by Risk, Mona
“No way? Who would believe there still are such generous people in the world?” Relaxing against the back of her chair, Olivia shook her head in awe. “What a great man. Giving millions without asking for anything in return.”
“Uh...” Shifting in his chair, Doc opened the file on his desk. “There is a stipulation. Our benefactor expects us to treat his grandson. The young man suffers from antisocial personality disorder with tendency to violence. You can find a report from his former psychiatrist in San Francisco. The patient has moved here at his grandfather’s request.”
Doc turned the folder around for Olivia and Luc to read.
A picture fluttered down. A man with blond hair and pale blue eyes. Late-thirties, handsome and arrogant. A face Olivia had hoped and prayed she’d never see again.
The smile on her lips turned into a bitter stretch as she lowered her head and glared at the face threatening her peace of mind.
God, Jeremy was in Cincinnati. So close. Olivia suppressed a shudder.
She’d left him in Chicago, seventeen years ago, and run away to hide in the heart of Ohio. At the time, he was about to graduate and work in his family’s business in San Francisco. As far as possible from her.
And now he was here. Here?
The blood froze in her veins. Panicked, she glanced at the door, afraid she’d see it yanked open, revealing the monster from her past.
Breathing slowly to steady her heartbeat, she read the previous diagnosis through blurry eyes and tried to make sense of the words. Antisocial personality disorder with tendency to violence. Violence, all right. She’d experienced it firsthand. Apparently, Jeremy hadn’t changed.
“Five million from Rutherford Senior to our Department of Psychiatry. Imagine what we can do with that money,” Doc mused.
“Interesting case,” Luc mumbled as he turned the page. He could read to his heart’s content, but that was as far as she would get involved in Jeremy’s case.
Straightening in her chair, she schooled her expression. “I can’t handle that case.”
“What?” Doc stared at her, his eyes wide.
“I can’t handle it. Sorry. He needs someone more qualified on violence symptoms.”
“What do you mean you’re not qualified to handle this case, Dr. Crane?” Behind his desk, Doc lurched up from his wing chair, his face an indignant red.
“I...” Clearing her throat, she improvised a plausible reason. “I’m not familiar with some of his symptoms.” Having studied Jeremy’s symptoms in many patients, she almost snorted at her own lie.
Both Doc and Luc stared at her, their gazes mirroring their disbelief. She shrugged, determined to avoid any pressure on their parts.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Doc tapped his knuckles on the desk. The light rap resonated in the stern silence, grating on Olivia’s ears even more than her mentor’s caustic tone.
Luc crossed his arms, studying her as if she lay on the traditional psychiatric couch.
Keeping her impatience in check, she curled her lips in a half smile. “I usually deal with the victim, not the aggressor.” She had the right to refuse a patient if there was conflict of interest. A humongous one. But she wasn’t about to unveil her reasons to her boss and their visitor.
Arching a bushy brow, Doc raked his fingers through his grayish hair. “A patient is a patient.”
“No.” Jeremy Rutherford was not her usual patient.
“What’s the big deal about this one?”
Staring at Doc, she sucked in a deep breath and debated her options.
Patience was not Doc’s forte. “Well?”
A glance at the picture morphed into a glare as she traced the full lips and seductive smile and then gritted her teeth. She would not treat this patient if she were the last psychiatrist in town.
“All we need is your evaluation for him to be cleared of abuse charges,” Doc continued in a persuasive tone.
Cleared of abuse charges? If she agreed to a consult, she’d expedite Jeremy straight to hell. Better still, she’d make sure he spent the rest of his corrupt and worthless life locked in jail or a mental institution. Olivia dug her nails into the leather arms of the chair and stamped a blank expression on her face. “I can’t take him on.”
Luc, who’d remained silent during the exchange, leaned forward, his elbow resting on his knees, his fingers tented against his chin. “Why? Any personal reason?”
Olivia flipped her gaze toward him. “Professional ethics.”
He raised his eyebrow. “I trust you are always perfectly objective?”
She knew he was referring to her empathy for the battered Patricia. Darn it, but he was more trouble than she’d anticipated, his perceptive eyes reading her like no one else. She fixed him with the gaze she’d perfected over the last five years, that cold gaze her students and residents had learned to respect and fear.
“I always do what’s best for my patients.” She pursed her lips, daring him to contradict her. The last thing she needed now was Luc’s insight into something she’d vowed to keep to herself.
He narrowed his eyes. Inquisitive sparkles glittered in the dark blue, threatening her peace of mind.
