by Nancy Warren
Are you under more than the usual stress? the doctor at the clinic had asked her. Is something bothering you?
Those were her questions. The ones she asked her patients in a more carefully phrased way.
But a person didn’t suddenly develop cluster headaches—painful episodes that seemed to hit her almost daily. She’d agreed to keep a diary only when the MD had agreed to send her for testing for a physical cause. Not that she wanted to discover she had something awful like a brain tumor, but neither did she want to believe there could be a psychological trigger to her head pain when everything in her life was going so well.
She resolutely put her own problems out of her mind and prepared herself for a new client.
Rafael Escobar.
She rubbed her temples with her fingertips and tried some deep breathing, but the throb had barely dulled when her receptionist buzzed through to say that Mr. Escobar had arrived.
“Thank you,” she said.
She rose and walked to the door. Opened it. Outside, her gaze was immediately drawn to the man who looked so out of place in her deliberately soothing, orderly office.
He was not soothing. And he most certainly wasn’t orderly. In fact, the man was a mess.
He rose when she called his name and came toward her with guarded eyes and a reluctant gait. He didn’t want to be here. Interesting. Who was making him? An employer? Parent? Spouse or girlfriend?
Soon, she’d know. Usually the idea of fixing someone, especially someone so disorderly as Mr. Escobar, filled her with anticipation, but today she felt irritated that she was going to have to hear the boring problems of another screwup.
Shocked at her own thoughts, she put a smile on her face and, offering her hand, introduced herself. “I’m Deborah Beaumont,” she told him.
“Rafe,” he said.
When they got into her office she ushered him to the living room area. “Would you like coffee or tea?”
“No, thanks.”
“Water?”
“I’m good.”
“Fine.” Why did she feel rattled? She picked up hostility and reluctance all the time and didn’t react. Why today? Must be the headache. Or the fact that while most people’s confessions in this office were surprisingly similar, she had a feeling this guy’s secrets included things like where the bodies were buried.
They sat across from each other and she let silence fill the air. Some of her patients were so desperate for relief from their problems that they couldn’t wait to unload them.
The silence lengthened.
Rafe was not one of the desperate ones.
She picked up her notebook. “Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
He dropped his gaze to the coffee table. A sure sign that what he was about to say was likely not the truth. “I’m not sleeping too good.”
“I see.” She waited until he’d raised his gaze. “Any ideas as to why you’re not sleeping?”
He shrugged. “I do a lot of night work. My schedule gets screwed up.”
If his trouble was a sleep disorder he needed an MD, which he must know. He wasn’t the first patient who had a problem he needed pried out of him. “Why don’t you sleep?”
“I told you. I work a crazy schedule.”
“It says on your intake sheet that you’re a police officer.”
“That’s right.”
“Is there something about your work that’s bothering you?”
“I’ve been a cop for eight years. Only had trouble sleeping recently.”
“What’s changed?”
He shifted on the leather couch.
She decided to take another tack. “Tell me about the rest of your life. What do you do when you’re not a cop?”
“I eat. See my family. Hang out with my buddies. Go dirt biking.”
“You’re not married, I see. Any girlfriends?”
He glanced up, his eyes hot, and then his gaze dropped to the table again. He crossed his arms and turned so his body was protected from her. But he must have studied at least as much body language as she had, since she watched him deliberately turn his body forward and look up at her. “Not really.”
“Not really? What does that mean?”
“There’s a woman. But it’s pretty casual.”
She made a note to come back later to this woman who was so casual.
“You get on well at work?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there a case that’s bothering you?”
“I can’t talk about that.”
She resisted the urge to tap her foot. If he wanted to waste his money, who was she to stop him? “Your family. How do you get on with your family?”
“They’re great.”
He’d slipped back into his defensive posture. She ought to continue with gentle questions, use one of the techniques she’d learned—but she had a headache and it seemed to her that life was too short to give up hours to people who only wanted to waste her time.
She put down her notebook. “Rafe,” she said, “why are you really here?”
She felt for the first time that she had his full attention. Maybe he was as surprised as she that she’d pretty much accused him of lying to her. She had the odd feeling that he respected her for her directness.
“I read your book.”
Okay, not exactly the answer she’d been looking for, but interesting.
And surprising.
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
No more was forthcoming, but he’d mentioned her book for a reason. “Was there a chapter you found particularly interesting?”
“Chapter eight.”
Mentally, she scanned the table of contents. “Bad relationship choices.”
“Yeah.”
Good. This was progress. “What bad relationship choices are you making, Rafe?”
He blew out a breath, the kind of breath he’d been holding for years. “Wounded doves.”
“You have a Galahad Complex?”
“You’re the shrink. You tell me.” He snarled the words, but he wouldn’t have brought this up if he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Give me an example of one of your wounded doves,” she said softly.
He shook his head.
