Authors: Marie Ferrarella
her body even after Josh and Gonzo had gone, she'd decided to update her files, entering
the latest data into her computer.
"How did you know?" she called, curious. Shirley wasn't particularly intuitive. When it
came right down to it, the girl often missed signs that were right in front of her. And it
wasn't as if she'd left Gonzo's file on the front desk. She'd taken it with her to her
office. The dog had been her only visitor in the past hour.
Shirley laughed at some private joke. "Because I almost tripped over them."
"Them?"
The moment she walked out, Patience saw what Shirley referred to. Her dark-haired
receptionist held a long, white box in her arms. She was looking at it longingly, the way
Cinderella might have at her stepsisters as they'd sauntered off to Prince Charming's
exclusive ball.
"This." Shirley raised the box for emphasis, though not without effort. "Unless you're ordering really long thermometers, my guess is that these are flowers." She set the box
on the counter that separated the reception area from the exam rooms. Shirley looked at
her expectantly when she made no move toward the box. "Aren't you going to open it?"
Harmless, it could be entirely harmless. The flowers could be from a patient, or maybe
even Josh for seeing Gonzo on such short notice. Or maybe even someone in her family
thought to—
No, her family knew better than to do this. Patrick had told them about Walter and the
white roses, but only after she'd assured him that it was over. Uncle Andrew had given her
a long, stern lecture about taking unnecessary chances and made her promise to call him if
she thought things were starting up again.
It wasn't starting up again, was it?
Patience crossed to the counter, stubbornly telling herself she was overreacting. This
could be nothing.Wasnothing.
She took a deep breath and slid the red ribbon off. It fell to the floor.
Her fingers felt almost numb as she removed the lid. And looked down at two dozen roses.
Plump, perfect, pink roses.
"Gosh, they're gorgeous," Shirley exclaimed. She'd hired Shirley a month after the entire Walter incident was over. The receptionist clearly didn't know what the sight of roses did
to her. "Look." Digging into the box, she produced a small white envelope and held it up like a trophy. "There's a card."
Patience uttered a silent prayer that the note was signed by someone she knew. But when
she removed the shell-white card embossed with the florist's logo from the envelope and
read, "It won't be long before you're mine," her heart turned to lead in her chest.
"You've got a secret admirer," Shirley exclaimed gleefully. Then she sighed, "Of course you would, just look at you."
That's what it had been called once upon a time. A secret admirer. And she might have
even given the person the same label as Shirley had just given him—if she hadn't gone
through what she had. Something that, Patrick had sternly informed her, could have
turned very ugly.
But it hadn't. Walter had backed off.
Had something triggered him again?
She stared at the note. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed to do something
about this before it got out of hand.
She stifled a shiver. Her flesh felt as if it was ready to creep off her body.
"Hey, are you okay?" Shirley peered into her face. Patience realized that for a minute
she'd let her imagination get the better of her, shutting out everything else. "You don't
look so good."
I don't feel so good, either.She forced a smile to her lips as she placed the card back into
the box. "I have to make a phone call."
She began to retreat to her office, but Shirley didn't take the hint. Because Shirley was
young and impetuous, the roses had set her imagination spinning. "Do you know who sent
these?" she asked eagerly.
Patience looked at her over her shoulder. "I have a pretty good hunch."
Shirley's hazel eyes shone. She soaked up romance novels like a sponge, waiting for her
own romance to materialize. "Cool."
Patience stopped just shy of her office, about to tell Shirley that, no, this wasn't cool.
That this was most likely a stalker gearing up again. He hadn't hurt her the last time, but
that was because he'd backed off. What if this time, he wouldn't? What if this time, he
intended to gain the object of his obsession? Her.
Patience walked into her office and closed the door behind her. Her first instinct was to
call Patrick.
But even as she began to hit the familiar numbers on the keypad, she dropped the
receiver back into its cradle. She couldn't call Patrick and tell him about this. Patrick
would only worry. And if he told anyone else in the family, then they'd be worried, as well.
Not to mention turn overprotective.
In no time at all, she'd have her own armed guard posted at her side, watching her 24/7.
Patience sighed. She couldn't handle that, either.
What she needed, she decided, struggling to remain rational, was someone on the outside,
someone who wasn't personally involved, who wouldn't overreact. Someone who wouldn't let
her family know.
Someone who could rival a clam.
An image of Brady popped into her mind.
The man was the closest thing to a clam she knew. She was pretty confident that her
problem would remain a secret if she asked him to check this out. After all, the man only
talked to his dog, and probably only after long intervals of silence at that.
Turning to her old-fashioned Rolodex, she flipped through the cards until she found
Brady's number. Memorizing it, she punched in the numbers on her keypad.
The sound of his voice answering after five rings had an unexpected effect on her pulse.
She told herself it was only because of the situation, nothing more. Last night had rattled
her, the roses had rattled her more. She couldn't very well be expected to be calm.
But she was working on it.
There were a great many ways to begin the conversation. Small talk and chitchat,
however, probably went over like a lead balloon when it came to Coltrane. He preferred
going to the meat of the matter.
She served him meat. "Brady, he sent more roses."
The voice on the other end of the line was instantly alert. "When?"
"Just now. My receptionist found the box on the doorstep."
She didn't have to say anything more than that. The response was immediate. "I'll be
right over."
She knew she should tell him that he needn't hurry. That tonight, after hours, would be
soon enough. But she felt like a scared child because his words filled her with relief. "All
right."
If pressed, she wouldn't have been able to explain why, but as she hung up, she felt
calmer already.
"Patient in room one," Shirley called out.