Doc cleared his throat. “Olivia, for heaven’s sake. This patient is particularly important. I need your help.”
“I really can’t.” She wouldn’t be a coward and give in. Not when her decision could affect Melissa. She had to protect her daughter and keep the skeletons of her past in the closet. Locked and sealed.
Her heart thumped against her chest, yet she managed to maintain a steady voice. “I know you want to renovate the Crisis Center. But I can’t help you with this case.” Would her frosty tone put an end to the discussion?
“Dr. Crane! All I ask is that you examine the man and give your report, positive or negative. I have some background information and pictures that Rutherford Senior gave me. Please, take the case.”
“You can give the case to Dr. Anderson, Dr. Parigio, or Dr. Ameen.”
“Emilio Parigio is working on the South American Conference of Mental Illness. He’ll be traveling a lot in the next two months. Dr. Ameen is not doing consulting this month with her daughter’s wedding coming soon. And Jack Anderson is too green. That leaves—”
“Olivia, on whom you always dump the jobs nobody wants.”
“Damn it, Olivia. How can you say that?” He pushed a typed form in front of her. “See this? I just signed your appointment as acting-chairman.”
“Oh.” Her heart jolted with pride. Acting-Chairman of Psychiatry at thirty-five. “Thank you.” The title had a nice ring to it. An achievement. Something to strike off her goal list, although it was only a temporary administrative position. Dr. McMillan had chosen her over the other doctors in the department. “I didn’t expect. I mean you didn’t tell me.” For once, she let her exultation warm her voice.
“Congratulations.” Luc’s voice boomed with pride as if he had received the promotion. “I am sure you will do a great job.”
“I’m glad you’re happy.” Doc sighed with relief. “I was going to announce your appointment at our department meeting. You know I appreciate your hard work. Now, just take the case.”
Her delight ruined by Doc’s insistence, Olivia laced her fingers together to prevent her hands from shaking. She just couldn’t face Jeremy again. The last time she’d seen him she’d looked at him through puffy eyes, her cheek swollen from his blow.
Doc expected her to make an effort to satisfy him. But she couldn’t, not for money or title. Not even if he held a knife to her throat. Only Melissa’s safety counted.
It was time to remember her psychiatric credo. Believe in yourself and things will work out. Olivia glanced at the colorful vase adorning a corner of the mahogany desk, and took the deep breath she needed, inhaling the scent of roses, stargazer lilies and early fall flowers.
“I can’t.” She’d have to give Doc a good reason for him to stop badgering her. “I knew this man years ago. He hurt
someone I care about. I wouldn’t be objective.” She wouldn’t add more explanation.
“I see.” Doc’s brows furrowed in a scowl as he dragged on the words.
“I see,” Luc echoed, a suppressed question in his eyes.
What exactly did they see?
She lifted her chin. “There must be someone else to take the case.”
“I’d have taken it if I weren’t on sabbatical. I’m not supposed to be here. Even if I’ve showed up every morning for the past two weeks. But that will change as of Monday, now that Luc is here to help you.”
“I can handle this case, if you don’t mind,” Luc said.
Now that was an idea. Maybe she wouldn’t have to lose her sleep over the Rutherfords. “Did you renew your medical license?”
“Yes, during one of my trips to the U.S., three years ago. I’ll help you with the Rutherford patient. I can sit in during his interviews and help with the diagnosis and treatment. Since I will be leaving in a few months, I would prefer Olivia to cosign the report for follow up.”
“Great.” Doc stood, not waiting for her response. “You two handle this case together. I trust your competence.”
Olivia mentally shrugged, keeping her comments for later. Luc was certainly more than qualified to handle any case and sign the report since he’d kept his American license active. She wouldn’t waste any more time in useless arguments. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Very well. I’m glad this matter is settled.”
She turned to leave.
“Olivia,” Doc called. “Don’t forget this.” He scooped up the papers strewn across his desk and tucked them into a folder.
She stared at the Rutherford file, loathe to touch a reminder of her ghastly past.
Doc scowled. “It’s part of your responsibilities as acting-chairman.”
She grabbed the yellow folder with two fingers as if it were a filthy rag.
Luc extended a hand. “May I have this file? I would like to study the case.”
“Be my guest.” She handed him the file that burned her heart.
As she raised her head, she met Luc’s gaze, simmering with too many questions.
Between Doc’s lack of sensitivity for her feelings and Luc’s intense curiosity about those same feelings, she’d have a hell of a time maintaining her composure.
