“But it’s what we’re doing.” He went into the next room, scooping up my clothing. “You know what you’re thinking. I know it, too—and I know to keep my mouth shut until we have proof.”

“Uh-huh. Well, while this mind-reading thing is very sweet—and hot—most of the time, there are times when it could become . . .”

“Creepy and annoying? Yep. Which is why I’m not doing it now. I know my limits, and I’d like to stick to the sweet and hot side.” He tossed me my clothing. “Although, if you can work in badass, I’d appreciate it.”

I grinned. “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know?”

“Exactly. I’m the Lord Byron of bikers. Except, being a biker, naturally I don’t write poetry. Or read it. In fact, for the record, I have no idea who this Byron guy is.”

“Gotcha.” I pulled on my shirt. “So where exactly is this field trip taking us?”

“The doctor’s office. Which I know you hate, on principle, but I’ll be there for moral support. And to make sure you get all the answers to your questions, whether you’ll admit you have questions or not.”

“Okay, but Gabriel is expecting me to work—”

Ricky was already on the phone. “Hey, Gabriel. It’s Ricky. I’m stealing Liv for a couple of hours to follow up on some questions regarding the Larsen case. In other words, completely job-related.” He paused, and I heard the faint rumble of a reply. “No, we’ve got this. I don’t have classes until this afternoon. I’ll make sure she gets her car back and send her your way after lunch. Sound good?”

I could swear I didn’t hear an answer, but it may have just been too low to pick up.

“We’re off, then,” Ricky said. “Talk to you later.” He hung up and turned to me. “Your absenteeism note has been delivered. Let me get dressed and we’ll go.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

I hated doctors. Let me rephrase that. I didn’t hate them—I hated the places where they practice, like offices and hospitals. Admittedly, even the sight of a white coat and stethoscope was enough to send me running the other way. I refused to date three otherwise great guys because one was a med student, one an intern, and one a lab worker. So, yes, I may have had a problem with the profession, but it wasn’t personal. I thought doctors were lovely people. I just didn’t want to make out with one.

Why did I have such a problem with hospitals and doctors? I had spent my life wondering that. I was so damned healthy I rarely got a cold. I had never stayed in a hospital. Or so I thought, until I discovered there were two and a half years of my life unaccounted for.