Page 15 of A Diagnosis Dark & Deadly

“We’ll take care of things here,” Roberts said with a helpful smile. He thought he was being helpful, at least. The simple fact was that Goodson did not want to be left alone with Linley. She glanced at Hayes, who shot her an apologetic look and mouthed ‘Sorry’ before averting his eyes back down to thefile.

She couldn’t believe it; she would really have to do this. Shaking her head in an unnoticeable manner, she slid her chair from underneath the table and stood, curling a strand of hair behind her ear. Dr. Linley smiled as she approached him, and the gestured that she should walk out before he did. What seemed like an innocent, chivalrous gesture was just a mask. Goodson knew it was just another one of his brilliant ways of looking at her ass, which made no sense because her long lab coat hid it from view. The fact that he still opted to try gave her a shiver.

Dr. Linley had a reputation for selecting one woman who worked at the hospital and then tried different tactics to get into her pants. For whatever reason, Linley had been focused on Goodson for the past week or so. It was up for assumption if Linley was actually successful concerning his goal of getting the women in his bed, but there was never a formal complaint against him. He was a tricky bastard; he never outright harassed women, at least not enough for an actual case to be brought against him. You couldn’t exactly charge him for looking at you wrong.

“What, exactly, is this about, Dr. Linley, because I really do have important tests to take care of,” Goodson informed him briskly, shoving her hands in her lab coat pockets.

“Yes, I know, and I am tremendously grateful for your help,” Dr. Linley said, glancing at her as they stepped into the elevator, and smiling. “I actually have an eight-year-old boy in my office right now. His mother is being treated at this hospital for cancer, and I felt it was necessary for him to know what cancer was from an actual oncologist.”

“Cancer is never a pretty picture,” Goodson told him, slightly surprised that he would think that an eight-year-old boy would be able to understand what cancer was, and what it was doing to his mother.

“But coming from you, it will be,” he told her with a wink, just as the elevator doors slid open once it reached the second floor. He placed a hand on the small of her back as he led her to his office. She felt her stomach curl at his touch.

“So you want me to manipulate an eight-year-old boy for you?” she asked him bluntly, stopping to look athim.

“I guess you could put it that way,” he said, nodding, “yes.”