Once more, she wondered who had made him come to her. This visit certainly wasn’t voluntary. “Tell me about the first person you ever loved.”
“My mama.”
“What’s she like?”
“A saint.”
“You meant she’s passed on?”
“No. She’s the best person I know. She was planning to be a nun, but—” His face suddenly lightened in a grin. “My dad came along and gave her other ideas.”
She found herself smiling back at him. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Two brothers. Three sisters.” He clasped his hands tightly together. “Used to have four sisters.”
“What happened?”
“Drugs. Drugs happened. Angel was my younger sister and she got into drugs and some bad shit. She died.”
“And you couldn’t save her.”
He shook his head.
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.” His voice was husky. “She was fifteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Not yours either.”
He glanced up then, and now she knew they were where they needed to be. His gaze was intense and she could see the pain shimmering there, not wet like tears but hard, like steel. “I was the one who knew what was going on. I didn’t say anything. I thought I could handle it. But I couldn’t.”
“And now you keep trying to save other women?”
“I guess.”
“How did your mother react when your sister overdosed?”
The woman’s words were matter-of-fact, but they banged into Rafe like nails in
to his flesh. “You were supposed to protect her,” his mother had screamed at him. And, even though she’d later begged his forgiveness for her harsh words, he’d known they were true.
“I was born on December twelfth,” he said. The shrink looked at him with the same polite expression she’d worn since he got in here. Of course she wouldn’t know. Even now he was surprised how often he forgot that what was part of his culture wasn’t part of Texas.
“It’s the day of Our Lady of Guadalupe.” How to explain? “She’s the patron saint of Mexico. To be born on that day is—” He shrugged, unable to explain. He saw his mother and his grandmother, smelled the incense in the church. “A most blessed event. My mother and grandmother wanted me to go for the priesthood.” He was vaguely aware that his accent had thickened. If he didn’t pull himself out of the past, he’d start speaking Spanish.
“And did you consider it?”
He nodded. “When I was a kid.” And what a disaster that would have been.
“What happened?”
“Too much hate.” He felt it welling inside him again as he went to that dark place in himself. She’d been so young. His special charge from the moment she was old enough to idolize him. “I found those guys that sold her the stuff. I nearly killed them.” He’d nearly been killed himself, but fury had driven him, given him strength unlike anything he’d ever known. “Then I left and came here.”
“And became a cop.”
“That’s right.” He wished he hadn’t come here today, hadn’t agreed to this stupid session. He felt like shit, didn’t want to talk about this stuff. Why hadn’t he told that English chica no?
“You’re still dispensing justice and, I suppose, vengeance.” The shrink had green eyes that were pale but looked like they didn’t miss much, and red hair, also pale, tied back off her face.
“I do my job,” he said tightly.
“And when you’re not working, you rescue wounded doves.”
He pretty much thought that summed it up. He wasn’t stupid. He’d figured this out himself. Damn it. Why had he bothered coming here? Putting himself through this? She couldn’t help him. No one could.
And as for falling in love with him, that was a laugh. Unless she was wounded, he wouldn’t be interested. And unless he was some asshole with a bunch of degrees and an Armani wardrobe, he didn’t think she’d be interested in him.
“What happens after you fix their wings?”
He gazed at her. Her eyes were clear and intelligent, but she kept rubbing her temple as though she was in pain. “What always happens when a bird’s wing is fixed? It flies away.”
“Not always.”
He didn’t answer. He felt his body slouching into the chair and resisted the urge to put his boots on her perfect glass tabletop.
She gave him a minute to answer, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to, she pushed. “What happens when they are healed but don’t leave you?”
“Nothing happens.”
“Do you leave them? Do you lose interest?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Tell me about this latest woman.”
“She’s messed up. I think I messed her up some more.”
That calm, still voice was relentless. Like a dentist’s drill. “What do you think you should do about that?”
“I don’t know.” All he knew was that he’d been reckless. He’d been trying to keep Stephanie on the straight and narrow and instead he’d scared her so badly she’d quit her job. “Shit.” He slumped further into the couch. “I think I should stay away from her.”
Even as he said the words his body clamored, no! She was hot, enticing, and so sweet. Making love to her had only whetted his appetite for more.
But he wasn’t helping her by getting involved with her. He would only hurt her.
At least if he did this favor for Chloe, he could still see Stephanie every time he went to the office. It would be hell, but he could keep an eye on her and make sure Chloe didn’t do anything crazy enough to get them both arrested.
He watched the shrink rub her temple once again. “Do you want to stop and take some Aspirin or something?” he asked.
She smiled, and he thought the sudden lightening did her face a big favor. She looked at him for the first time, not as a patient, he thought, but as another person. “You are good at picking up when a woman’s in pain.”
