Текст книги "Last Second Chance"

Автор книги: Caisey Quinn

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Three

Whoever the sadistic bastard was that invented stilettos, Stella wanted to knee him in the balls. Hard. Maybe more than once.

An hour into her tour of the Second Chance Ranch, her feet were killing her. She’d worn the gingham shift dress she’d bought from White House Black Market with a smart blazer over it. She’d received her fair share of approving glances from the males on staff as Dr. Ramirez escorted her through the facility. Hellhole it wasn’t.

Stella didn’t even feel like they should be able to call the place a ranch. She’d grown up on a ranch, a nice one even. Ranches included mud and straw and the ever-present stench of horseshit. This place was immaculate with a mahogany welcome desk the size of Texas and flat screen televisions and hardwood floors that shone like glass. She’d seen the infinity pool, and beyond that, expansive pastures dotted with the occasional horse, at the beginning of the tour. The top of the steel stables was visible from behind the enormous mansion-style patient housing facility.

It was everything she could do not to gape in awe at her surroundings. Her heels clicked on the hardwood as Dr. Ramirez walked her through the grand foyer to the glass entrance.

“As I was telling you, many of our physicians and other staff members reside in them until they move into more permanent housing.” He gestured to the area downhill where the staff housing was located.

Right. Because she wasn’t just going to work here, she was going to live here, too. Stella struggled to remain focused on the man giving her the tour as he began detailing the agenda for new employee orientation that would begin first thing Monday morning—if she accepted the job. He handed her two folders and a spiral-bound book thicker than any of her textbooks had ever been. She struggled with the added weight, attempting to shift it to the arm not shouldering her purse, but someone bumped her from behind.

“Oh!” she cried out as the book and folders slipped from her arms and landed on the floor with a loud slap.

Smooth, Stella Jo.

The man who’d bumped her looked up from the slim black cell phone in his hand. Light gray sky at sunrise eyes clouded over as he took her in. She’d never seen anyone like him before. At least not up close and personal like this.

He was tall, looming over her despite the added height of the stilettos, and seconds from committing a felony, judging from the expression he wore. Dark tattoos wrapped around his arms and neck, claiming his otherwise flawless skin. The black T-shirt pulled taut across his broad chest had faded script on it that she couldn’t make out.

She knew one of them should apologize for the collision. But neither did as they were both paralyzed in the gaze of the other.

Dr. Ramirez cleared his throat, snapping her out of her trance.

Jesus. Where was she?

Oh, right. Embarrassing herself horribly in front of her future boss.

Choked laughter escaped her throat as she bent down to retrieve what she’d dropped. The man did the same and she caught a whiff of expensive cologne and liquor. Ah, he was checking in then. Dr. Ramirez leaned down to help, as did the bald guy with the man who’d bumped her.

“Thanks,” she said to all of them as they handed her the papers. Standing upright, she allowed herself one more lingering look at whoever this creature was. His thick brows, straight nose, and square jaw created such perfect lines on his face that she wondered if anyone had ever painted his portrait. If not, they damn well should. She was ready to take up sculpting and erect a shrine in his honor. She could only imagine the muscles that would be underneath his clothes. And despite her best effort not to, imagine she did.

She nearly died of humiliation when he handed her a form that had fallen from her folder and she had to take it from him with a trembling hand. No man had ever had this kind of an effect on her. Clearly she’d been single for too long.

Snap out of it, Chandler.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, averting her eyes and snatching her hand back.

She looked up just in time to see him raising a brow at her. “For slamming into you like a maniac?”

Good Lord, the deep rumble of his voice was sensual music that weakened her knees.

“Um, no, for—”

“Are you all right, Miss Chandler?” Dr. Ramirez broke in.

Was she? No, she sure as hell wasn’t. She was a few missed breaths away from panting or passing out. And lightheaded. And unable to think straight because of the scorching heat burning her up from the inside out. And…wait. What was the question again?

She sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. I’m fine.”

Dr. Ramirez placed a hand on her elbow and steered her to the exit. As they began to walk away, he turned and spoke to the beautiful creature who’d bumped into her.

“Mr. Walker, everything is prepared for your stay. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to assist in making you more comfortable. If you ask for Celeste Bradshaw at the desk, she’s ready with your paperwork.”

