Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

in the silence. She turned right, registering the pale yellow walls and the blue doors. Like books on shelves, they lined up in perfect symmetry, bracketing the hallway on both sides. The drone of voices came from behind some of the doors: patients waiting to be seen by doctors, nurses asking questions, the ringing of telephones mixing with the buzz of fluorescent lights.
    The further she walked, the quieter it became. The OBGYNs were housed on the far end. And they were the best targets. Hospital calls came in frequently, pulling them out of the office and into the birthing center. Add that to the fact it was lunchtime and…
    Bingo.
    Just what she needed: a suction cup stuck to a door with a plastic sign hanging from its hook. Complete with black numbers and red hands, the clock read 12:30 p.m., and the notation beneath it? Be back soon.
    Myst checked her watch. She had twenty minutes before the receptionist came back.
    Looking both ways, she made sure the corridor was empty, then reached for the knob, praying—
    The door opened on the first try. Thank God. She’d hoped like hell, but receptionists were tricky creatures. Some locked up the office like they had a pot full of gold beneath their desks. Others were more laid-back, assuming patients would take one look at the sign and head to the coffee shop to wait out the allotted time.
    With one last look to make sure she was alone, Myst slipped inside. All the lights were on, the cloth-covered chairs with their worn wooden arms on display as much as the magazines on the side tables. Behind a half wall across from the waiting area sat the receptionist’s desk. White file folders with colorful tabs lay in the out-box. A bigger pile leaned in a lopsided tower in the in-box, a testament to the overworked, underpaid medical secretary.
    Some things never changed.
    Shouldering her bag, she jogged into the doctor’s private office. An old computer occupied one corner of the cluttered desk surface. As Myst swung to face the monitor, she grabbed the mouse without sitting down. The screen saver’s starbursts faded, giving her a plain black background with the prompt for a username and password.
    The moment of truth. Had the hospital shut down her access? Did the administration even know she was gone?
    Chewing on her bottom lip, she sat down in the swivel chair. Her hands shook as she typed, half afraid the computer would sound the alarm and screech thief, thief, thief! She tried twice, fumbling her way over the keyboard, deleting her password and retyping it, visions of the inside of a jail cell in her mind’s eye.
    Finally getting it right, she paused, her finger poised above the enter button. With a “please, God,” she hit the last stroke. The computer thought for a moment, then…wham. She was in.
    Perched on the edge of the chair, Myst typed her patient’s first and last name. Caroline’s file popped onto the screen. She double clicked it, hope racing fear to the finish line as she hit the print button, then scrolled through the notes.
    “Please, let it be here. All I need is…holy crap.”
    Her mouth parted as the lab results came up. She leaned closer to the screen and read the report again. When the sight didn’t convince her, she shook her head and whispered, “Hemophilia.”
    Was that even possible?
    The blood disease was considered a male one, a genetic disorder passed from mother to son. It wasn’t developmental. A patient was born with it, something to do with the X chromosome and—
    “Oh, my God.” She cupped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan. Oh, no…no, no, no. Hemophilia was treatable. With the right medication…had the test results come through…if she’d only known, she could’ve saved Caroline’s life.
    Setting her elbows on the desk edge, she palmed her head and stared at the screen, running through the chart one more time. Goddamn lab technicians. They should have been faster with the results. If only they’d…
    But that wasn’t fair.
    She knew it even as she cursed them. Like everyone in the medical system, the people who ran the samples were inundated with requests…too many to test and not enough time. The reasons why, though, didn’t make her feel any better. No amount of understanding in the world could erase the awful facts.
    Her patient had died of a treatable illness, leaving a little boy without his mother.
    Feeling hollow inside, she sat in the empty office, listening to the thunk-thunk of the old printer as