“Morgan, I’m in the hospital now, doing nothing but twiddling my thumbs,” Kilburn said, as he cradled the phone against his shoulder and wiped his palms on his pant legs. “Why don’t I get things started? Where do I find all the stuff?”

“I suppose it’s relatively straightforward,” Teal said reluctantly. “All the supplies for the study are kept in a lockbox in the ER’s supply room. There should be a second key in the ER.”

“Okay, Morgan, I’ll go down and see if I can get the paperwork started.”

“Graham, thank you for supporting our research initiative.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kilburn said sheepishly. He hung up the phone, realizing he had just embarked on a game of Russian roulette with his own career. But he would worry about that later. Now he was anxious to get as much of a head start on the research assistant as possible.

He jogged out of the ICU to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at time. When he strode into the emergency room, the usual chaos prevailed. He darted through the patients, staff, and stretchers until he reached the back desk. He was pleased to see Maryanne manning the desk. In her early forties, Maryanne was tall and thin, with long red hair, freckles, full lips, and light gray eyes. He might have considered her pretty had she not always worn a little too much makeup to complement her slightly hungry expression. He understood why some of the residents referred to her as “the cougar of the ER.”

“Well, hello stranger,” Maryanne’s eyes lit up. “How’s my very favorite ID specialist doing?”

“Favorite of the moment, right?” He smiled widely, matching her flirtatious tone. “I’m not on call for ER, so I’m doing great.”

“Nope. You’re my absolute favorite.” She shrugged. “So why are you here, if not on call? Just to visit me?” She bit her lip.

Kilburn laughed. “Mainly. Also, I just spoke to Morgan Teal. I need to get into those oral MRSA drug-trial supplies. He said they’re in a lockbox in the office. And that you would have a key.”

“I might be able to help.” She reached under the desk and pulled out a chain with a single key attached. She dangled it above her like it was a hotel room key. “Can you find the supply room?”

“I’ll manage.” He took the key from her hand.

“Maryanne, the patient in bed seven is seizing again,” a voice yelled from behind a curtain several feet from the desk.

“Got to go. See ya later.” She shot out of her chair and dashed for the curtain.