Stella watched as Mr. Walker’s expression darkened from pensive and amused to lethal and pissed off. Either he didn’t want her to know his name or he didn’t want her to know he was a patient. Or he hated Celeste Bradshaw with a vengeance. Stella didn’t know whether to envy the woman he was about to head off to or be worried for her.

Once they were out of hearing distance, Dr. Ramirez stopped walking and turned to her.

“Miss Chandler, I hate to pry, but do you know him?”

“Who?” she asked, playing dumb even though she knew exactly who he was referring to.

“Mr. Ransom.” The doctor regarded her with a suspicious stare. “Or Mr. Walker, as he prefers to be called.”

“No, I don’t. He just startled me is all.” She gripped the materials she carried tighter to avoid fidgeting as the doctor led her to the cabin-style buildings he’d told her were used for housing employees.

“My apologizes. It just seemed like there was…something between the two of you. And as you will learn upon reading the employee handbook, we can’t have you working with any patients—er, clients—that you’ve known previously.” The doctor sighed loudly. “Though I do have ears and I know several of my nurses on staff know full well who he is and are interested in getting to know him intimately. Even if it costs them their jobs.”

A pang of an emotion she didn’t recognize stabbed sharp and deep in Stella’s midsection, but she forced a smile. “Well I can honestly say I’ve never seen him before in my life, nor do I have any interest in getting to know him in any capacity other than as a patient. Um, client.” That distinction was going to be a hard one to get used to.

The older man pulled out a key and regarded her with a genuinely pleased smile. “So you’re accepting the position then?”

Stella nodded, though it felt like her intestines were practicing multiple knot-tying strategies in her stomach.

“Yes, sir. I would like to.”

Because it’s an amazing opportunity, not because of the captivating stranger who just scrambled my brain and my libido.

“Well then, welcome home.” Dr. Ramirez opened a door that led to Stella’s impressive new digs.

It was a studio-style apartment where the small living area, kitchen, dining room, and bedroom were all occupying one cozy space. The only closed-off sections were a closet and a bathroom with an old-fashioned tub and pedestal sink. Still, it was much nicer than the tiny two-bedroom apartment she and Tess had shared off campus. And it was already furnished. She thanked Dr. Ramirez, and he welcomed her to the team before leaving to let her get settled in.

She had a truck full of boxes to unpack and a million forms to fill out before Monday morning. She had to make a very stressful phone call to her mom as well. But at the moment, all she could do was collapse into one of her plush living room chairs and try to recover from whatever the hell had just happened with the mysterious Mr. Walker-Ransom.

Chapter Four

She was the first woman he’d ever hated on sight. Because one look at her and he knew. Knew everything he’d ever done was sick and wrong and made him the kind of man who would never be good enough. But when she looked back at him with those gleaming emerald eyes wide with surprise and darkening with need, none of that mattered. Because he damn sure felt the overwhelming desire to try to be. Like his fucking life depended on it.

Van used the few moments Sid was busy checking him into the Second Chance Ranch, the rehab facility Epitaph had chosen, to try and locate his sanity. And his balls.

If one glance from the woman made him regret his whole life, he hoped he never laid eyes on her again. He’d never had his mind blown before. Not by a woman. Any woman. Not even the ones who got him off so hard he nearly passed out. They were like the drugs and the booze—something to get him through, to drown out the voices and dark shit in his fucked-up head. But this one…Christ almighty, this one was another animal entirely.

The Hispanic doctor had said that he could let them know if he needed anything. He almost told the man that they could just lock him in his room with the brunette with the skin like silk for ninety days and he’d be cured.

Even after she’d turned to leave with the man in the white coat, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. There was something about the way she moved that was beyond sexy. She walked with a deliberate slowness that had her hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm that probably had men falling at her feet. Just like he had.

“Let’s go, Mr. Walker,” Sid said, nudging him out of his daze.

After unloading his shit in his room, he decided to walk around the property. The place was huge, and it did have a relaxing vibe to it—minus the sex on legs he’d literally run into upon arriving. She’d amped him up more than all the lines he’d ever done combined.