Chapter 16
Stephanie came home to yet another envelope that had been pushed under her door. It was becoming an annoying daily habit, one that had started more than a week ago, before she started working for Chloe. She ought to throw them out unopened, but for some reason she felt compelled to read them.
She put down her bag, stepped out of her shoes, and walked to the galley kitchen to pour some water. On the way she opened the envelope and pulled out the card. It was different from the usual. Very different. Instead of the usual painted floral bouquet, this was a plain white card. Derek had taken Chloe’s brochure and cut it up into a bizarre collage, which he’d then pasted to the front of the card.
The Breakup Artist was underlined in heavy black pen. Inside, Derek had written, This is All Her Fault.
That was all. No pleas for a reunion, no offers for lunch or dinner, no promises about their wonderful life together.
A vague creepiness enveloped her. Somehow Derek was getting into her building, but she’d never given him a key to her apartment, thank goodness. Even so, she flipped on all the lights and walked through the place.
Then, once she was certain she was alone, she picked up the phone and called Chloe.
When she described the card, her boss’s reaction was immediate. “What a stupid thing to do. Those brochures were very expensive.”
Stephanie shook her head. Trust Chloe to see things in a completely unexpected way. “I really don’t think he’s the type to do anything, but—” She shrugged helplessly. “—you never know.”
“Do you want to come and spend the night here? We can haul down the other bed from the attic. Nothing easier. We’ll have a girls’ night. Drink only things that are pink and watch movies that make us cry.”
Stephanie laughed. “No. I’ll be fine. I know lots of people in the building.”
“I believe you also know a cop who makes house calls.”
“I’m not that desperate.”
“All right. Call if you change your mind and want to come over. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The ringing phone pulled Matt out of the deepest sleep he’d had in weeks. He woke on the first ring, was fully alert by the second. He noted the time was a little after two when he picked up and answered, “Tanner.” He was out of bed and reaching for his jeans when he remembered he wasn’t a cop anymore, which was also the same moment a breathy female voice whispered, “Matthew?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Chloe.” She was whispering and she sounded scared.
“What’s up?”
“Have you got a gun?” It was a crazy question, at a crazy hour of the night, but he didn’t call her on it. Not yet. He’d ensure her safety first, as he’d been trained to do. Then he’d yell.
“Yes. Why?”
“I think I might be in trouble.”
His eyes rolled, even as he walked, naked, to the window and peered between the slats of the blinds out on the darkened cul de sac. Before Chloe moved in, this had been a haven of peace and tranquility, exactly the place for a burned-out ex-cop who’d seen all the action he ever wanted to see in his life and who craved nothing more than peace and quiet. He could count on the fingers of one hand the minutes of peace he’d had since that English gal had moved in next door.
“I don’t see anything out front of your house,” he told her.
“No. I think he’s trying to break in at the back.”
He ran the length of the upstairs, grabbing his piece from his sock drawer on the way. From the window in the back bedroom he saw… nothing. “The motion detector light isn’t on.
I can’t see anybody out there.”
“Oh, never mind. It was probably an idle threat.”
He felt his hair stand on end. “Threat? What threat?”
“You won’t like it.”
“I’m sure of that. I already don’t like it. So tell me what’s going on.”
He ran back to his room, found his jeans, grabbed a shirt from the pile of clean laundry he hadn’t gotten around to putting away, and shoved the stuff on while Chloe said, “I had a phone call an hour or so ago.”
“Who from?”
“A man. He didn’t give his name. He told me to close down my business or I’d be sorry. Naturally, I asked him what exactly was the trouble, but he hung up.”
“What’s going on now?”
“I thought I saw something in the garden. It’s probably nothing.”
“Stay put. I’ll check it out.”
He sprinted down the stairs, shoving his feet into sneakers when he hit the kitchen, then slipping quietly out of the house.
The air was warm and heavy with humidity. He stood still and silent, only his eyes moving as he scanned the area. He didn’t see any movement, hear a sound. He waited another full minute, and then still seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he decided to take a walk around the perimeter of the properties before calling an overdue meeting with his neighbor and tenant.
He walked noiselessly alongside the hedge that separated the houses until he reached the bottom of the joined lot, then edged between a mountain laurel and a pistachio tree to emerge at the bottom of his neighbor’s garden.
All was quiet. He caught the scent of night time, and in one corner he made out the shapes of the cactus in the low-maintenance cacti garden. Matt was a big believer in the low-maintenance garden.
A rustling sound to his left had him tensing, only to see Mitzi the cat, who lived three doors down, out for a night’s hunting. Pointedly, the cat ignored him and went about her business.
He’d finish walking the perimeter—because he liked to finish what he started—and then he and Chloe would be having their meeting.
Based on the temperature already, it was going to be a hot one tomorrow. And then his musings about the weather were silenced as he saw a figure run out of the alley and throw something toward the house. He caught no more than a glimpse of a thinnish man before the guy went running back the way he’d come.