Patience glanced at her watch. Right on schedule. Her afternoon was under way.
She went out to do what she knew she was good at.
«^»
"
S
he's in with a patient," the short, animated woman informed Brady when he entered the clinic less than fifteen minutes after the phone call. "But she's probably winding up. The
Dalmatian's been in there for about fifteen minutes." The brunette leaned over the
counter to look down at his dog, grinning broadly at the animal, and even more broadly at
him. "Something wrong with King?"
Brady shook his head, all the while aware that there was another man in the reception
area. The man's fingers were lightly wrapped around a leash tethered to a drooling bulldog
who looked as if he'd consumed more than one too many snacks from his master's plate. In
an effort to forestall any trouble, Brady gave King the command to heel. King dutifully
ignored the bulldog. The latter seemed as if he were chomping at the bit to sniff out the
competition.
"Doc asked me to stop by," Brady told the young woman whose name escaped him.
"For King?" the bouncy brunette asked.
"No," Brady replied patiently, eyeing the one closed door in the back and willing Patience to appear.
"Then why…?" Since she didn't finish her question, Brady glanced in her direction and saw what appeared to be a trace of disappointment on the small, heart-shaped face. "Then you
sent them to her?"
Brady's eyes narrowed. Was she talking about the roses? Before he could say anything in
response, the receptionist had rounded the counter and was on the other side.
Cleaving to him, she lowered her voice as if she were in the middle of some TV melodrama,
striving not to be overheard.
"They took her breath away when she saw them. She could hardly talk." She sighed
wistfully. "They're absolutely beautiful. I wish someone would send me roses like that."
She looked at him pointedly. The next second she seemed to rally and was all but vibrating
in her enthusiasm. "Must have cost you a bundle."
"I didn't send them." Brady enunciated every syllable clearly. He didn't want to have to repeat himself.
"Oh." The hazel eyes widened as the fact that she'd apparently made a mistake sank in.
She grinned as she began to backpedal. "Well. Okay. Um." A creak coming from the rear
had her jerking her head in that direction. Her mouth quirked in a quick smile. "Here she is
now." Not waiting for a comment, she hurried over to Patience. "Doctor, Officer Coltrane's here to see you about King."
Brady merely sighed and shook his head. The woman was definitely not up for employee of
the year. Crossing to Patience, he lowered his head so that his mouth came close to her
ear.
"Have you given any thought to getting a real receptionist instead of a Kewpie doll? Dish
towels absorb more than she does."
Patience knew exactly what he meant. Shirley could be very trying. But she had a good
heart and Patience felt protective of the younger woman. She felt a little bad for Shirley,
seeing as how the woman had a crush on Brady. "She's good with animals."
He laughed shortly. "That's because her brain's the same size."
Though he'd kept his voice low, Patience glanced to see if Shirley had overheard. The
receptionist watched them with a strange, unreadable expression on her face. Was she
jealous? Did Shirley think that Brady had sent the flowers? As if something like that
would have ever crossed Brady's mind.
She couldn't help wondering if the man had ever been involved, then decided in the next
instant that the answer to that was probably a resounding no. To be involved you had to
give of yourself, at least a little, and she couldn't see Brady doing that. He was much too
self-contained, too controlled.
Still, she reminded herself, he had come when she'd called. He could have put her off, or
told her to call the police in officially, but he hadn't and right now, that was all that
mattered.
"Why don't you follow me to the back?" Patience prompted. Her eye caught the
disgruntled expression on the other occupant's face. It had "I was here first" written all over it. "I'll be with you in a few minutes, Mr. Matthews, I promise. This won't take long."
Matthews nodded, but grumbled something under his breath that had to do with police
officers and undue privileges.
Patience saw that the comment didn't go unheard. A muscle in Brady's cheek twitched,
but to his credit he gave no other indication that he'd heard the other man or was about
to offer a retort.
"Sorry about that," Patience murmured.
Brady shrugged the apology away. "Don't worry about it." He didn't have to look behind
him to know that King was following. "Where are the flowers?"
"Back here." Bypassing the exam rooms, she took him to her small office just off the
operating area. The room barely had enough space for a desk and chair, much less the file
cabinet and bookcase she'd managed to push in. Bringing another person in was a challenge.
She glanced over her shoulder at Brady. "Tight squeeze."
That was putting it mildly, he thought. If he took a deep breath, he'd wind up brushing
against her, something he reallydidn'twant to do. "You could knock out a wall, make it
bigger."
She'd thought about it, but the clinic already occupied a great deal of the first floor. "I
didn't want to take space away from the examination rooms or the operating salon. I
didn't need much space." Moving around to where the chair butted up against her desk to
give him room, she gestured toward the long white box on her desk. "There it is."
"Was there a note?"
She nodded. A flicker of nerves washed over her. "It said 'It won't be long before you're
mine.'"
He set his mouth hard. "Did you recognize it? Was it Payne's handwriting?"
She shook her head, frustration nibbling at her. "I'm not sure what his handwriting looks
like. The poems and notes he'd send me always came off his printer."
That smacked of wanting everything uniform, controlled. Better to overestimate a suspect
than to underestimate him. "Even with the flowers?" He found that highly unlikely, unless the man brought the cards with him when he bought the flowers.
She thought for a second. Only a few of the flowers had been accompanied by notes.
"Those were printed, too. He has his own computer business so he's into all that."
He looked back at the rectangular box. "Is the card still inside?"
She nodded. Rather than open the box, she watched Brady take out a pair of rubber
gloves from his pocket and slip them on. "I thought only detectives carried around rubber