Authors: Virna DePaul
He still couldn’t believe Lana was dead. She’d been a good woman. A good friend. DeMarco missed her like crazy. He could barely stand to think about the way she’d died—at the hands of some violent sicko who had ensured her final minutes on this earth had been filled with pain and terror.
Unfortunately, as much as DeMarco grieved Lana’s passing, his own brand of trouble had started rearing its ugly head long before she’d died and he was still dealing with the aftermath. He was having trouble sleeping, and when he did sleep, he had nightmares. He found himself getting pissed off easily, when normally he was pretty easygoing. Hell, DeMarco hadn’t even tried to bed a woman in God only knew how long because the last few times he’d tried he hadn’t been able to get it up.
All that had been going on for months, well before Lana had died.
Ironically, the only person he’d told about his problems had been Lana. And the only reason DeMarco had finally decided to confide in her was because he’d trusted her. Respected her. Liked her.
He didn’t feel the same way about her replacement.
Not that the new staff psychiatrist was a bad guy, at least DeMarco had no reason to think that, but he was a stranger nonetheless.
No way was DeMarco going to admit to nightmares and fucking impotency to a man he didn’t know. Even with Lana he’d held back. Still, talking to her about what had happened in New Orleans six years ago had helped.
Until, that is, he’d gotten the call last year.
Now, the nightmares were worse than ever.
Sometimes, when the horrible images wouldn’t leave his mind, he wished—
He looked in the direction that Simon had disappeared.
Sometimes he just wished he could talk to one of his friends about what had happened. About how much it was messing with his head. But the timing to talk to someone, someone who knew him and cared about him, was always off.
Last year, when DeMarco had been called to New Orleans for his “family emergency,” Jase and Carrie had been smack-dab in the middle of a complex serial killer case. And afterward...after that same serial killer had murdered Lana...well, everyone had been on edge.
DeMarco would have felt like the biggest pussy in the world if he’d gone crying to his friends after that. He’d told himself he’d start to feel better. When he hadn’t felt better, he’d told himself he’d reach out eventually. Only too much time had passed. Reaching out now seemed foolish. Weak.
His friends had problems of their own without having to deal with his shit.
No, he was fine. Tired. Stressed. But he’d deal.
Just like he always had in the past.
With a sigh, DeMarco punched the coins into the vending machine, grabbed his chilly soda and started to walk away.
He paused, however, when he heard Simon’s angry voice coming from the break room.
* * *
N
INA STARED AT THE ANGRY
man looming over her and inwardly cringed. A cup of coffee before driving home had obviously been too much to ask for. Calmly, she set her coffee cup down. “I assume you’ve spoken with Commander Stevens?”
“Are you trying to prove something here?” he all but snarled.
“Not at all. I’m assuming you’re talking about our new partnership? Because that wasn’t my idea.”
“This crock of shit program you’re trying to institute sure is.”
Nina took a shallow breath and urged herself to remain calm. “It’s not a crock of shit. We’ve been trying to get this program in motion for months. I talked to the chief of police about it before I ever met you.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s not supposed to make you feel anything. But I am wondering why the thought of working with me bothers you so much.”
“Two reasons. One, I don’t like you.”
He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. Yet she couldn’t help it—his words hurt her. Why? She barely knew him and his dislike was irrational, not based on anything she’d actually done. “You don’t know me well enough not to like me. You don’t like what I do. There’s a difference.”
“Not a big one.”
Nina crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s your second reason?”
“You’re right. I don’t like what you’re trying to do. Force your mumbo jumbo beliefs on cops. We know what we need to do. We rely on our training and our instincts.”
“And being more educated about what is motivating other people can’t help you with those instincts?”
“When someone’s dangerous, it doesn’t matter what’s motivating them.”
“But it matters how you treat them, doesn’t it? If you knew someone was being coerced into doing something, wouldn’t you treat them differently than someone who is intentionally causing pain to others?”
She could see her words gave him pause. For all of two seconds. Then he shot back with, “It might impact how I
feel
about doing something, but it’s not going to change what I’d be doing.”
