Prescription?
That sounded like sci-fi nonsense.
Everyone knew Leslie's reputation-totally useless. You're telling me she could take a pulse and write a prescription?
She handed the paper over to Broderick. "If you're still not sure, just take a pic and send it to a doc you trust. Ricky, you've been poisoned. I'll go get the herbs myself, take this for fifteen days and the toxins will clear out. But... don't go around telling people about this."
Broderick didn't take the paper. His eyes-dark and unreadable-just locked onto Leslie.
Then, suddenly, he pressed down on her shoulder, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Who are you, really?"
Climbing walls at midnight, slapping servants, bringing Sienna back, now writing toxin-clearing prescriptions?
"And who told you I was poison
