Page 84 of Ruthless

Sara

I approach the next few days with a renewed sense of purpose. Dante will keep doing his part, and I’ll concentrate on uncovering more proof to support my theory about the mole being a part of the medical team.

Unfortunately, my deep dive into the clinic’s archive system yielded nothing. The schedule from the week of Jackson’s death wasn’t just deleted from the primary server…someone scrubbed it from the entire data string. At least that’s what Luca explained. He walked me through all the ways to recover the data, and the missingmetadataleft him scratching his bearded chin and fidgeting with his glasses.

Back to the drawing board, I guess.

Nine people have access to the clinic at any given time. Four main nurses, four alternates, and a soldier tasked with supply runs and sanitizing potential evidence that can’t be fed to the basement incinerator. He stops by twice a week to collect bloody clothes, sweat-soaked sheets, and other items to clean or destroy off-site.

He’s also responsible for burning the paperwork we shred, filling any prescriptions we write, and disposing of theoccasional body. I try not to ponder that last one too much, or how all traces of Jackson were erased by the soldier on duty.

According to Jasmine, the guy picked for the medical grunt work changes every few weeks. “The men want to prove themselves so they can move up in the organization.” Jasmine brushes her obsidian hair into a loose ponytail and bends forward to fix her winged eyeliner.

I tap the files on the desk to straighten them. “So…they’re like interns?”

Jasmine’s eyes widen, and she chuckles at the comparison. “I guess, but don’t let Sammy hear you calling him that.”

Sammy comes in on Tuesdays, and I get to the clinic early enough to assist him with some of his daily tasks. During our chat, I learn he attended his sister’s birthday party the day Jackson died, not arriving at the townhouse until after the body was cold.

I wince, my nose wrinkling as I help him collect sheets and pillowcases. “I can’t imagine going from a birthday party to a dead man.”

Sammy, a young man with ginger hair and a face full of acne scars, snorts. “Tell me about it. The guy shit the bed before he died, and I had to stay late since none of the nurses on duty that night bothered to clean him up. Ruined my whole day.”

I concentrate on sanitizing the mattress to hide my sharpening interest. “Well, that’s against protocol. Sounds like those nurses need a gentle reminder of their roles and responsibilities. Do…you remember who, specifically, was treating him?” I lower my voice. “Someone’s been slacking off around here, and I’m trying to figure out who before they blame me for it.”

Sammy’s expression eases as he nods. “Yeah, it sucks being new. And no one called me in to help that patient, but I thinkI remember seeing someone with longish dark hair? If a name comes to me, I’ll let you know.”

Unfortunately, Sammy’s one of our alternates and also relatively new, which means he isn’t as familiar with the staff as the regulars.

While my heart attempts to beat its way out of my chest, I thank him. No hard evidence yet, but I’m closer to a potential lead.

I spend the next few days talking to everyone else, including the other nurses and some of the alternates. By the time Thursday rolls around, I’m holed up in the office for the afternoon, reviewing employee files. I want to keep the investigation under wraps, but I have a mountain of information to sift through.

I keep a running mental catalogue of everyone and their qualifications. Jasmine is an RN, while Angela and I are both APRNs, Advanced Practical Registered Nurses. The dentist on staff only comes in for the bi-yearly check-ups, as does Reese, who works as a physician’s assistant. A fifth trauma nurse went on maternity leave right before I started, so we never had a chance to meet.

Setting aside my file as well as Angela’s, I focus on the names I’m left with. Sammy described a dark-haired woman, which rules Reese—a part-time bodybuilder with a spikey purple mohawk—out.

I struggle to imagine Jasmine’s involvement in Jackson’s death, but I can’t cross her off the list yet. Another woman, Claire, also had the opportunity.

Sighing, I sag into the chair. The four alternate clinic workers don’t live in the townhouse and are only called in case of emergency or if one of the regulars can’t come in. The likelihood of one of them sneaking into the townhouse,committing the murder, and then escaping before anyone noticed seems pretty damn slim but not impossible.

If Claire and Jasmine turn out to be a bust, I’ll investigate the alternates next. According to my list, their names are Carmen, Delilah, Mario, and Roberto.

Roberto. Why does that name sound so familiar?

The door slips open, and I stiffen at the unexpected intrusion, but it’s only Angela. She jumps at the sight of me and then laughs. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were done for the day.”

I groan and bang my forehead on the desk. “Dante said I could help figure out the identity of the mole, but I’ve already been at it for hours today and still nothing.”

Angela goes so quiet that I roll my head to the side so I can peek at her. Her expression is carefully blank. “You?”

While her disbelief stings, I can’t really blame her. Up until a few weeks ago, I was locked in a cell. Now I’m hunting a killer. “I know, right?” Even after my conversation with Dante, Angela’s doubt leaves me feeling self-conscious. “Still, I think I’ve got a decent lead or two.”

If I’m wrong, I might be subjecting some poor woman to Dante’s torture for no reason other than the color of her hair, so my investigation needs to be thorough.

With a chuckle, Angela perches on the edge of the desk and picks up the files. “You an extra onForensic Filesnow?” Going through each page one by one, she hums in an almost dismissive nature. “I get that you want to be helpful, but I don’t think this is the right way. Iknowthese people, and none of them would betray the Argentos.”

I shrug. “Maybe whoever did this doesn’t consider it a betrayal.”