Shades of Passion. Virna DePaul
made him feel anything but professional, he’d figured it was better to be safe than sorry. But now that she was here... “You were right. We got to her in time. Rebecca Hyatt. I should have filled you in. I apologize.”
There was none of the relief he’d expected to see in her expression. “I already know that,” she said. “When you failed to call me, I tracked down the information on my own. I found out her name and what hospital she was admitted to. I also know her mother fainted before seeing her and that her father caused quite a scene, too. By all accounts, despite the fact his daughter was found and is going to make a full recovery, he blames me for the delay in getting to her. According to him, if I’d let the police handle the situation, we wouldn’t have wasted time coddling a criminal and you would have gotten to his daughter much sooner. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t file a lawsuit against me.” She paused, but only to suck in enough breath to continue. “Then, of course, there were all the news stories covering the event. Some more favorable to me, some not. So like I said, I already knew what happened. I meant I’m here to give you and your commander an update.”
For some reason, his instinct was to apologize for the behavior of Rebecca’s father, when he’d probably have felt the same way if he’d been in the man’s shoes. Confused, he scowled. “An update on what?”
“On my patient.”
Her patient. Michael Callahan. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What makes you think I give a fuck what the status of your patient is?”
Her expression softened. “Michael didn’t mean to hurt her. Aliens, remember? He thought he was helping her.”
“And I’m sure that’s exactly what his defense attorney is going to argue at trial. Will you be testifying on his behalf?”
“I imagine so. And I imagine that makes you hate me even more, doesn’t it, Detective?”
He paused. It would be easier if she thought he hated her, but for some reason, he didn’t want that. “I don’t hate you,” he said grudgingly.
“Just my job.”
He didn’t bother denying it. “Well, you’ve given me the update. So I guess you can go now. Thank you for your help.”
“If you really want to thank me, have a drink with me.”
He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d suddenly stripped down in front of him. It didn’t matter that he’d sensed she was attracted to him, too. He’d done absolutely nothing to encourage her. And she obviously thought, with good reason, that he was a redneck cop who’d use muscle to get results when reasoning failed. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why? We already established I don’t respect what you do.”
“Is that a requirement for having a drink with me?”
“Not usually. But then again, having a drink is usually a prelude to something else. You offering me that, too?”
He’d simply been trying to goad her, but the way she blushed and looked away had his body hardening. Yeah, she was attracted to him. But was she receptive to doing something about it? He’d never have pegged her as an easy lay, but maybe...
She lifted her chin defiantly. “A prelude to having sex, you mean? I’m afraid that’s not what my invitation is about.”
He shrugged, not surprised that he’d misread her. “So what is it about?”
She imitated his shrug. “You interest me. You seem to be a smart man, yet your bias against the field of mental health treatment seems unreasonable.”
That wasn’t quite how Elaina Scott had put it, but close enough. “So you want to analyze me?” Of course she did. For all he knew, she’d compared notes with Dr. Shepard. He knew that would be illegal, but people broke the law all the time.
“I prefer to think of it as ‘getting to know someone better.’”
“And then what?”
“Does there have to be anything else?”
There did if his body had any say in the matter. He stepped closer, wanting to rattle her and liking the fact he did. Her breath escalated and she inadvertently took a step back. He studied her slowly. From her pale, glossy hair, down to the tidy but curvy length of her body and ending at the shiny black pumps she shifted nervously.
When he met her gaze again, her eyes were slightly dilated.
“I just like to keep my options open,” he explained. “I don’t like what you do for a living, but you’re damn easy on the eyes. Who knows? Maybe I could do something for you this time around. I’d make damn sure you enjoyed yourself in bed with me.”
“I’m sure you would. But it takes more than the promise of pleasure to get me into bed with someone.”
“And it takes more than someone wanting to get to know me better to get me to go for a drink with a shrink.” Deliberately, Simon stepped back.
She smiled tightly and nodded. “I understand. Then I suppose it really is time to go, Detective Granger. Goodbye.”
She turned to leave, looking as shocked as he felt when he reached out to stop her.
“Wait.”
She stared at his hand for a second and so did he. His grip highlighted the differences between them. Him, big and rough. Her, soft and smooth. Powerful and delicate. Male and female. Suddenly, he longed to press the rest of his flesh against hers, chest to chest, hips to hips—to see how that looked, yes, but more important, to feel it. To feel her.
He whipped his hand away and took a step back.
To her credit, she didn’t smirk or comment on his retreat.
“Michael Callahan is still in the hospital,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, and even though he hadn’t meant to sound critical, she obviously interpreted his words that way.
She pursed her lips then nodded. “He was held on a seventy-two-hour hold for evaluation, but under the law can be kept for an additional fourteen days for treatment.”
“Even though he’s going to prison the second you’re done with him?”
She gave him a chiding look. “He’ll only go to prison if he’s deemed competent. And only then if he’s convicted—”
Simon snorted. “He gave you the information that led us to that little girl. He’ll be going to prison eventually.”
He didn’t say the words if I have anything to do with it but they echoed around them nonetheless.
She sighed. “Maybe prison is where he’ll end up. Maybe not. And whether you or I think he deserves to be imprisoned is irrelevant. It’s up to a jury, one that’s been given all the facts, including those about Michael’s psychotic break at the time he took the little girl.”
“Right. And you’re going to be the one to tell them those facts. Don’t forget to bring your box of Kleenex while you’re at it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Look, I know you’re—”
“Simon, you going to introduce us to your friend?”
Nina’s head whipped around at the sound of Jase Tyler’s voice. The handsome, sandy-haired Texan stood several feet away. Beside him, Carrie Ward, fellow agent and Jase’s girlfriend, struggled to keep her expression serious but her curious gaze bounced between Simon and Nina as if she was watching a tennis match. A very interesting tennis match.
“Dr. Nina Whitaker,” Simon bit out. “Meet Special Agents Jase Tyler and Carrie Ward.”
The trio shook hands.
“Sounds like you and Simon were discussing the pros and cons of rehabilitative therapy. You a shrink, Dr. Whitaker?”
Nina cautiously turned to Carrie. “I’m a psychiatrist, yes.