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several of the patients really hated medical personnel, they feared for their safety, and Dr. Manners was just dreamy. It made Clarice wonder if it wasn’t just the patients they drugged around here.
    Unlike the doctor , though, the staff all seemed agreed on one point. The psychos on the loose should be stopped at all cost. Lucky for them, they had the best ASS agent on the job.

Chapter Three
    Ta lking with Clarice left Nolan unsettled. Something about her roused his feline, and not in a hunt-the-bird-down-and-swallow-her-whole kind of way, but more like an I-want-to-lick-her-up-and-down fashion to see if he could ruffle her unflappable feathers. He blamed his inappropriate urge on fatigue because he refused to entertain the notion she attracted him. Dominant women were not his type, even if he could so easily picture Clarice in a skin tight, leather cat sui t— made of synthetic fiber, of cours e— wielding her sharp tongue in ways meant to pleasure a man. Drool.
    No and no. He shoved the erotic image away. Hot or not, he didn’t date—willingly at any rate—strong-minded females. They reminded him too much of his mother and the rest of the females in his family. Shudder.
    After he checked on his comatose patient—no change—he ducked off to his office for a short nap. When he woke, Clarice had left, and his patient remained unresponsive. More discouraging, the test results had returned. Nothing he had attempted treatment wise showed any positive effect. The DNA changes remained locked.
    Brainstorming in front of a whiteboard , already scribbled with ideas, didn’t give him any fresh insights. I don’t know what to do. Depressed, he slouched in his leather seat.
    What he needed to bring his spirits up and get his creative mind flowing was to eat something rare, bloody, and juicy. His stomach rumbled in agreement. One last check on his patient, some instructions with the night staff, and umbrella in hand lest the light mist outside turn his blow-dried mane into a snarly mess, he headed off on foot for a nearby restaurant.
    The motorcycle he had spotted on security cameras, which he assumed belonged to Clarice, no longer sat parked in his spot, a spot he rarely used given its exposure to the elements. He wondered if she’d discovered anything during her interviews. Can she find the patients and prevent more loss of life? Would her skills make a difference in the hunt?
    At times like these, he wondered at the life of an agent versus that of a healer. Sure, they both had their versions of excitement, but while his kept him cooped up in one place solving medical mysteries, the other, field duty, meant getting out and about, having adventures instead of patching up the results. He couldn’t help but remember the fun he had when he went with Mason to track down Viktor and Renee. Sure, he went in the capacity of a doctor, equipped to mete out medical aid if required, but he also recalled the excitement of tracking through the woods, of being on the hunt, a real hunt. Doing something outside the sanitized world he usually played in. Oddly enough, he wouldn’t mind going on that kind of excursion again.
    As if FUC would use him in a capacity other than that of a doctor.
    As if his mother would let him.
    As if he’d listen.
    Maybe he should ask Kloe if any of the search teams would mind bringing him along. Despite his lack of field training, he did have a great nose. And given what they faced, his medical expertise, not to mention his giant kitty side, could come in handy. Something to ponder. After he ate, of course.
    The barely singed, thirty -two ounce porterhouse served with two baked potatoes, salad, bacon wrapped scallops, fried garlic mushrooms, and aged red wine lifted his spirits a little. The tiramisu, fluffy sweet perfection, brought a smile to his lips. Leaving a hefty tip, Nolan walked back to the safe house to pick up his car, and that was when the back of his neck started to itch. Either someone followed