The folder she’d dropped had NEW EMPLOYEE ORIENTATION PACKET typed on the front cover. So she worked here then—or she would soon.

He knew it probably would not please Epitaph if he screwed a staff member and got kicked out of this place. But damn, he couldn’t get her eyes and her warm vanilla and wildflower scent out of his head. And those legs. Why, oh why, had she been wearing fuck-me heels? It was as if she’d been sent here to torture him.

As if to confirm his theory, when he turned the bend to where the property dropped off into the pastures, there she was. Sitting with her back to him, watching the sun set like a mirage. The orangey-pink hue of the setting sunlight glinted off her body creating an angelic effect that stole his breath.

Backing up so she wouldn’t see him, he stood silently and watched her. She’d changed into jeans and a plain white tank top. Seeing this much of her skin was doing things to him. For the first time in a very long time, he wondered what a woman was thinking.

What had her sitting here all alone, watching the horses graze as the light faded from the sky? Was she happy? Sad? Nervous about the new job? And why the hell did he even care?

He didn’t have a clue what his deal was, but he wished he had a pen because he could write a song about this moment. Maybe a couple of songs. The kind that would make every guy in the band call him a pussy.

When he saw her shoulders shake and heard the light sniffle, he almost turned and ran. She was crying.

Son of a bitch.

Once upon a time, he’d had a sister. She was three years older than him and for the life of him, her crying had always been his undoing. Sure, he’d seen women cry since then. But these were usually high bitches having a bad trip or begging him to pay attention to their crazy asses. Those he’d ignored easily. But his sister had always cried in private, when she thought no one could see or hear. Like this woman was doing.

His brain alerted him that it was time to bail out and go back to his room. Like now. But his body didn’t listen. In a few strides, he’d lessened the gap between them. When he cleared his throat, she jumped. As she struggled to her feet, he reached out a hand without thinking. Then the damnedest thing happened. She took it.

Pulling herself up with his help, she looked into his eyes. And it was just like before. Something he hadn’t known existed inside of him roared to the surface. Something that demanded he try to be a decent man—hell, a good man. Because the guy he’d been so far wasn’t worthy of speaking to her, much less any of the other things he wanted to do to her.

Shit, he was gripping her hand too hard and for too long.

Let go, man.

But she didn’t look upset. She looked like she was about to throw herself into his arms. Well, he was certainly not opposed to that. Even though the thought of actually touching her that way scared him shitless. Most likely, this was wishful thinking and in reality she was seconds away from telling him to get the hell away from her before she called security. His breath came hard and fast, and she looked as lost as he was. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he finally let go of her hand to wipe one from her cheek.

“Rough day?” he asked, surprised at the strained sound of his own voice.

She smiled, but it was forced. He could tell because it didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that.”

Her tears were still moist on his fingertips. He had the oddest urge to lick them. Taste her sweet pain and then try to figure out how to keep her from ever hurting again.

“I should get back,” he said, jerking his head toward the facility that separated pieces of shit like him from angels like her. Something flashed in her eyes. He thought for a second it was disappointment, because he was obviously so bad-off he was delusional. Maybe he should be in the nut house instead of rehab.

“Yeah, um, me too.” She glanced at the small cabin to her left. Must be where she was staying for now. Van filed that information away for future reference. Trying to form a complete thought while her exposed skin begged to be touched was proving damn near impossible.

“Walk you to your door?” Van flinched at his own words. Apparently his mouth was just working on its own now, flying solo instead of consulting his brain first. It must’ve been the right thing to say though, because her eyes lightened, the stormy shade they’d been clearing, and she grinned at him like he’d made her whole damned day. She didn’t say anything, just bit her full bottom lip and nodded. He held out his arm and she took it. A breeze blew past, wafting her delicious scent to him as they made their way to her door. Together.

Oh fuck.

It all made sense now. He was dead. He’d OD’d and died after the party and this was Heaven. Or maybe it was Hell. Because as far as he could tell, Val wasn’t here. He was probably going to spend eternity wanting this perfect creature he could never have. Well, that was a fitting punishment. Probably could’ve been worse.

“Your name isn’t really Walker, is it?” the demon of desire asked, pulling him from his painful realization.

