Ellie was impressed. It had taken her years of sleep deprivation to perfect the art of falling asleep on her feet. Never during surgery, of course—that was definitely frowned upon—but in between emergencies when she knew she had only a couple of minutes before she was paged again. Five minutes here, ten minutes there—it seemed to be enough to keep her refreshed and alert. She still didn’t know how to relax, though, no matter how hard she tried. Daniels made it look easy.

Ellie was pleased she hadn’t kept him waiting long. All she’d had to do for Mrs. Klein was adjust her medications. Mr. Klein was the real concern. Ellie had to once again order him to keep his hands off his wife’s tubes and IVs and to stop trying to wake her up. The stubborn man couldn’t quite grasp the notion of a medically induced coma, but he did understand that he would be banned from the ICU if he didn’t behave himself. Janet Newman, the head nurse, was convinced Mr. Klein was attempting to kill his wife and blame it on the hospital. Janet pointed out that Mrs. Klein was twenty-nine years older than her husband, way too old to be considered a cougar, and she was also extremely wealthy. It was obvious to the nurse that the sneaky bastard—Janet’s name for Mr. Klein—had married the poor woman for her fortune only.

Although Ellie didn’t believe Mr. Klein wanted to harm his wife, she gave Janet new instructions: If there was another incident with the tubes, she was to call security and have Mr. Klein removed from the floor.

Dealing with the families took compassion, patience, and understanding; and on days like today, after working such a long shift, Ellie ran low on all three. It had been a grueling week with double shifts and very little sleep. She wondered if she looked as tired as she felt. The interview with the agent shouldn’t take long, she thought, and then she could go home, take a hot shower, and fall into bed. That lovely thought made her sigh. Earlier, she had grabbed a few minutes to take a quick shower in the doctors’ quarters, but it wasn’t at all the same as showering in her own bathroom with her own apricot-scented shampoo, her body lotions, and her soft towels. She couldn’t wait to get home.

Ellie should have known she wouldn’t get out of the hospital that easily.

As she walked toward the agent, she said, “That didn’t take any time at all, did it, Agent Daniels?”

“No, it didn’t take long,” he agreed. “Call me Max,” he added.

She smiled. “And you may call me Ellie.”

She had almost reached him when the ancient intercom crackled to life. “Dr. Blue to ICU. Dr. Blue to ICU.” The summons was the not-too-subtle code for a patient crashing, a code blue. Everyone in the hospital knew what it meant, including every patient over the age of ten, but the administrator refused to give the code a different name.

Ellie stopped abruptly, took a deep breath, then turned to go back into the ICU.

She called over her shoulder, “Agent Daniels . . . I mean, Max . . . if you want, you could leave your number with reception, and I’ll get hold of you just as soon as I’m finished here.”

If he replied, she didn’t hear him because the doors were closing behind her as she ran to the patient in trouble.

This time she was gone a little longer, but not much, just fifteen minutes, and when she once again stepped out into the hallway, she was surprised to see that Max was still there waiting for her. He was talking on his cell phone, but the second he spotted her, he ended the call and headed toward her.

It suddenly occurred to Ellie that the agent might be worried that his friend had been the patient who coded, and she hurried to reassure him.

“The code wasn’t for Agent Goodman.”

“Yeah, I know. I asked one of the nurses to go in and find out.”

She nodded. “I just checked on him. He’s resting comfortably.”

“That’s good,” he replied. “The code?” he asked, curious. “How did that turn out?”

“The patient’s back with us, so it’s all good.”

He smiled, and Ellie felt a flutter in her chest. How could anyone that tough looking have such a devastating smile? He was an imposing figure, tall and broad shouldered, with huge biceps and a wide chest that appeared to be all muscle. His jaw was hidden beneath a scruffy beard, but the slight dimple creasing his cheek was still noticeable. His thick hair needed a trim, and he looked as though he’d been to battle and back. There really wasn’t anything “pretty boy” about him, nothing remotely gorgeous like Dr. Andrews; yet, cleaned up, this man had the potential to be a real heartthrob. But not for her. Been there. Almost done that.

Ellie forced herself to concentrate on the reason he was here, the shooting. She needed to explain that, if he wanted to question her, they would have to find someplace outside the hospital. As long as she was on the premises, the nurses and doctors would continue to page her. And the two older surgeons on call tonight would be happy to let her do their job while they watched ESPN in the doctors’ lounge.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she began. “Otherwise, the interruptions . . . oh no.” She groaned the last words. “Great,” she whispered. “Just great.”

Max turned to see a tall, round-shouldered man with a giant forehead and very little hair come barreling toward Ellie with a glare plastered on his face.

“Who is he?” he asked quietly. He could have sworn he heard her whisper, “A dinosaur.”

