Diego took two stumbling steps backward. His lower back struck the steel instrument tray behind him, sending a jar of stainless-steel speculums crashing to the floor with an ear-splitting, violent CLATTER.
BANG-CRASH.
Paula turned on her heels, lunging toward the exit door—
“Stand right where you are, Ms. Vance,” a voice boomed from the doorway.
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The door to the examination suite was blocked.
Standing in the frame, wearing a tailored charcoal-gray wool overcoat over an unbuttoned suit jacket, was Special Agent Marcus Vance of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Pharmaceutical Crimes & Counter-Terrorism Task Force.
Pinned to his left lapel was a gold, five-pointed federal star. In his left hand, he carried an unsealed, red-bordered titanium evidence briefcase stamped with the official seal of the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York.
Behind Marcus stood two armed federal tactical officers in midnight-blue Kevlar vests, their hands resting at low-ready on their duty holsters.