“No. It’s Ransom.” Guess they don’t have a roster in hell. “I’m in a band and my manager makes me check into these places under a pseudonym. Not that the shit doesn’t always get out anyways.”

“Ah. So why Walker?”

Van laughed, low and deep. “You know, as in Johnnie. It’s my drink of choice so I use it to piss Sid off.”

“Sid?”

“My manager.”

She nodded, but her beautiful face still held traces of confusion. Good Lord she was actually trying to figure him out. He couldn’t imagine why in the world she would want to.

He ran a hand through his hair and tried to explain. “We have an understanding. He tries to turn me into someone I’m not and I keep being the asshole I’ve always been.”

“Interesting.”

“Nah, not really.”

She took a deep breath, probably realizing she’d just wasted five minutes of her life that she could never get back on his sorry ass. “So, Mr. Ransom, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think everyone deserves a second chance?” Her eyes clouded up again and he didn’t know if she was asking about him personally or something else entirely.

Glancing from side to side, to remind her of their surroundings, he gave her a sardonic grin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She laughed, a light, sweet sound that warmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. “Yeah, good point. Stupid question I guess.”

“You don’t strike me as a woman who asks stupid questions.”

She met his gaze and shrugged, drawing his attention to her smooth shoulder. He clamped his mouth shut so he didn’t add that she struck him as the type of woman who kept everything under control in her day-to-day life and pretended she liked to be on top when in reality she wanted to be broken and made to beg. He had to take a deep breath in an attempt to clear the images from his mind.

“Speaking of questions, any chance you wanna tell me your name? Or I can just call you Beautiful. Either way.” He almost groaned out loud. But she rolled her eyes and smiled. She’d been crying when he found her, and he’d made her laugh and smile. Twice. Not that he was keeping track. Oh, who the fuck was he kidding? Hell yeah he was keeping track.

“It’s Stella. Stella Chandler. My family calls me Stella Jo but, um, I haven’t been home in a while.”

Even her damn name was beautiful. And good God, that sexy Southern drawl was more addicting than any drug had ever been. He could listen to her talk forever. Maybe Hell wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“And where is home, Stella Jo Chandler?” He rocked on his heels as she leaned against the door of her little house.

“It’s here. I mean, not here here, but near here. Shit.”

She shook her head, and he could tell she was embarrassed. But he couldn’t think of much else because her perfect mouth forming the curse word and the flush in her cheeks that followed made him instantly hard. Jesus, he had to get away from her before she noticed.

“A ranch several hours north of here is home, or where my parents live, or whatever. I went to college at Texas A&M and then came straight here so…”

So she only lived a few hours from home and she didn’t go back. Ever? He wondered why. Not that he didn’t understand. He’d grown up in New York and taken off for LA as soon as he could afford a car that would make the drive. He’d never been back either.

Silence stretched out between them, and she glanced back at her door. It was getting dark and he didn’t know the land well enough to get back to where he was supposed to be. Even though leaving her felt like a horrible idea, something told him that whatever was singeing between them wouldn’t last much longer.

“I better get going. It was nice to meet you, Stella Jo.”

He held out a hand and she shook it. When her fingers grazed his palm, he had to square his shoulders to keep from letting a shiver through. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Walker, um, Mr. Ransom.”

“Van,” he told her with a grin.

“Van,” she repeated softly.

Damn, his name sounded so good in her mouth. Nearly made him as hard as hearing her curse had.

“Goodnight.” Beautiful, he wanted to add but figured it would come off like a lame attempt at a pick-up line and he’d already reached his quota for the evening.

“Goodnight,” she whispered. She smiled and turned her back on him, letting herself into the house and closing the door.

“Sweet dreams, Beautiful,” he said quietly to no one.

Chapter Five

Stella Jo closed her door and leaned against it.

Van Ransom. His name sounded as dangerous as he looked.

He’d caught her in a moment of weakness, reminiscing about home after an excruciating phone call with her mother. And unlike most men, he hadn’t run at the first show of tears. He’d been sweet. Surprisingly gentle. Kind even. And something about him… She couldn’t even explain it to herself. His rough exterior pulled at overpowering urges within her. She’d bet she could smooth out some of those jagged edges. It’d probably be a lot like breaking a horse. But a hell of a lot more fun.