The man marching toward them was a doctor, an uptight one at that. He wore an immaculate white coat with a stethoscope dangling from one of the pockets. Pale blue, long-sleeved shirt, bold striped tie, black pants with perfect creases, and tasseled loafers that looked new—he was impeccably dressed. Max wondered if the man’s personality was as starched as his appearance.

Dr. Brent Westfield was the chief of surgery at St. Vincent’s. He had just rounded the corner. Spotting Ellie, he barked, “What are you doing here, Prod? Aren’t you off this weekend? Of course you are. Do I have to remind you that, as of two weeks ago, we are all following new guidelines? No exceptions. You know that.” He glanced at his Gucci sports watch and added, “You should have signed out two hours ago.”

New guidelines. Right. Exasperated, Ellie simply nodded. It was true. According to the new hospital policy, residents and fellows could be on duty only a certain number of hours in a twenty-four-hour day; but there was a big loophole, one little phrase in the guidelines that made them useless: unless there was an emergency. And funny thing, there was always an emergency. Ellie was certain the contingency was just a clever way for the hospital to appear to be following the guidelines while working the residents until they were dead on their feet. In reality, the new guidelines weren’t that different from the old ones, and Westfield knew it. He was just in the mood to hassle her, she decided, probably because he was irritated that she hadn’t signed a contract to stay with the hospital . . . at least not yet. She was still contemplating where she wanted to live and what she wanted to do—trauma center or general surgery. And she also had to take into account Evan Patterson. Where was he hiding? How could she make a decision without knowing where he was? Ellie was so tired now, nothing sounded good to her, but she knew she would have to make her decision soon because, even with all the scholarships and grants she had received, she owed a little over two hundred thousand.

“Do you want me to get in trouble with the board?” he demanded.

Was he kidding? The board of directors loved him. It was such a bogus question, she didn’t bother to answer.

Westfield abruptly turned to Max. “And who is this?”

Ellie knew he had noticed the FBI badge hooked to the left side of Max’s belt and the gun holstered on the opposite side, but she didn’t comment on it or mention that Max’s navy blue T-shirt had big yellow FBI letters conspicuously printed across the back. Instead, she quickly made the introductions, and the two men shook hands. The chief had always been a commanding figure to Ellie because of his position of power, his aggressive tactics, and most important, his skill in the operating room, but standing next to the FBI agent who towered over him, Westfield suddenly didn’t seem so intimidating. Max was more imposing. The agent radiated strength and confidence. She strongly doubted he was as contentious as the chief, though.

“I heard there was a shooting outside the hospital doors. Is that right?”

“Yes, it happened close to the hospital,” Max answered.

Westfield waited for the agent to expound and was sorely disappointed. Usually, the chief’s intense frown, pursed lips, and unnerving silence was enough to make the people he was interrogating so uneasy they would blurt out all sorts of information. His tactics weren’t working on Max.

“Three men were killed?” he prodded.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Another ten seconds passed in silence. Then the chief asked, “An FBI agent was shot?”

“Yes.”

Ellie was trying not to smile. Westfield had to be frustrated. By using his stern tone and his most serious scowl, he was doing his best to push the agent into giving an explanation, but it wasn’t working. Apparently, Max couldn’t be intimidated.

The chief abruptly turned to Ellie. “Who did the surgery on the agent?” And before she could answer, he added, “It couldn’t have been you because you’re off duty, aren’t you? And you aren’t on call this weekend. So who did the surgery? Was it Walmer?”

Westfield knew she had operated on the agent. The man knew everything that went on inside the hospital. He was just trying to exert his power and make her squirm. Four more days under his thumb, she reminded herself, just four more days and she was free. She needed to suck it up until then.

“No, sir, Dr. Walmer didn’t do the surgery.” Taking Max’s lead, she didn’t say another word.

“Edmonds?” he snapped.

“No, sir.”

“Then who operated?”

“I did.”

The glare was back in place. “Even though you were off duty?”

“Yes, sir, even though.”

“Don’t give me attitude, Sullivan,” he said, pointing a finger at her.

Max kept expecting Ellie to tell Westfield that Agent Goodman had pleaded with her to do the surgery, but she didn’t. She didn’t offer any excuses. She simply stared Westfield in the eyes and waited.

“Help me understand,” he began in his best sarcastic voice. “Why didn’t you notify Walmer or Edmonds to hightail it to the OR?” And once again he didn’t give her time to answer the question before posing another. “Do you think you’re a better surgeon than they are?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir, I do. Absolutely.”

Max could tell Westfield was pleased with her answer but trying not to let her know it.

“You’re arrogant.”

Ellie was about to say, “Thank you,” but caught herself in time. “Yes, sir, I am.”

