“I tested for the most likely suspects,” Thomas said carefully. “Even threw in some less common ones. But, Dr. Morrison … are you still convinced poisoning is behind her symptoms?”
I stared at the sheet until the words blurred, then pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the headache I could feel building.
“I don’t know anymore,” I admitted, hating the defeat in my voice.
Thomas leaned forward. “If it were me, I’d review her chart again. Fresh eyes.”
“Go back to ground zero.” I didn’t bother hiding my frustration.
“Medicine is detective work. Sometimes, the most important clue is the one you overlooked because you were looking too hard in the wrong direction.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Most doctors don’t have the stamina for cases like these.”
“And if I still can’t shake this feeling about poison?”
Thomas stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Based on her symptoms, we’d be looking at metals, pesticides, or plant-based toxins. We could cast a wider net, dig deeper into the obscure ones. It would mean specialist tests, external labs.” He held up a hand before I could interrupt. “But,” he continued, “it would be helpful if we knew who might be doing this to your patient.”
“Why does that matter?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Knowledge. Access. Resources. A chemistry expert would have very different capabilities than a truck driver. Understanding the suspect helps us understand the weapon.”
“This shouldn’t be so hard.” I put my hands on my hips, anxiety crawling under my skin. “Why do I get the feeling that if I don’t figure this out soon, she’s going to die?”
Thomas studied me for a long moment. “This patient means a lot to you?”
My throat tightened. I turned to face the window, but I could still feel Thomas’s gaze on my back. “She means more than anyone else in my life.” The admission felt like ripping off a bandage. “I have this gut feeling I’m missing something. I’ve saved countless lives, but what if … what if I’m about to lose the only one that’s ever really mattered to me?”
That wasn’t fair. My sister mattered to me. Greatly. Ryker and the other guys, too. But Tessa … she was on a different level from all of them.
“You can only do your best, Dr. Morrison.”
My best, apparently, wasn’t enough.
“Think about it. Let me know how you want to proceed.”
Alone in my office, I forced myself to view the suspects through Thomas’s new lens, with intel Tessa had shared with me about each. Eli, the real estate agent. Scarlett, the marketing expert. The creepy neighbor. The wedding planning company. None of them fit the profile of someone with access to sophisticated toxins that could evade detection. And ending Voss? Hadn’t stopped her symptoms.
I read the report again, then a third time, as if sheer willpower could change the results. But the knot in my stomach told me what I didn’t want to admit: I was missing something.
And whatever it was, it might cost Tessa her life.
61
BLAKE
How could I have known that the clue that would solve everything was right here at this dinner table?
“Maybe it’s time we put this behind us,” Tessa suggested, her voice soft but determined. She twirled her fork in the fettuccine Alfredo—her favorite comfort food that she’d barely touched—while I watched her from across the candlelit table, cataloging every micro-expression that crossed her face.
Our first dinner party as a couple should have been perfect. Maria had outdone herself with the table setting. Crystal glasses caught the warm glow of candles while elegant floral centerpieces added splashes of color, but something about the formal arrangement, the careful positioning of every fork and knife, reminded me more of a wake than a celebration. Tessa’s wake, specifically, if I couldn’t figure this out.
“I told you when I first started that I would never give up until I got an answer,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle, even as my hands clenched beneath the tablecloth. “End of conversation.”
Scarlett suddenly found her wineglass fascinating. She took a long sip, her usual sharp wit momentarily dulled by the tension crackling across the table.
“I don’t like what this is doing to you.” Tessa’s eyes pierced straight through me.
“Ditto.” The word came out harder than I intended.
Her fork hit the plate with a clash that made everyone jump. “Blake?—”