Lying in her new bed later that night while trying her best to fall asleep in unfamiliar surroundings, she succumbed to the desire to learn more about the mysterious man who had taken possession of her thoughts. He’d seemed to have a direct line to her thoughts—and a few other parts of her anatomy.

The new employee manual she’d been reading was sitting on the night table, and under it was the MacBook she’d brought from college. Thankfully the ranch had Wi-Fi that extended to the employee residential area.

Sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp, she fired up the computer. Her generic background greeted her. A nagging thought about how Tess always had a million photos of her friends collaged on her background tugged at her for a second. Ignoring it, she opened the browser and went to her usual search engine. After typing in his name, she waited for the results to load. Mid-yawn she choked on the breath escaping her throat.

The results were in and they were not good. The first article’s title read, “Lead Singer of Hostage for Ransom Collapses. Drugs and Alcohol a Factor.” Okay, well, he was in rehab. She’d expected as much. But as she scrolled down it got worse. So much worse.

According to the headlines, Van Ransom had been in rehab three other times. All three times, he’d been kicked out for one reason or another. He’d punched orderlies and photographers, and he’d even faced assault charges against an unnamed female. Jesus.

And the images. Heaven help her, the images.

A few were tame—tabloid shots of him carrying a cup of coffee, crossing the street, and some seriously hot ones of him and his band. But some wrenched her stomach into a twisted mess of disgust. A cell-phone-quality photo of him being arrested for drunk and disorderly, another of several uniformed officers dragging him from the middle of what looked like a bar fight, and a horrific mug shot.

She clicked on the image of his face from where he was featured on the cover of Rolling Stone. His steely eyes stared up at her and she was lost in him. The tagline read: Van Ransom, Madman or Just Misunderstood?

She had no intentions of finding out. Whatever had happened between them today, that was history. Probably mostly in her imagination anyways. From now on, she’d be strictly professional when it came to all things involving Van Ransom.

Monday morning, Stella had new employee orientation. During the presentation that covered much of what she’d already read in the manual she’d been given, she learned that SCR was also owned and operated by a company called Alliance Health. Alliance had faced some financial difficulty, and a country singer whose name was familiar had backed a complete renovation last year.

After filling out paperwork for health and life insurance, tax purposes, a retirement plan, and stock options, she was feeling like quite the grown up. And she was more than ready for the break for lunch.

The Atrium was a glassed-in café-style enclosure behind the welcome area. Stella purchased a grilled chicken salad and a bottle of water using her shiny new employee badge and seated herself at a back corner table. Several of the new employees in her training session were nurses. Either they’d already known each other or just formed fast friendships. Laughing loudly as they converged on the table beside her, none of them even glanced in her direction.

She wondered how people bonded so quickly. She’d never been so hot at relationships with humans. Animals were another story. They needed you, trusted you unconditionally unless you gave them a reason not to, and never set out to hurt you. Even though, like people, sometime they did. She had the scars to prove it.

“…so hot, bet his dick is pierced.”

“I plan to find out. I’ll report back to y’all. Soon.”

Giggles erupted, and Stella had the odd sensation of warping back in time to high school. The conversation from the table full of nurses spilled over onto her, nearly causing her to choke on her water. They weren’t even trying to be quiet. So much for professionalism.

“Not if I get to him first,” an attractive blonde in black scrubs announced.

Possessive jealousy pinched her nerves. She had an overwhelming feeling of certainty that they were talking about Van. Or maybe she just thought they were talking about him because he’d taken up permanent residence in the back of her mind.

“This seat taken?” A deep male voice startled her out of her thoughts.

Blinking, she looked up, half-expecting to see steel-gray eyes and tattoos. What she actually saw was a blond man in a white coat with a smile fit for a toothpaste commercial.

“Um, no?”

He chuckled softly and lowered himself into the seat across from her. “Dr. Tyler, but you can call me David.” He offered her his hand.

She shook it and smiled. It was kind of nice not to be sitting alone. And she wanted to get to know her colleagues, not shut everyone out like she’d been doing for far too long.

“Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Stella Chandler, the new patient care coordinator,” he broke in. “Or client care coordinator. Whatever they’re calling themselves these days.”

