The Doe Identity

1 - A Nightmare in Casa Nova

For most people, being in a room with Freddy Krueger would be a nightmare. But for me, it was a regular day in the office.

My latest patient suffered from second and third-degree burns on more than forty percent of his body, particularly his face and hands. The left part of his face was patchy red, but the right side of his face was a lot worse. Parts of his skin were discolored, turning into a mix of dark red and black bean patches. A chunk of his forehead was covered with yellow blisters, his right temple was downright charred, and most of his eyebrows were gone. His arms also suffered from the unfortunate; right down to his long fingers, the skin had turned crimson red with patches of eschars throughout.

The man was a living, breathing Freddy Krueger.

After rechecking his vital signs, I dragged my aching legs toward the door. My head pounded, my neck felt like breaking, and my eyes were glued together; side effects of being in the OR for too long. It was times like these I wished I'd chosen to work as a teddy bear surgeon instead of an anesthesiologist.

"Come on, Claire. Please?"

I stopped before the door. Claire was my roommate, and the man who'd just spoken was not Vin Cooper, her boyfriend. A glance at the clock on the wall told me it was a little after two in the morning, way past the visiting hours.

"You know I can't do that. I could get fired." Claire's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the tight disapproval in it. "And how did you get in here? This is a restricted area."

"I have my ways."

The man's voice held a distinct, mysterious tone in it. Persistent yet hesitant, assertive with a streak of timidity, strong yet soft. Like a cute kitty trying to sound as tough as a fierce lion.

My curiosity had me peering behind the curtain.

Claire stood behind the counter of the nurses' station in her light-blue scrubs, her blonde hair arranged in an impeccable French braid as usual.

On the other side of the counter was a handsome man in his early thirties with poker-straight brows, a pointy nose, and cola-brown curls tied up in a man-bun. His impressive physique was wrapped in black; a black leather jacket, black leather pants—complete with a pair of thick metal hanging from his belt to his back pocket—and a pair of black boots.

Hmm. A biker? In Casa Nova? The town with the second-lowest crime rate in the States?

"Could you at least let me know when he's awake?" he begged. His Puss-in-Boots eyes seemed to be working, for Claire twisted her mouth in consideration. "Please?"

Claire huffed in defeat. "Fine."

The man's face split into a Cheshire Cat grin. "Thank you. Jim's Pizzeria, Friday, eight o'clock."

"Make sure to bring your wallet this time, okay?" Claire threatened.

"Yes, ma'am." The man raised two fingers to his temple and gave the willowy woman a salute before dashing toward the door to the critical care unit.

I waited for the man to leave the area before I sauntered to the nurses' station, ready for some gossip. Halfway there, my squeaky sneakers alerted Claire of my presence.

"Oh, hey . . . Lex." The smile on her face faltered when she saw me, replaced by an expression of concern. "Are you okay? You look like you've been hit by a truck."

I frowned. "Let's see. I had two surgeries in the morning, four in the afternoon, and just when I was about to go home, a seventeen-year-old kid was rushed to the ER with his tibia sticking out of his skin. Oh, and then there's that severely burned man needing a six-hour emergency surgery." I pointed at the room I'd walked out of a minute ago. "It's a miracle I'm still alive."