Authors: Virna DePaul
Getting out of his car, Simon strode toward her front door. Given the length of the driveway and walkway, it took a minute. Not only was her house located in San Francisco’s ultraposh Pacific Heights, but the symmetrical, redbrick and gray-shingled residence was smack-dab in the middle of the Gold Coast area, so called because the houses in it were even more fancy than those in the normally fancy-pants neighborhood. Unlike most of her neighbors, however, Nina didn’t have a gate blocking access to her residence, but she did have the same spectacular view of the city at the rear of the house. Despite its size and majesty, complete with topiaries, boxwood hedges and rosebushes, Nina’s home managed to appear welcoming. That impression was aided somewhat by the butt-ugly car that was indeed parked in the driveway; it took the snobbery of the house down a notch or two. Or twenty. Simon grinned. He’d bet that just the idea of it being driven on their street drove her neighbors crazy. He wondered if any of them had ever had the nerve to say anything to the elegant woman who drove it.
He lifted the heavy metal knocker resting against the arched solid wood door and announced his presence. As he waited, hands in his pockets, he heard shuffling from inside. For a second, he wondered if she was going to ignore him, but that didn’t seem to jive with what he knew about her. She wasn’t a coward...
She slowly opened the door. Even wearing jeans and a sweater, she looked as classy and elegant as her house. From his vantage point, he could just make out wood-paneled walls, herringbone pattern wood floors, exposed beam ceilings, a redbrick fireplace, period light fixtures and diamond-paned windows. He couldn’t help his low whistle.
“Nice place,” he said. “Not what I’d expect for a shrink. Not one that works at a public hospital, anyway.”
Her lips pressed together, but instead of reacting snappishly, she simply shrugged. “I imagine I don’t fit a lot of your preconceptions about psychiatrists. Maybe you’ll figure that out over the next week while we work together.”
She said it lightly but firmly, establishing that despite any thoughts he might have of trying to run her off, it wasn’t going to work.
Nope, he decided. He couldn’t imagine her neighbors commenting on her choice of vehicle. Hell, she probably intimidated them to the point they told her they loved how quirky it was. He suppressed a smile and nodded, amazed that being in Nina’s presence could make him feel edgy but lighthearted, too. Even a little relieved. It was quite an alluring combination. Too alluring. “Maybe I will,” he finally answered her.
She appeared surprised by his easy acquiescence.
He smoothed a hand over his hair. “Can I come in for a second so we can talk?”
She stepped back and he stepped in. The place was big, and every foot of it gleamed and shone like a high-priced jewel.
“Seriously, your home is beautiful,” he said.
Like you,
he thought.
She looked startled, as if she truly thought him incapable of civilized conversation. For a horrifying second, he wondered if he’d actually complimented her looks out loud, but no...
She said, “Thank you. It belonged to my grandmother. I was lucky enough to inherit it from her and I pretty much work to pay the taxes. Hence the car I drive. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks.” He studied her, and the attraction he felt for her bloomed as strongly as ever. By the way she was holding herself, ramrod-straight yet a bit fidgety, she sensed it, too. Might as well come right out and acknowledge it, right? “What I wanted to say is...I’m attracted to you.”
Her eyes rounded comically.
He seemed to be giving her one shock after another, and, man, it gave him a thrill. Deciding he was having too much fun, he forced himself to say, “But I don’t want to be attracted to you. That’s why I don’t want to work with you. I thought about seducing you to drive you away, but I decided not to.”
She gave an incredulous laugh. “Well, that’s mighty big of you, Detective Granger.”
He grinned, liking how she looked and sounded when she laughed. He bet he’d like it even more if she laughed with genuine joy rather than mockery. “Not really. Honestly, I think if we spend any significant time together, it’s gonna happen on its own.”
“It?”
He raised a brow. “You want details? ’Cause they say anticipation is half the fun.”
She sucked in an enraged breath. “Well, you’re certainly full of yourself.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she pressed her lips together. Probably expected him to comment on how she’d soon be full of him. But he wasn’t that tacky. Either that, or he just didn’t want to be too predictable.