She bit her lip and gave the doctor an apprehensive shake of her head. “How did you—”

Before she could finish the question, he grinned and gestured to her ID badge. Oh, yeah. Right. That was going to take some getting used to.

“Of course. I’m an idiot.” She laughed nervously, and the man across from her smiled.

With a wink, he eased her anxieties. “Nah, actually I knew because everyone kept talking about a pretty new brunette joining the staff and I knew the moment I saw you that you had to be her.”

Stella’s eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t tell if he was serious, but she had a strict policy about not dating anyone she worked with. A failed relationship would lead to her being miserable—or at the very least, uncomfortable—at work. And if things didn’t work out at SCR, the only other place to go was the absolute last place she wanted to be.

Giving the doctor a smirk she hoped would discourage any more come-ons, she rolled her eyes. “They were probably referring to someone else. But thank you.”

Dr. Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp squeal from the table next to them interrupted him.

“Oh my God, there he is.” Several of the nurses began whispering and nudging each other as the one who’d squealed pointed across the Atrium.

As if he’d been conjured by the potent combination of the nurses’ running commentary and Stella’s thoughts, Van Ransom stepped into the Atrium with another man. The two of them were joined by a statuesque blond woman in a coat identical to Dr. Tyler’s. Stella watched at they shook hands.

In her periphery, she was aware that the nurses at the nearby table twitching like cats in heat were practically falling out of their chairs to get a good look. Swallowing hard, she forced her eyes away from him.

Her not dating men she worked with was an umbrella policy that definitely included not getting involved with patients slash clients where she worked.

“So how long have you worked at SCR?” she asked, focusing her full attention on the man across from her. Whose name she’d forgotten. Thank God for ID badges.

“Long enough to know that guy won’t make it through the program.” Dr. Tyler jerked his head toward Van. His voice took on a snide tone that made her nerves twist in annoyance.

She took a drink of her water and composed herself before saying something she shouldn’t. “That’s a pretty negative outlook to have. Especially since he just got here. Not a very fair assessment, is it?”

He rolled his light blue eyes. “God, not you too. I expect the ditzy nurses to fawn all over these types, but you actually looked like a girl with a decent head on her shoulders.”

Whoa. Stella felt her blood pressure rising. “Excuse me? Just what the he—um, what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Dr. Tyler began, leaning in toward her, “guys like that don’t come here for actual help. The come here because someone in charge of their career says they have to. Surely you’re smart enough to recognize a thoroughbred loser when you see one.”

The man who’d been kind to her the day before didn’t have a single loser quality about him as far as she’d seen. This one, on the other hand…

Stella’s body ejected out of her seat without her having officially deciding to get up. Her knee bumped the table and it smarted like hell, but sheer adrenaline protected her from the brunt of the pain. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was raised on a horse ranch, so I do recognize a thoroughbred loser when I see one.” She glared down at Dr. Prettyboy McAsshole.

“Calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He stood and came around to her side of the table, effectively blocking her view of the rest of the room. “Sit back down before you make a scene.”

“Dr. Tyler, I can assure you, the only one making a scene is you. What a shame that someone in charge of helping people who need it is such a judgmental ass,” she hiss-whispered in his face.

As soon as the words left her mouth, his strong hand gripped her upper arm, while the other rested on her lower back. Eyes widening in surprise, she jerked backward in an attempt to free herself from his grasp.

“Get your goddamn hands off her. Now.”

The throaty voice was male. And eerily calm. Now had come out low and with the promise of violence behind it.

Chills shocked her spine and ran clear to her toes at the sound. It must have caught Dr. Tyler off guard too, because he dropped her arm like she’d caught fire. Kind of felt like she might have.

“Van, come on.” The same bald man who’d been with him the day before had a hand on Van’s arm and was doing his best to convince him to back away. Probably a good idea since his eyes had murder in them. They were only getting darker as he advanced in her direction.

It felt like the whole room had stopped to take in the scene. This was the stuff Stella’s nightmares were made of. Every nurse at the table next to them gaped at the show. All they were missing was the popcorn.

“I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, edging around both Dr. Tyler and Van on her way out.