And it was true. When it came to her work, she was arrogant, just like all the other surgeons in the hospital. It came with the territory and, in Ellie’s opinion, was a necessary requirement. When a surgeon held a scalpel in her hand and was about to cut open a patient, she had better have skill and almost superhuman confidence. Ellie honestly didn’t think there was such a thing as a timid surgeon, and if there was, she certainly wouldn’t want him cutting on her.

Unfortunately, none of her self-assuredness and arrogance spilled over into her personal life. During her last trip home, she had been told by her sister Ava that she was depressingly insecure. But, since Ava was the sister who was marrying Ellie’s ex-fiancé, she wasn’t inclined to listen to anything she had to say. Ava’s twin, Annie, was living in San Diego and hadn’t had a chance to weigh in on Ellie’s faults. She would side with Ava, of course, but she would be much kinder about it. Despite her sisters’ persistence, Ellie would disagree with both of them. She wasn’t depressingly insecure. Just mildly so.

Ellie suddenly realized she was zoning out. Now wasn’t the time to think about personal problems. She’d have plenty of time for that once she was home. Focus, she told herself. Westfield was chatting with Max again, probably telling him how to do his job. She took a deep breath in an attempt to get more oxygen to her befuddled brain.

Westfield turned back to her, his index finger just inches from her face. “You. Get out of here. Now.” He didn’t snarl the order, but he came close.

Ellie watched him as he strode toward ICU. He shoved the doors out of his way, looked over his shoulder, and snapped, “And sign the contract.”

The doors automatically closed behind him. She sighed and, in a faint Southern accent, said, “Isn’t he sweet? We all just love him to pieces.”

Max laughed. “How long have you been taking orders from him?”

“Forever.”

“Why does he call you Prod?”

She shrugged. “He likes to.”

She started walking down the long hallway with Max at her side.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

When she didn’t immediately answer, he glanced down at her and saw her cheeks were flushed. She was embarrassed, and that only piqued his interest all the more. He let the question go for now. “Did I hear you call him a dinosaur? When I asked you who he was . . .”

She smiled. “You don’t see the resemblance? Actually, I usually call him ‘T. rex.’ I think it’s more personal. When he’s on a roar—which is ninety percent of the time—he does remind me of a gigantic, prehistoric beast.”

She was moving at a fast clip.

“Ellie, hold up. Where are you going?”

“Upstairs to get my keys.”

“We have to sit down and—”

“I know.”

She kept right on going. Max was becoming frustrated. “Do you run everywhere you go?”

“Pretty much,” she admitted. She slowed to a normal pace . . . normal for her, anyway. She noticed that Max had no trouble keeping up with her. In fact, with his long legs, he barely had to increase his stride beyond a stroll.

She glanced over at him. He was definitely out of her comfort zone. The man had so much testosterone, he made her nervous. He didn’t scare her, though. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes creased, and there was a glint in them that made her shiver inside.

Jeez, get a grip, Sullivan. She was acting like a sex-starved teenager. Granted, it had been a long time since she had been with a man—a long, long time—but, still, her reaction to Max went beyond bizarre. It was completely contrary to her usual calm, rational nature. When she had time, she would figure out her weird behavior. There had to be some logical explanation. But then, maybe she didn’t really have to worry about it at all because, as soon as Max questioned her about the shooting, he’d be on his way, and she would be sane again.

Max noticed that she kept looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. “What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing important.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to be much help with descriptions I’m afraid,” she said.

“We have to take your statement anyway.”

“We?”

“Another agent, Ben MacBride, and I are working this together, and we have to question you.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Where is he?”

“At the crime scene,” he answered. Where I should be, he silently added.

“Why don’t you start asking your questions while you walk with me.”

“Doesn’t work that way. I’m going to record what you say.”

“Okay, then we need to find someplace quiet, right?”

“Right.”

Ellie passed a bank of elevators and continued on to the stairs. “I’ll grab my things, and we can get out of here. I stand a better chance of actually leaving if you’re with me.”

“How’s that?”

She smiled. “You’ve got a gun.”

Max kept pace as she ran up three flights. “You have a thing against elevators? A phobia?”

“This is the only exercise I get.”

“You were running the track when the shooting started, weren’t you?”

“How did you figure that out?” she asked, taking the steps a little slower while she waited for his answer.

“I’m an FBI agent, trained to be observant,” he said.

“Oh, please. You thought I was one of the kids on that high school soccer team.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I did,” he admitted. “One of the other agents told me you were running the track.”

He could laugh at himself. What an appealing trait, she thought. She liked that quality in a man . . . Seriously! What was happening to her? She really needed to get away from him as soon as possible.

“You haven’t answered my question. Is it a phobia or just a quirk?” he wondered.

“I do the stairs and I run the track and I don’t particularly like being crammed inside a little metal box with a bunch of other people.”

