Chapter Two: Unclaimed

"What about my appointments the following day?" Maureen heard herself ask hollowly as she flicked her eyes up to meet his in the rectangular mirror.

Wyatt returned her questioning stare for just a moment before returning his attention back to her patient files.

Maureen processed his words, her mind desperately thinking through de-escalation and negotiation tactics from the standard training provided by the prison twice a year. She'd only suffered one violent assault from an inmate, her ribs still ached on a cold day from the severity of their fracture.

As the miles were devoured under the SUV's heavy tires, back at the sprawling medical center, Ellen was ushered out of Kat's room as her blood pressure spiked and she began to seize, biting her tongue hard enough to flood her mouth with blood, her lungs spasming as she began to aspirate the spilled blood.

As Kat was intubated, back in the bulky SUV with the dark grey interior and heated seats, Wyatt broke the silence first.

"Why work at a prison Dr. Hightower?"

"Will I ever see another patient or attend another meeting at the prison?" Maureen asked, ignoring his question in favor of her own.

"What does a neuroanatomist do Dr. Hightower?" Wyatt quickly rebutted.

"Maureen," she said as she adjusted the knob for the heater to direct the warm air on her feet. "Call me Maureen," she added.

"Maureen," he murmured, making her drop her eyes away from his, unable to get a reading on the temperature of his words.

"What can I call you?" she asked as she adjusted the heater knob again, unable to find a comfortable setting.

"I'm Prince Charming, couldn't you tell?" Wyatt asked, his tone compelling her to look up and find his eyes boring into her reflection.

Maureen smirked as she shook her head, merging to the left when the lane she was in announced an upcoming closure with bright orange canvas signs.

"Aren't you afraid being surrounded by criminals?" Wyatt asked, keeping one of the manila file folders open on his lap.

Maureen glanced up at him, "I manage."

Wyatt felt his interest peak and the touch of a genuine smile pull at the corner of his lips.

He looked away first, thumbing through the file folder, pausing at each crime scene photo, a result of the mass murderer who had been deemed sane enough to be tried, found guilty and die at the hand of the state.

Wyatt and Maureen were each content to zone out with the monotonous scenery and nothing but the road in front of them.

Back at the medical center in the Intensive Care Unit, Kat's heart fluttered weakly in its opaque pericardial sac before it grew still, the arteries growing flaccid.

That's when Kat Carter stopped living.

Hours away and only continuing to extend their distance in the steadily moving SUV, Wyatt scrutinized everything in her day planner, checkbook, and wallet.

He chuckled as he looked through her checkbook register and at the frequent online purchases for shoes, takeout and the rest of the credit cards, proof of insurance and a coffee house loyalty punch card with a well-creased corner.

Wyatt unzipped a small beige bag with a subtle floral pattern and pawed through the contents. He smelled a mini bottle of perfume and swiveled a shiny black lipstick tube until a warm taupe shade became visible.

He plucked a light pink, plastic disc from the bed of crumped tissues with makeup stains and a copious amount of nail files, thumbing it open as though it were a live grenade. A multi-colored wheel of tiny pills greeted him, he searched the circle for the current day and saw the small birth control pill had been pushed through the foil backing. "Well that saves me having to ask," he thought, knowing the only way he knew how to obtain answers was via pain and suffering.

Delicacy and finesse were a foreign fucking language.

Wyatt opened her day planner and skimmed a few handwritten addresses and phone numbers. He paused and narrowed his eyes at a single name entered with an out-of-area phone number.

Blair.

Instead of the 'i' being simply dotted, a small heart was suspended over the little 'i.'

"Blair," Wyatt thought, clenching his teeth until his jaw popped. He certainly had to know on some level, that he had zero right, claim or permission to say anything about her life and how she lived.

Wyatt knew all of that and more, he briefly acknowledged it before smothering the thoughts in its crib.

"Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair," his mind taunted viciously as he closed the floral day planner, squeezing it tightly in his large hand.

Wyatt broke the silence as he spoke up suddenly from the second-row seating.

"Is anyone waiting for you at the airport?"