Shrugging, he leaned against one paneled wall, his gaze wandering to the entry table and framed pictures next to him. His eye caught on a picture of a teenage Nina laughing with a girl that looked remarkably like her. A sister, perhaps? Probably. She was pretty, too, but even though she smiled in the picture, her gaze seemed troubled. It was a notable contrast to the happiness in Nina’s eyes. In the picture. Not now. Now she was looking at him with wary expectation. As if waiting for him to acknowledge something. What had she said? Oh, right. That he was full of himself.
“Actually, I wish it was just a matter of being conceited. But I’m just a realist. I don’t want to act on the attraction. Neither do you. But regardless, if we spend the next week together, it will happen.”
Her pupils dilated but she raised her chin rebelliously. “And that’s not enough to scare you away?”
“I guess some part of me still likes to live dangerously,” he said softly. He frowned at his choice of words. Feared that she’d catch his meaning—that part of him no longer liked to live dangerously anymore. Feared that she’d wonder what had caused a change in him and maybe even question him on it. And he did not want to talk about Lana with this woman. Not now. Not ever. Quickly, he asked, “Do you? Like to live dangerously?”
“Not particularly.” She paused several seconds, as if weighing her next words. “How long have you been here, by the way?”
“Outside, you mean? Not long. Why?”
“Because I’m wondering something. You’re trying to scare me away with this silly idea of us ‘doing it.’ Maybe you’d try scaring me away a different way, too.”
He straightened and scowled. “What do you mean?”
She pursed her lips, as if she was weighing something over in her mind, then she shook her head. She even waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, nothing. It’s just, you’ve suddenly shown up being all charming and honest. It’s thrown me for a bit of a loop.”
“You find me charming like this? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
He caught it. Just the hint of a smile before she wiped it away. It made him wonder how far he’d go to see it again.
“What I mean is, I have to wonder if you’re luring me into some kind of trap even as you deny doing so. If you’re pretending to put all your cards on the table even as you stack the deck against me.”
“Well, no matter what I say you’re not going to believe me, are you?”
“I suppose not.”
“Right. So we’re going to be professionals about this. Whether we want to be or not. We’ll give this shadow program a real chance, and let the rest take care of itself. No hidden agendas or dirty tricks. Deal?” He held out his hand for her to shake.
Warily, she clasped it.
He immediately frowned. “You’re cold as ice. And you’re shaking. What’s wrong?”
She quickly pulled her hand from his. “I guess that’s just what I do when I’m around you. Probably overcome by all those images of us ‘doing it.’ But don’t worry, by the time we start working together, I’ll have it under control. Good day, Detective. I’ll see you on Monday.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
S
IMON WALKED OUT TO
his car but abruptly stopped. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t say what, exactly, but his gut was telling him not to leave. The few times he’d failed to listen to his gut had resulted in danger. Most recently, his gut had told him that Lana’s actions had put
her
in danger. It had told him to stay with her. Watch her. Protect her. He hadn’t done that. Instead, he’d let his pride and his anger affect him. He’d walked away from her, which had given her the opportunity to walk straight into a serial killer’s arms...
Shit. Thoughts like that didn’t support his comments to Mac, and what he’d thought was his honest belief, that he didn’t blame himself for Lana’s death. He wondered what Nina Whitaker would say about that. That he truly held himself responsible? Whatever her response would be, and however much it would anger him, he wasn’t going to ignore the unsettled feeling he was having now.
Doubling back to her front entrance, he knocked on the door. She didn’t answer. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. Frowning, he considered the possibilities. She could have hopped in the shower. Or more likely, stepped out onto the patio to take in her spectacular view.
He went around the side of the house. The backyard was a mess—piles of brick and earth, the place obviously undergoing some sort of landscaping. But she wasn’t on the patio. After hesitating briefly, he tested the small patio door next to the kitchen, and found it unlocked. Not smart of her but lucky for him. He inched it open and called out, “Nina. It’s Simon.”
Again, no answer.
Alarm crawled up his spine.