“I think you’re lying to yourself about that. You really think you would have been objective and neutral with Michael Callahan if you’d questioned him? No. And he would have retreated. Closed up. You wouldn’t have gotten the information that you needed to find Rebecca Hyatt.”
“I disagree with you. I would have gotten it.”
“By force?”
“If necessary.”
As she stared at him, she wasn’t sure she believed him. She had little basis for how she felt, but she had some. Before he’d known she was a psychiatrist, he’d been charming. Funny. In the emergency room, although he’d challenged her several times, he’d allowed her to take the reins and handle Michael Callahan the way she saw fit. And then there was the picture she’d seen in the paper. The one of him standing in the hospital waiting room as he waited for news on Rebecca Hyatt. His expression had been fierce...and worried. His actions along with his job told her he was a complex but decent man. But even complex, decent men could lose control when they were pushed.
“Thankfully,” she replied softly, “using force wasn’t necessary. Because I was there. Because I’ve been trained to deal with people like Michael when he’s suffering a psychotic break.”
“How long did you spend in school? We can’t all have that kind of medical training.”
“But you can have more than you do now.”
“At what cost? You don’t think we’re overworked enough? While we’re spending time learning to be kinder and gentler to people who are endangering others, crimes are being committed. And people are getting away with them.”
This was pointless. Neither one of them was going to change the other’s mind. Not today. “It’s fine if you disagree. In the end, you’re not the one making the decision about the benefits of the program. But we need to work together. And I hope you won’t make it any more unpleasant than it has to be.”
He smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t place much hope on that if I were you.”
As he watched her walk away, Simon wrestled with his anger, but also his attraction to her.
It was the same attraction he’d felt for her at the hospital.
The same attraction he’d felt every time he’d seen her.
It had been tempered by wariness then anger and now resentment, but it was still there, impossible to ignore. And it wasn’t one-sided, either.
But like him, she did a great job ignoring it.
Because it was the professional thing to do? Or because he was being such a major asshole?
On some level, he knew that was exactly how he was acting. Fuck, he might as well have thrown himself on the ground and beaten the floor with his fists. Elaina Scott had called to complain about him with far less reason. Could he really blame Nina if she did the same thing?
Simon sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
Asshole-ish behavior aside, he really was at a loss.
He knew he wasn’t getting out of this partnership anymore than he’d been able to avoid seeing Dr. Shepard that first time. While that hadn’t ended badly, he also knew if he spent any significant time around Nina Whitaker, things were gonna get complicated.
He’d had more than enough complications for a lifetime. Dating and then losing Lana had wreaked havoc on his life. He’d entered a kind of stasis after her death. He’d focused on his work. Been content with being by himself. But suddenly his body wasn’t content with that any longer.
It wanted her. Nina.
Yet even if he allowed himself to have her, she’d made it more than clear that
she
wouldn’t allow it.
With that thought, another followed. He straightened and grinned.
He had to agree to this partnership, but nothing the Commander said could make
her
participate in it if she didn’t want to. If she decided she didn’t want to work with him or requested someone else, that couldn’t be blamed on him, now could it?
CHAPTER NINE
T
HE DAY AFTER SHE AGREED
to participate in Stevens’s shadow program, Nina called Karen about Stevens’s offer. Of course, Karen was thrilled and generous with her compliments despite the fact shadowing Simon had been far from her idea. Nina told her boss that several times, but it didn’t seem to matter to the other woman. Nor did Nina’s concerns about her current patients and the appointments she’d have to miss. Karen assured Nina that she’d look into it and would call Nina back in the morning.
Sure enough, Karen called Nina’s office the next day. “It’s all been arranged. Dr. Anderson and Dr. Rodriguez will work together to cover your geriatric duties over the next week. Now, I promised you drinks. Tell me where you’d like to go. Later, you can fill me in on how next week goes.”
Nina envisioned Karen toasting a victory far too prematurely. “The drinks you promised were conditional on the police giving the program the green light, remember? That hasn’t happened yet, Karen. And we don’t know if it will.”
