Page 90 of Broken Roads

"With all due respect, Dr. Walker, the patient's rhythm is back." I gesture toward the cardiac unit where they've taken him. "If I'd waited for proper authorization, he would be in the morgue instead of cardiac care. So while I apologize for the disruption to protocol, I stand by my decision."

His eyebrows lift fractionally. It’s the first change in his expression since he started listing my faults. "You stand by it."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Ido."

Dr. Walker studies me for a long moment, his gaze so intense I have to resist the urge to step back. I can almost see that brilliantmind of his working. What file is he mentally putting me in? Probably one labeled "Problems to Deal With Later."

"Your résumé says Johns Hopkins," he says abruptly.

The shift throws me. "Yes."

"Top of your class."

"Yes."

"Excellent recommendations. Particularly from Dr. Lenowitz in cardiology."

I nod, not sure where this is going. "He was very supportive."

"And yet." Dr. Walker's gaze sweeps over me again, from my messy braid to my rumpled clothes. "Your first act at Sierra Mercy is to create chaos in the lobby and challenge my authority in the ER."

"My first act was saving a life," I correct, unable to help myself. "The rest was... collateral."

For a split second—so brief I almost miss it—the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. More like he's suppressing some reaction he doesn't want me to see. Then it's gone, replaced by that same stern assessment.

"I already know you're going to be trouble," he says, emphasizing the word in a way that makes it sound like a proper noun. A title. My new identity.

It settles over me like an ill-fitting coat.Trouble. Not brilliant. Not promising. Not even competent. Just Trouble, with a capital T.

"Dr. Walker, I—"

He holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Get upstairs to diagnostics. Get properly signed in, get your credentials, and get oriented before you decide to play hero again."

I should nod and retreat. I should be grateful he's not firing me on the spot. I should absolutely, positively not say another word.

"I wasn't playing," I say, because apparently my self-preservation instinct took the day off. "And I'd do it again."