She was overwhelmed to hear him discuss this subject in such a personal way.
That email Xavier Montrose had sent her had indicated that people at the hospital thought Cullen had done something intentionally wrong. They’d thrown around the word murderer when describing him.
But Cullen was admitting to something very different than murder. He was confessing to a screw up, to having perhaps made a very big mistake—a mistake that obviously still tormented him.
So maybe he had screwed up and perhaps a woman had died because of it. Didn’t that happen sometimes? Wasn’t the unfortunate truth that surgeons were human beings, fallible as anyone else, and sometimes their mistakes cost people’s lives?
They lay in silence for a long while, and then Cullen turned onto his side and watched her for a moment. “I’m a very difficult man,” he said, after a time.
She smiled. “You’re not what you think you are.”
“I’m not?” he asked, curious.
“Nobody is.”
He looked momentarily surprised. “Why is it that you continue to say the most unexpected things?” he asked, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. “You really do astound me, Ivy.” He reached out and stroked her cheek with his fingers.
Ivy closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of his hand on her cheek, and his unexpected softness and vulnerability.
He’s a good man. I don’t care what anybody says about him. I believe in Cullen Sharpe.
But then something occurred to her, and her smile faded.
“What’s wrong?” Cullen said.
“Nothing,” she lied, as she realized that her secret was becoming an unbearable weight on her soul.
If you really think he’s a good man, than how can you justify hiding the fact that the FBI is investigating him? And that they’re trying to force you to help them?
Ivy sat up and then slid off the bed, grabbed her panties and sweats off the floor and pulled them on.
“Ivy,” Cullen called to her.
She looked back at him, her stomach feeling sour and nervous. “Yeah?”
“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“There’s…there’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re disappointed about what I told you?” he asked. “About the woman who died during surgery?”
She hated to think that he would believe such a thing. “No, of course not,” Ivy said, brushing her hair back and trying to gather her thoughts.
The guilt was becoming almost unbearable now. He’d revealed himself and she was letting him down.
“Something happened,” Cullen said. “Between when I told you and now. Your whole demeanor—“
“Please, stop analyzing me,” she nearly shouted.
Cullen looked taken aback. “I only want to ensure you’re okay,” he said stiffly.
And then she hung her head and started to break down. “I’m not cut out for all of this,” she said, as the tears started in earnest.
“Cut out for what?”
Ivy looked up at him. “Oh, God, Cullen.” She felt sick. She put a hand to her mouth and a wave of nausea rolled through her, then seemed to pass.
He slid forward on the bed. “You can be honest with me.”
“You’re going to hate me for it, but I swear—I swear it wasn’t my fault.”
He breathed heavily through his nostrils. “Just say it, whatever it is, and then we can deal with it.”
“The FBI is investigating you,” she blurted out, the words coming so quickly she could hardly believe they’d been spoken aloud.
Cullen didn’t react. His eyes were blank. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he said. He sounded truly shocked.
Ivy sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Remember how you saw me talking to Lucas on the bench outside the office?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes.” He scratched his chin, his eyebrows lowering. “You’re saying he has something to do with this?”
“He works for the FBI, Cullen. He’s a federal agent.”
Cullen began laughing. “This is a joke?”
“No,” she told him, shaking her head.
His smile faded. “Ivy, if you’re playing some kind of game…I really don’t get it.”
“It’s not a game. I’ve been keeping it to myself because he threatened me. He said they could send me to jail for telling you. Obstruction of justice or something.”
Cullen’s smile was totally gone now and his eyes were hard as diamonds. “You’re fucking serious,” he said, his voice a whisper.
“I don’t know what they think you’ve done,” she began, but Cullen had risen from the bed and paced over to the window. He threw the curtain aside and peered out. “They’re following me? Conducting surveillance? What else?” He spun around and looked at her with suspicion. “Tell me what you told them about me.”
“I couldn’t tell him anything,” she said, desperate to make that paranoid look on his face go away. “Cullen, you’ve never told me anything. So I didn’t give them any information.”
He shook his head. “How can I trust you?” he asked. “You’ve been lying to me.”