"Her chart says Charlotte, North Carolina," he noted. "Did Ms. Morse tell you what she's doing in Natchez?"

"She told me exactly nothing," Holly said with a bit of pique. "Do you want me to shoot that flat-and-erect series on Mr. Seward before he voids on the table?"

"Sorry. Go to it."

Holly winked and whispered, "Have fun with Ms. Scarface."

Chris shook his head, then summoned a serious expression and walked into the examining room.

A woman wearing a navy skirt and a cream-colored top stood beside the examining table. Her face almost caused him to stare, but he'd seen a lot of trauma during his medical training. This woman's scars weren't actually too bad. It was her youth and attractiveness that made them stand out so vividly. Almost fiercely, Chris thought. You figured a woman who looked and dressed this way would have had plastic surgery to take care of an injury like that. Not that she was a knockout or anything; she wasn't. It was just-

"Hello, Dr. Shepard," the woman said in a direct tone.

"Ms. Morse?" he said, remembering that the history said she was single.

She gave him a smile of acknowledgment but said nothing else.

"What can I do for you today?" he asked.

The woman remained silent, but he could feel her eyes probing him as deeply as a verbal question. What's going on here? Chris wondered. Is it my birthday or something? Did the staff plan some kind of trick? Or does she want drugs? He'd had that happen before: some female patients offered sex for drugs, usually narcotics. Chris studied the woman's face, trying to divine her real purpose. She had dark hair, green eyes, and an oval face not much different from those of the dozens of women he saw each day.