Still, she couldn’t dismiss a dark foreboding, and she knew the threats and innuendoes she’d heard in that office would forever change her perception of Nicholas Farrante. But…time enough later to dwell on her fallen hero. Right now she had to get out of there.

She turned to leave, then remembered the package she’d placed on the assistant’s desk. If Dr. Farrante spotted it tonight, he’d know that someone had been there. A quick word with Trudy McIntyre would reveal Ree’s name, and she had a sinking feeling that academic censure and immediate dismissal from the hospital might be the least of her troubles.

Easing back to the desk, she lifted the envelope and paused. The rumblings from the inner office reassured her that she hadn’t been made. She crept across the room, her footsteps blessedly silent on the plush rug, and was just slipping into the hallway when she heard the doors slide open behind her and the voices grew louder.

Ree cast about frantically for a means of escape. She’d never reach the stairs in time and there was no place to hide. Whirling, she stepped back up to the door as if she’d only just arrived and halted in feigned surprise as a man came rushing out of Dr. Farrante’s office.

He looked to be in his midforties—tall, wiry and with the kind of everyman appearance that would allow him to go unnoticed in a crowd. But Ree was good with faces, a trait she’d inherited from her P.I. father. She automatically implanted his features in her memory—the weak jawline and chin, the puffiness around his eyes that suggested a propensity for drink. As their gazes met, it hit her rather forcefully that she was staring straight into the eyes of a blackmailer.

His gaze flicked over her, assessing and dismissing, before he crossed the room and brushed past her. Ree would have glanced after him, but her attention was caught by Dr. Farrante. He stood in the doorway of his office, rage contorting his distinguished features.