its nail.
“I’ll call it in, Doc,” Marcus said.
“I swear I will.”
“Then call it in!”
I got between them.
I don’t know how.
I just did.
My back to Nate.
