Shades of Passion. Virna DePaul

      CHAPTER FIVE

      SIMON FIGURED DR. KYLE Shepard was a middle-aged man’s version of Little Orphan Annie. It wasn’t a particularly attractive combination, but it probably lulled most people into a false sense of security. They’d be too distracted by the doc’s garish red hair to pay any attention to how he was trying to siphon out their most private thoughts.

      Not Simon.

      His guard was up and would stay that way. He wasn’t taking any chances when it came to his job, but he didn’t need some stranger prying around in his head, either.

      “So, Detective Granger, you’re here because you’re a trauma survivor.”

      It wasn’t a question, but given the way the doctor paused, he clearly expected Simon to respond.

      “I’m here because my superiors ordered me to be,” he drawled.

      “And how do you feel about that?”

      He smirked. He couldn’t help it. Why the hell did shrinks always lead with that damn question? What the hell difference did it make how he felt about a situation he couldn’t change? “I don’t feel anything about it. I’m here. I’ll cooperate. All I want is to get back to work.”

      “All you want? But that isn’t true, is it? You want Lana Hudson to be alive, don’t you?”

      Simon stared at the redhead, thinking he’d underestimated him. Shepard had gone in for the kill mighty fast. Faster than Simon had expected. “What I want and what is possible are two different things. What I want is irrelevant.”

      Dr. Shepard nodded. “With respect to Lana, or with respect to your life in general?”

      The temper that had been simmering below the surface suddenly flashed. Simon leaned forward in his chair. “Am I here for full psychoanalysis? Because, frankly, I thought I was here for grief counseling given a serial killer tortured and killed my girlfriend.”

      “Ex-girlfriend,” Dr. Shepard said mildly. “Wasn’t she?”

      Simon sat back. “She’s dead. Can’t get any more ‘ex’ than that.”

      “Why had you two broken up?”

      He’d known that question was coming, and he didn’t pull any punches or try to hide the ball. He knew perfectly well why Lana had broken up with him and he’d made his decisions knowing it would happen. “She didn’t like the fact I’d gone back to work the streets after taking a management position. She didn’t want to be involved with someone with a death wish, not when she’d already lost her husband to the war.”

      “Do you have a death wish?”

      He gazed steadily at the doctor. “I’m not afraid of death.”

      “That’s not what I asked.”

      Simon said precisely, “I don’t wish to be dead.”

      “Have you ever? As a teenager? When you were in the military?”

      Dr. Shepard stared at him with an intensity that, if Simon didn’t know better, implied he knew his deepest, darkest secrets. Instinctively, he slammed every defensive wall he possessed in place. “No.”

      “Then what do you wish for?”

      He forgot about why he was there—to safeguard his job—and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Right now, I’m wishing this appointment was over and I was back at work.”

      Several tense seconds of silence followed his response. Great, Simon thought. Now he’d gone and pissed the guy off. But damn it, he didn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t have to be. He—

      “Work is important to you. Why?”

      Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was this guy asking questions when the answers were so damn obvious? But fine, Simon thought. The sooner he gave the doc the answers he wanted, the sooner he could get out of here. “I make a difference there. I like to think I keep the bad guys on their toes. I delay them a bit.”

      “Delay but not stop them completely?”

      “No one can stop them. Not all of them.”

      “Can they be healed? Some of them?”

      Dr. Shepard’s question automatically made Simon think of the doctor.

      Nina Whitaker.

      She’d reminded him of Lana in more ways than her cool blond looks. She’d had that same watchful gaze, intense yet filled with compassion, as if she could see every scar that lay underneath his skin and she wanted to kiss them all. Make them better. The idea of her kissing him anywhere made him shift in his seat and wrestle with the attraction that had tried to pull him closer even as he’d mentally sneered at her chosen profession. He ran a hand through his hair, painfully aware that he hadn’t answered Dr. Shepard’s question. And that he didn’t want to. “Why are you asking me that?”

      “Lana was a psychiatrist. Some might say the reason her killer got close was because she was trying to help him. What did you think about that?”

      He remembered the fight they’d had the last time he’d seen her. He’d been scared for her. He’d wanted to protect her. But she hadn’t wanted that. She’d wanted to heal a criminal more than she’d wanted to protect herself. Or him. So when he answered, he answered truthfully. “I thought she was a fool.”

      “One that deserved to die?”

      The feeling of denial was emphatic and swift. “I didn’t say that.”

      “No, you didn’t. But do you believe it?”

      Did he? The least constructive emotion Simon felt when he thought about the way Lana had died was anger. At the man who’d killed her. And, like he’d felt at her grave site, even anger at her for placing herself in a killer’s sights. But he didn’t blame her. He knew she’d been doing what she felt she had to. “No. I don’t.”

      Dr. Shepard nodded. “Okay, let’s talk about the incident that led to her death. What do you know about it?”

      For the remainder of the hour, they discussed how Simon’s fellow SIG detectives, Carrie Ward and Jase Tyler, had been working a case trying to track down a serial killer dubbed The Embalmer. How Carrie and Lana had gone on national television and tried goading the killer into revealing himself. Unfortunately, they’d been more successful than they could have ever anticipated. The killer had waited outside the police department and concocted a good enough story that Lana had gone with him of her own free will. And then she’d been killed—murdered—just as violently as Mac had indicated earlier.

      After rehashing the facts and discussing Simon’s “feelings” about them over and over again, Dr. Shepard nodded. “Thank you. Our session is done. If you’d like to reschedule, I look forward to talking to you next week.”

      Simon stood. Managed to choke out, “Thanks.” Without waiting to see if the doctor extended his hand, Simon turned and left.

      He was almost to the hospital lobby when his cell phone rang. He scowled when he saw the number of the incoming caller on the screen.

      “Checking up on me, Mac?”

      “Are you still at the hospital?” Mac’s voice was strained. Urgent.

      “Yeah.