“I know that,” Karen reassured her. “I’m sure Stevens and his bosses are hoping this little exercise will work out in their favor somehow. The question is, why does Commander Stevens think you’re going to be swayed by this unconventional hookup? Is your little tête-à-tête with Detective Simon Granger a strategic one on Stevens’s part? Is there something you want to tell me, perhaps?”
Karen couldn’t know about her attraction to Simon Granger, but Nina blushed at her deliberate choice of words and insinuating tone anyway. “I can’t possibly speak for Commander Stevens, but he did say Detective Granger had the extra time on his hands.” Pathetic, Nina thought. Even to her own ears she sounded less than convincing.
Karen laughed. “Right. Extra time. And extra sex appeal. The guy’s gorgeous!”
Nina blinked. “How—?”
“I looked him up on the internet,” Karen confessed. “Along with the rest of the SIG detectives. They have their very own webpage. The best of the best. Nice. And I must say, all the men on that team are fine. I can see you and this Simon Granger together. You, with blond hair and green eyes. Him, brown hair and— What color are his eyes? I couldn’t tell on the computer screen.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Nina said, even as she thought: gray. Like slate, but not as hard. Or smoke, but not as insubstantial. A nice metallic color that could be cool or warm, depending on his mood. Masculine but inviting. The color made her think not of clouds during a storm, but shade from a blistering heat. Protective. Sheltering...
“It doesn’t matter,” Karen said, jolting Nina from her thoughts. “You’d make a striking couple.”
Nina was too horrified to talk at first. She’d been composing a mental poem about the color of Simon Granger’s eyes, and Karen had them practically married. Not good, she thought. So not good.
Her voice was stiffer than she intended when she finally responded to Karen’s teasing. “I’m not looking for a hookup, Karen. And certainly not one with a cop who thinks my job is a joke. Because he does. And despite this little partnership that Stevens has arranged, you know most of the police think what we do is a joke, too.”
“Maybe,” Karen said. “But they also don’t know who they’re dealing with. You’ll bring them around, Nina. You did it before and you’ll do it again.”
Once more, Nina squirmed at Karen’s words. Her boss sounded a little too confident in Nina’s abilities and that confidence made Nina decidedly uncomfortable.
She’d once had that same confidence in herself, but that had been ages ago. When she’d truly thought she could make a difference and not suffer for trying to do so. Now she knew that making a difference came with huge responsibilities. And consequences. She didn’t want the pressure of making lifesaving decisions. That’s why she’d left Charleston and began working with her patients in the first place. But yet here she was, literally about to plunge back into the fire. So be it. But she didn’t want Karen thinking she’d misled her. And she didn’t want her to take too much for granted, either. “I’ll do the best I can, Karen. I’ll shadow this cop. I’ll make my recommendations. But then I’m out. Whether Stevens supports the MHIT proposal or not, I’ll have done all I can do. I want your promise that after my week as Detective Granger’s shadow is over, you’ll handle things on your own from now on. Deal?”
Her words were met with a tense silence. A full minute later, Karen spoke, her voice slightly stiff and far more professional than when she’d teased Nina about Simon. “Okay. If that’s what you want. I appreciate you doing this for me, Nina. I’m sure plenty of other people will, too. Goodbye.”
Nina winced. “Karen—”
Static buzzed on the other line.
Quietly, Nina hung up the phone. Damn it, she hadn’t meant to offend Karen or hurt her feelings. They weren’t overly close, but Nina had always considered Karen a friend. Friends met for drinks. And teased each other about good-looking men. It didn’t always have to be about work between them and that wasn’t even what Nina wanted. But the fact still remained she was feeling pulled between her desire to live a safe and content life, and her instinct to seek a bigger payoff even if it might be at the potential expense of her peace of mind.
All it took to sway her in favor of peace of mind was thinking of the last card Lester Davenport had sent her. And the ones he’d sent before. Because he blamed Nina for his daughter’s death.