Where the hell had she gone?
“Nina?”
He stepped in. Kept calling her name as he checked one room after another. He didn’t draw his gun, but he was acutely aware of the weight of his off-duty piece in his pocket holster. He positioned his hand at the ready, prepared to use the weapon if he needed to.
In the living room, he startled a large tortoiseshell cat with large white rings around its eyes—like a clown face. The cat hissed, then dove under the couch. He scanned the area, noting the impressive main-floor kitchen. Next to the kitchen were two doorways, one leading to an informal dining area, the other leading to a huge pantry and food prep area that was as big as the kitchen and dining area in his own apartment. Everything was neat and tidy, but the airy rooms only served to highlight how little space one tiny female would occupy. He wondered if the sheer size of the house made her feel as lonely as he imagined it would.
He didn’t like the idea of her being lonely. Hated it, in fact. It just didn’t seem fair. She obviously had a huge heart and a tremendous amount of courage—the way she’d placed herself in front of Michael Callahan, protecting him despite Simon’s derision and aggression, spoke to that. Who protected her? Who brought her joy? Pleasure?
And what the hell business was that of his? His increasing obsession with her bothered him. It made him want to turn around and get the hell out of there. But then he remembered how cold her hand had been. How she’d been trembling. Almost as if she’d been scared. And how she’d obviously been trying to hide that from him.
He found the idea of her being scared even more disturbing than the idea of her being lonely.
He was heading toward what he figured was her bedroom when she stepped out, her gaze on a piece of paper. She must have caught sight of him from her peripheral vision because she glanced up. And screamed.
Simon held his hands out, palms up, surrender style. At the same time, he noted the look of wild fear in her eyes. She was wearing earphones and blasting music. Her fear was understandable given he’d startled her in her home. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d already been frightened before that. “Whoa. It’s just me.”
She ripped her earbuds out of her ears. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I’m sorry. I knocked. Called out. You didn’t hear me.”
“So you just decided to come inside?”
“I thought something was wrong.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. Just a feeling. Something told me you were in danger.”
It was quick, but he saw her expression flicker.
He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t too far off the mark. What’s going on, Nina?”
“Nothing.” But she shifted, unsuccessfully trying to hide the paper she was holding behind her.
“Don’t lie to me. What is it? Did you get bad news?”
She stared at him, trying to decide whether to trust him, then shrugged. “I got a note from someone who’s angry with me. It was a little disturbing.”
“By disturbing, do you mean threatening? Let me see it.”
She took two steps back. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a private communication.”
“By all means. Let’s protect the privacy of someone who’s threatening you. Damn it, there’s no patient here that you need to protect. And if someone’s frightened you, you shouldn’t be protecting him at all.”
“It isn’t so much what was said that frightened me as the fact that it was left on my doorstep. I—I don’t like knowing someone who’s angry with me knows where I live, especially since my house alarm is broken. But I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“You can’t know that. Let me see it. Please.”
He knew it was the
please
that finally did it. If he’d pushed, if he’d ordered, he had no doubt she’d do her best to keep the note away from him. As it was, she hesitated, sighed and then tried to hand him the note.
“Hold it out for me,” he said. “So I don’t get my prints on it.”
She did. Simon’s jaw clenched as he read it.
“Do you have a Ziploc bag you can put it in?”
She hesitated. Nodded. Quickly got an oversize plastic bag from the kitchen and put the letter inside. Only then did Simon take it from her.
“Do you know who left it for you?”
“No.” But again there was that slight hesitation.
“Doc?”
“I don’t know. I automatically thought of one person, but he’s on the other side of the nation. Or at least he should be.” She rubbed her forehead, then shook her head. “No. It can’t be him.”
“Him who?”
She opened her mouth. Shut it. “Nope. I’m not accusing a man of something like this when I don’t have proof that it’s him.”
“What if the proof is the fact that you end up hurt? Proof is the police’s job to find. Or maybe it’s just that all psychiatrists would rather risk their lives and the lives of other people to give dangerous criminals the benefit of the doubt.”