Chapter 16
[ 475 words ]
Chapter 16:
Without waiting for an answer, Jarrod turned and strode toward the VIP ICU wing.
In the stairwell, Caroline ran down the concrete steps, her vision blurring. She reached the basement level, pushed open the door to the women’s locker room, and stumbled inside.
She pressed her back against the door, sliding down the cold metal surface until she hit the linoleum floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and finally let the tears fall.
Caroline sat on the cold linoleum floor for five minutes. She let the tears fall until her eyes were dry and her chest stopped heaving. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, taking a deep, stabilizing breath.
She pushed herself up from the floor and walked over to her assigned metal locker.
𝘛𝗁𝗲 𝘣𝗲ѕ𝗍 𝗋𝗲𝘷i𝗲𝘸ѕ 𝘰𝗇 𝗴𝖺𝘭𝗇𝘰𝘃е𝗹𝗌.сo𝘮
She spun the dial on the combination lock. Click. She pulled the narrow door open. Reaching up to the top shelf, she pulled down a flattened cardboard box, popped it open, and began to pack.
She tossed in her favorite ceramic coffee mug. Her spare stethoscope. Three heavy medical reference books. She was done. Cromwell could offer her double her salary, and she still wouldn’t stay. She refused to work in a place where her colleagues would forever whisper about how she slept her way out of getting fired.
She grabbed her spare set of scrubs and shoved them into the box.
Squeak.
The locker room door opened with a soft whine of hinges.
Caroline didn’t turn around. She assumed it was Brenna coming down to interrogate her about the hallway scene.
“Brenna, please,” Caroline said, her voice raspy. “I just want to be alone right now.”
Click. Clack.
The distinct, heavy sound of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed in the room.
Caroline’s blood froze. Brenna wouldn’t lock the door.
She spun around.
Jarrod Romero stood leaning against the closed door. He pulled the silver key from the lock and calmly slid it into the pocket of his tailored suit trousers.
The locker room had no windows. The harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights cast sharp shadows across the sharp angles of his face.
Caroline’s heart kicked into a frantic sprint. She took a step back, her shoulder blades hitting the cold, unyielding metal of her locker.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising in panic. “This is the women’s locker room. Unlock that door.”
Jarrod didn’t answer. He pushed off the door and began to walk toward her. His strides were slow, measured, and completely predatory.
With every step he took, the room seemed to shrink. His scent—that intoxicating, dangerous mix of cedarwood and faint gunpowder—rolled over her, sucking the oxygen straight out of her lungs.
Caroline reached into her purse sitting on the bench. Her fingers closed around the thick paper of their marriage certificate. She pulled it out, holding the crumpled document in front of her chest like a flimsy shield.
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