He grinned. “So that’s a yes. You do have a phobia.”

Probably, she thought, but she wasn’t going to admit it. She did ride in elevators with patients when she had to. She didn’t like it, but she did it anyway.

“Where do you keep your things? On the roof?” he asked.

“Just here.” Ellie entered the hallway on the fourth floor and opened the door to a dark room filled with lockers. She switched on a light and walked to the third one on the left. Had she been alone, she would have locked the door and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, but she wasn’t alone, so she was going to have to stay in her scrubs. She didn’t like wearing them outside the hospital, but she didn’t have a choice now. She pulled out her backpack, put some of her clothes inside, grabbed her keys from the top shelf, and was ready to leave.

She followed him to the stairwell, appreciating the fact that he wasn’t pushing the issue with the elevators. When his cell phone rang, he stopped on a landing to answer, and she stopped to wait for him.

Max’s partner, Ben MacBride, was on the line and wanted help with a couple of uncooperative witnesses.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in five.”

“Hold on,” Ben said. “Agent Hughes wants to talk to you.”

While Max was waiting for Ben to get Hughes, he turned to Ellie. She stood on the step above him, and her eyes were level with his. He found it impossible not to stare at her. The woman was breathtaking. Her eyes were the most intense shade of blue. Her nose was dotted with freckles, which he found damn alluring, and her mouth . . . ah, man, he really needed to stop staring. He was already conjuring up all sorts of fantasies involving her full, luscious lips, and he was going to be in real trouble if he let his eyes wander lower.

Max didn’t wait for Hughes to get on the line. He abruptly ended the call, turned, and continued down the stairs.

“Where are we going to do this?” she asked.

He smiled. Now, that was a leading question, considering where his thoughts had been.

“Go home.” His voice was brisk.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back at her. “You can go home, and we’ll come to you.”

“Great,” she said. “I can get out of these scrubs. Let me give you my address . . .”

“I’ve got it.”

“Cell phone?”

“Got that, too.”

“But how—”

“You’re a witness. I had all your information downloaded to my phone while I was waiting for you.”

“You Googled me?”

“No, I didn’t need to.”

Ellie wondered what she would find if she Googled him. Under “occupation” would it say he was an FBI agent and give her the number of criminals he’d apprehended . . . and shot? No, of course not. His profile probably wouldn’t tell her whether he was involved with anyone or whether he was married, either. She had taken the time to notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band, and something told her that, if he was married, he would always wear it.

Now, why would she make that assumption? She wasn’t clairvoyant, and the truth was, she didn’t know anything about him other than he carried a badge, could be quite intimidating at times, and had a great smile. Was she making him admirable because she wanted him to be? From what she knew about the FBI—which was precious little—outsiders weren’t privy to personal information, but she might Google him anyway just to appease her curiosity.

Okay, she really needed a life outside of the OR. Then maybe she wouldn’t have such a strong reaction to a man she barely knew.

They reached the main floor on the south side of the hospital. Ellie’s ancient SUV was parked in the doctors’ lot adjacent to the hospital. Max opened the exit door for her. She brushed against him as she walked outside and got a hint of his masculine scent and just a trace of aftershave. For a man who looked as though he hadn’t picked up a razor in quite some time, he smelled really good.

She knew what she smelled like. Disinfectant. Unfortunately, that had been her perfume for the past several years. It could be worse, she thought. The pathology residents smelled like formaldehyde, even when they were off duty. The odor seemed to permeate their skin.

Max walked her to her car. It was a gentlemanly thing to do, but not at all necessary since it was light outside and there were police cars all over the campus. The crime scene team was still there, combing the park for additional evidence. Ellie didn’t believe she could be any safer.

“Do you walk out here in the middle of the night?” Max asked as he looked around.

“Yes. Why?”

“I count only six lights, and this is a big parking lot with countless places to hide. Not good.”

“If I’m leaving during the night, a guard walks me to my car.”

“What happens when you get called to come in?”

I park my car, then run like lightning to the doors with pepper spray in my hand, she thought but didn’t say.

“I try to park as close to the hospital doors as possible, and I’m vigilant,” she stated with a nod.

“Vigilant, huh?”

His smile could stop traffic. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or laughing at her.

Max opened her car door. “I’ll see you later. It will probably be a couple of hours before we get to your place. Don’t go anywhere. Stay home.”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t until she had driven out of the lot and was on her way home that she glanced in the mirror. No makeup, hair a mess, and wearing scrubs that were two sizes too big for her—lovely. No wonder Max had escorted her to her car. He probably felt sorry for her. He wouldn’t have given her a second glance under normal circumstances.

Oh well, what did it matter? After a brief interview, he would be history, and after next Tuesday, hopefully, she would be, too.