Chapter 50

"I still can't believe it," Dr. Madison says a while later. We're reviewing the report together again, obviously after we ordered the necessary treatment to counteract the poison Emmett had been given.

It's not certain whether or not he'll pull through, but he has a fighting chance.

Digitalis poisoning," Dr. Madison repeats in disbelief for the third time since we first saw the results, peering over my shoulder to scan the report in my hands again. "Foxglove? My god, did they pull that from an Agatha Christie novel? Did they actually expect to get away with this?"

"I told you, I think he's getting desperate," I murmur, rapidly scanning the report again. "Best case, I think he was hoping that you'd assume that I screwed up – maybe even on purpose – and gave him too much of his digoxin pills. That tracks with me being the one who dispenses his medication.

"Next best, you'd think it was an accidental overdose – like you said, that you'd conclude he'd gotten confused and taken too much on his own somehow. And worst case, you'd know it was foul play, but that he wouldn't be connected with it.

"Charles is cunning, but he's never been the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to details," I explain. "Especially when he feels cornered – he gets sloppy.

"He might not have considered that we can tell the plant from the medication, even though they are both from the same basic source, by the toxicology report results."

Too late, I realize that I've given away that I know more about Charles than I should, that I've implied that I've known him for a long time. I internally kick myself, then forge onward, hoping Dr. Madison didn't notice my slip.

"It's not an accident that the whole family was out of the house when this happened," I pivot. "I think we might be looking at more than one person being involved, here, but we probably have no way to prove exactly who was involved."

"That's a job for the police, surely," Dr. Madison says, frowning up at me. "Dr. Prism, you know that we have to report this. This was a murder attempt; that's very obvious now. Nobody accidentally swallows a bunch of foxglove flowers, or extract, or whatever."

"I know," I bite my lip. "But – oh, I just don't know what to do. If the Alpha survives this, a police investigation could backfire terribly. Whoever is behind this will know that they've been discovered, and they'll back off and never be held accountable.

"They'll bide their time until they can try again. And next time, they won't fail."

"What do you want me to do?" Dr. Madison asks, spreading her hands and looking a little exasperated. "Dr. Prism–"

"Evelyn, please," I interrupt.

"Evelyn. You're a physician yourself. You know that I can't just ignore this."

"I know," I say. "I know. Oh, I really wish this didn't come down to me. I'm his personal physician – his well-being is my responsibility, and maybe allowing him to hide this before is what led to this happening now."

"Or maybe they would have killed him faster, had you insisted you bring it to light," Dr. Madison sighs. "I'm not unsympathetic, Evelyn, I'm really not, but there are protocols we have to follow.

"Think of it from my perspective: not only do I have an ethical and legal duty to report this, how do you think I'd feel if I helped you sweep this under the rug, and then the minute he gets home from the hospital, someone succeeds in murdering him on their next try?

"It's not just my job that's on the line, Evelyn. It's my conscience, too."

She's right. I know she's right. Damn it, how did I get all mixed up in this, anyway? This is so much bigger than anything I'd anticipated when taking on this job. I was supposed to come in and get revenge for myself – now, the Alpha's life is in my hands.

This is such a mess. Where the hell is Marcus? I need him.

It hits me so hard in that moment: I need Marcus. I've come to rely on him, to trust him, to lean on his judgment and the comfort that his mere presence brings me.

"We will have to report it," I say at last, closing the report and handing it to Dr. Madison. "Of course we will. You're right, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she says, looking relieved that I've come to my senses. "I understand your concerns, I really do. Sometimes it takes a minute to work through our thoughts."

"Is his family here?" I ask. "Obviously we don't want any of the suspects back here, but his son Marcus can be trusted. I know he can, please believe me on that. He can help us figure out the best way to handle this. And how to handle the police…and the press."

Dr. Madison looks thoughtful, then nods.

"Good point," she says. "I ordered the staff not to let anyone back here, but if you can swear that this Marcus can be trusted, I'll allow him in. Only if we both stay in the room to monitor him the entire time, mind you."

"I can agree with that." I give her a weak smile.

Five minutes later, Marcus strides through the door, looking like a thundercloud of fury.

I can't help myself. Before he can speak, I fling myself into his arms.

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me any of this," Marcus says half an hour later. He was livid with me when I first explained the circumstances, moving from holding me tightly to being so angry with me that he paced the room, unable to even look in my direction.

However, after Dr. Madison ordered him to stay calm for his father's sake, or she'd have him removed, he calmed down enough to sit and talk it all over with us a second time. And now he's sitting next to me in one of the bedside chairs, holding my hand.

"I'm sorry," I say for the fourth or fifth time. I mean it, too. I should have told him sooner, when I was telling him everything else.

I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, following the Alpha's orders, but Emmett is my patient, and I should have acted in his true best interest, despite his wishes. Trusting Marcus would have been the right decision, and I knew that, deep down.

"I know you are," he says with a sigh, offering me a tiny smile. "And I'm sorry I grew angry with you, Evelyn. I should know better than anyone how…convincing…my father can be when he decides he wants to handle a problem in his own way.

"Really, it wasn't your fault for adhering to his instructions. I do wish you'd told me, but he's a difficult man to say no to. You did what both you and he thought was best at the time, and I promise I understand that."

"So, we're okay?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. Damn it, I'm supposed to be a professional, but this entire day – really, this entire experience – has tested my limits in a way I never thought possible.

"We're okay," Marcus says. "We just have to figure out what the hell we're going to do now."