"No," she stated succinctly, adding for no real reason, "I'm in long-term parking."

"How about at home?"

Maureen was quiet a long time, "no," she finally said, void of any readable emotion.

"No?"

"No," she said as she flicked her eyes briefly up to the rearview mirror. "People are going to miss me if I don't come back," Maureen said in a matter-of-fact tone, spoken in the manner in which she was used to being listened to.

Wyatt heard everything she said but let his eyes wander along what he could see from where he was sitting, his gaze danced between her bare hands on the steering, devoid of any jewelry, no sign of another claiming ownership.

They both lapsed into instant silence when the phone began to trill loudly.

'Dr. Singer' flashed across the HD screen of the roomy SUV's dashboard.

"I have to answer it, I'm required to be available by phone for the," Maureen stated, pausing to check the time, "next few hours."

"They'll hear the fear in your voice," Wyatt rasped, the gravelly tone a dangerous melody, his hazel eyes swirling with so much control as the ringtone sounded for the second time.

Maureen smiled sadly as she held his eyes as long as it felt safe, the cruise control set, saving that pricey fuel. "I'm not afraid of you, you already know what you're going to do and there's nothing for me to do about it. Why should I expend the energy I barely have on fear when I don't know how much longer I'm going to live?"

Before the phone was finished sounding for the third time, Wyatt moved with feline grace and was soon sitting on the front passenger seat, "you may answer it." Wyatt's eyes were already on her when she glanced over at him.

"Dr. Singer," Maureen stated in an even-toned greeting.

"Dr. Hightower, when will you be back to the lab? I have some fantastic scans you're going to want to see."

Maureen chuckled, "it's dumb but I used the car's navigational system, and the detours made me late to the airport, I missed my flight. I'm looking for somewhere to stop and eat right now with a clean bathroom, I picked up lunch earlier but got sidetracked and haven't had a chance to eat," she added with a sharp bite.

She turned her gaze back towards a seemingly never-ending stretch of road as Dr. Singer began discussing a patient they both treated on clinical rotation.

Wyatt let the handgun rest on top of his thigh, his finger way away from the trigger as he became mesmerized by Maureen when she put on her doctor's coat and flexed her intellect.

He listened, completely enthralled at how she outlined a treatment plan, ordered a slew of lab work and a few minimally invasive procedures.

Maureen wrapped up the call, being vague about flight details and when she'd be back at her desk.

"There's a rest stop off the next exit, I'm sure you're hungry and I'll drive from there," Wyatt stated, not entirely a demand but not inviting conversation.

Maureen couldn't keep the relief off her face and out of her voice. "I do really need to stop driving for a while," she murmured, her belly choosing that time to growl with resounding loudness.

"Will you leave me at the rest stop?" Maureen asked as she signaled for the upcoming exit, adding in the wake of Wyatt's silence. "You can take the car, just leave me there."

Behind his neutral expression, Wyatt carefully weighed his response, aware that she could react poorly and even crash the SUV if his words were poorly received.

He didn't want to tell her in that moment that she wasn't going to be returning to the life that she lived up until their initial meeting in the mall's parking lot.

"Park over there," Wyatt finally said when the rest stop came into view, pointing to a group of parking spots clustered together under a canopy of oak trees.

Maureen pressed her lips together as she steered the SUV in the direction he pointed, looking around at the handful of cars and trucks already in the lot. She frowned when she didn't see any of the vehicle occupants within yelling, screaming, or shouting distance as she put the SUV in park.

She felt a startled jolt when Wyatt's closest hand shot out with reptilian speed and snatched the key fob from the ignition, proud of herself for not outwardly flinching as he tucked the keys in his front pocket before extending the same hand towards her.

Maureen frowned down at his hand and slowly lifted hers to his, his large hand swallowing hers, a couple of his fingertips coming to rest on the inside of her wrist, feeling the pulse strongly thudding.

"I'm Wyatt, Wyatt Rivers," he said as he squeezed her much smaller hand with just the right amount of pressure, she could still feel his strength and capacity for violence within his grip alone.