Finley Creek General Hospital was a decent, mid-sized hospital on the north side of Finley Creek. Rafe had approved of it the moment he’d first walked into it as a med student.

And then he’d realized how completely inefficient it was at times.

He liked the challenge such an appointment would bring him; liked knowing he was going to fix the school and the hospital that would always be dear to him. It needed fixed. The hospital was floundering badly and he had to find out why—and correct it. Quickly. FCGH used to be the best in Finley Creek.

Now it wasn’t.

In the two weeks since he’d returned from Djibouti, Africa to be closer to his brothers, he’d made quite a few changes in policies and procedures.

A woman near the intake desk looked up when he walked in. Finley Coulter was his closest thing to an assistant, a role he’d pushed her into as soon as he realized how gifted she was. Her new official title was hospital administrator. She called herself the ‘go-to’ girl of Finley Creek General Hospital. She was around thirty, pixie-petite, blonde, dimpled, beautiful, and too damned perky for his liking.

She was damned good at what she did. She smiled at him—one of the few who smiled when they saw him coming—and handed him a stack of files for review. “Have you heard? Our Jilly’s back.”

“Who?” One thing he prided himself on was avoiding hospital gossip like it was the plague. He paid very little attention to who his staff actually was, to some degree. It was more efficient that way.

Better not to get involved in the inevitable hospital drama that existed everywhere. And if FCGH continued as it was, he was going to fire a good portion of the people he met. Better not to let himself care too much. Rafe had learned his lesson about getting attached to the people he worked with. “And why is that so significant?”

“One of our graduate nurses had a bit of family trouble. Not of her own making, but she was almost killed. Anyway...people are glad to see her back. Very pretty redhead a few inches taller than me. About twenty-five or so. She works the ER. Jilly’s a particular favorite around here. And a damned hard worker. She’ll take over the nurses one day. She could probably lead them to a coupe now, for that matter. Make a point of saying hi. It might get you some brownie points with the nurses.”

Something Finley was always hinting that he needed. She’d told him he had personality issues. Rafe agreed with her at times, but he didn’t give a damn.

He was there to run a hospital—not cozy up to the staff.

As long as the staff did their jobs he didn’t care. “See that the celebrity status doesn’t interfere with the work. If she’s as good at her job as you said, FCGH is happy to have her back.”

“You really need to make an effort, Dr. Holden-Deane. You’re starting to get a real reputation around here. Don’t make things difficult for yourself. Make nice with Jilly. You might actually like her. She’s always been a real sweetheart. Patients just love her and she’s a hard worker. The nursing staff already listens when she talks. She’d be a good ally to have on your side around here.”

He just grunted. He hated organizational politics, and a hospital was drenched in just that.

He heard about fifteen mentions of the woman’s name between arrival and his lunch break. Yet he’d not gotten a glimpse of her anywhere.

Of course, he hadn’t been looking.

The tuna sandwich was a bit dry—he hadn’t addressed the food in the cafe yet—but it was food. He might eventually contract it out to some company or another, but that would be at a later date. And depend on the numbers.

He finished at his customary table near the door. He’d just balled up his wrapper when she came in.

That Beck woman from the day before.

He almost didn’t recognize her at first. The red hair was what gave her away. It was such a distinctive color. She had it in a simple French braid down her back, and the scrubs she wore were soft mint green with FCGH Emergency printed on them.

She smiled shyly up at the doctor walking next to her. She shook her head no. Dr. Jacobson’s disappointment was easy to see. Rafe snorted. Allen Jacobson was always on the prowl. A pretty nurse like her was prime bait for a man like Jacobson.

People called her name—lots of them.

She looked around like she was a deer trapped on the highway in front of a semi. Jacobson wrapped a hand around her arm and led her to a side table, almost hovering over her. Protective? Or merely possessive?

He knew Jacobson; the guy went after anything pretty in a pair of scrubs, and then discarded right after. Nurses were his favorite targets, but the latest flavor was a brunette tech in the hospital’s in-house pharmacy.

Did the oh-so-sweet darling of FCGH know that?

Rafe bit back a snort.

Her sister had said she didn’t date doctors. That they weren’t her type. Nurses like Jillian Beck—young, sexy, available—they would always be some doctors’ types. Always.

Rafe had seen it before. Did the sister know about Jacobson? He watched them for a long moment.

Jacobson towered over her—and had barely looked away from her from the moment they’d walked in. Like he was proud to be with her.

Rafe remembered Jacobson from his undergraduate days at FCU. They’d known each other reasonably well, though Jacobson had actually been in Rafe’s oldest brother’s graduating class.

And why in the hell did Rafe give a damn?

He grabbed a second cup of coffee, merely to study her.

Jacobson was pushing. She obviously wasn’t comfortable with whatever the man was selling; Rafe didn’t understand why she was staying with him.

What had Fin said? Something about the girl almost being killed a few months ago. It would explain some of the fear that had been in her eyes.

When she glanced around the room, those eyes told their own story. Jacobson was the lesser of all evils for her right then.

Rafe got that. Sometimes you were better off with the devils you know. He forced the compassion aside. She wasn’t his problem.

Jillian Beck was a grown woman—if she didn’t want to be in the damned cafeteria she could walk out.

That was exactly what he did.

---

Rafe tried not to let his irritation with Allen Jacobson show when he ran into the man just outside the Surgical Trauma department. Jacobson was a damned fine surgeon.

“Jacobson.”

“Dr. Holden-Deane, settling in?” The two had known each other for years, but Allen was a closer friend with Rafe’s brother Marcus. Rafe didn’t have many connections with those from his past. The few friends he’d had when he’d lived in Finley Creek before had drifted away while he was in Africa.

Rafe preferred it that way. The only real connections he wanted in his life right now were his two brothers, his young niece and his nephew.

He’d heard another mention of that redhead’s name on his way down the hall. This time two orderlies were talking about her—and it hadn’t been gentlemanly in the least what they were saying.

It had boiled his temper, and Rafe had made it clear that type of conversation was not to take place on hospital time—or property.

“Just so. I have some questions for you.”

“On?”

“Solpalmitraln and Virat Patel’s paper.” He went on to name the medical journal where the article had first appeared. “And I’m starting to get reports of adverse side effects.”

“I’m not aware of any. And Virat’s paper was just speculation. It needed further research. I’d hate to see the hospital lose funding from Claireson because of speculation.”

Hell, so would Rafe. But patients came before money. Always.

And that was the reputation he wanted for FCGH.

He asked Allen a few more questions, then let the man go.

Nothing in Allen’s answers or mannerisms told Rafe the man doubted his own words. To Allen Jacobson, Solpalmitraln was doing the job that it was supposed to.

Whatever was going on with Solpalmitraln, Allen Jacobson—head of the department where it was most used—hadn’t noticed yet.

It gave Rafe something to think about.