Luc held the office door open for her and ushered her into the corridor, his hand on her back, his face too close to her head. “Too many problems? Ne t’en fais pas, chérie. Do not worry. I will help you.”
“Nothing that I can’t handle.” Olivia breathed deeply, inhaling his aftershave, and exhaled slowly. Luc George had reappeared in her life four hours ago—the first four hours of the next six months—and he’d already invaded her peaceful space, upset her smooth-running schedule, and interfered in her well-controlled life. He’d have to go away soon. “Luc, about your invitation—”
“Yes?”
She shook her head.
Now that she needed his help to get rid of the Rutherfords, how could she tell him he wasn’t welcome?
CHAPTER THREE
Briefly admiring the well-manicured lawn and the neatly trimmed bougainvilleas, Luc sauntered into the McMillan’s backyard to join Olivia and bring her a drink while his host took an important phone call.
Olivia’s voice chiming from the left led him to a small pond crossed by a wooden bridge that reminded him of a Monet painting. His hands encumbered with two cups, a small bucket of ice, and a bottle of Vermouth, Luc paused at the entrance of the Japanese garden to listen.
Legs crossed under her on a stone bench, Olivia sat barefoot in the shade of a pagoda. Wild lilies, scattered in a palette of orange, yellow and red, permeated the air with a heavy sweet perfume. A picture-perfect setting for a romantic rendezvous. Mesmerized, Luc quickened his pace, all his muscles in a tremor. Finally, he was going to hold her and kiss her.
Her back bent forward, Olivia talked into her cell phone, the late afternoon sun streaking her hair in gold and russet. “Honey, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Luc froze in place, half-hidden by a maple tree. Who was she talking to?
“Darling, listen to me. I’m very busy right now, but I’ll take a day off next week to be with you.”
Honey? Darling? The words hit his brain and speared straight toward his heart.
“Melissa, please listen... Wait.”
Luc inhaled sharply and exhaled his tension. Who was Melissa? Whoever she was, Melissa deeply affected Olivia’s calm.
Luc frowned as Olivia bolted off the bench. “Mom, don’t tell me how to handle my daughter. Put her on again.”
Olivia had a daughter?
Ten years was a long period to be alone. But she wasn’t wearing a ring. Neither she nor McMillan had mentioned a present husband, fiancé or boyfriend. And she hadn’t said a word about this daughter all day long. Still she could have had a child anytime after he’d left. But why had she kept her a secret from him?
He scowled as he trudged through the grass surrounding the pond, his breathing labored, blood pounding against his forehead. “Olivia.”
As she turned toward him, she mumbled a quick, “Bye, Mom,” and then shoved her cell phone into her purse. “Luc, what are you doing here?” She bent to retrieve her high-heeled shoes from under the stone bench and slipped them on while he dumped the bottle, bucket of ice and glasses on the bench.
“Ah.” Merde. One of the glasses had shattered on the stone. Mumbling a string of curses, he collected the broken pieces and threw them into the ice bucket.
Why had she not told him she had a daughter?
Something did not make sense here. Olivia Crane had always been a secretive woman, difficult to understand. Still...
Is it possible that Melissa is...?
His jaws tensed. “Olivia, how old is your daughter?”
Lies by omission had cost him a child. Pain spiked through his heart at the thought of his little Paul and the lying bitch, the salope, who’d kept his son hidden from him for two years.
Was the nightmare of his past slithering around him again?
Luc resolutely took the last step separating him from Olivia. He wouldn’t allow her to knock his structured world out of control the way another woman had, years ago.
“You’ve been eavesdropping? How dare you?” Her chin lifted, and she scowled.
The memory of a pale toddler still scorched his heart after so many years. He was inflexible when it came to secrets and lies.
“Dis-moi. Tell me the truth. How old? Is she mine?” How could she have hidden this from him? She was no better than Brigitte. Were all women fickle liars?
Mon Dieu, not his Olivia. He grabbed her shoulders with more strength than he intended to.
“You’re hurting me! Are you crazy?” Slanting green eyes locked with his and widened with disbelief. “Luc, stop it.”
Silence drifted over them as they gauged each other’s thoughts.
“Did you find out you were pregnant before or after I left?” God help him, he was trembling and shaking her at the same time.
She snorted, a bitter laugh that stunned him. “Melissa is sixteen.”
“Sixteen?” He released her and dropped his arms to his side. “Sixteen, but—” His mind blanked. How could it be? Olivia had had a six-year-old when he was here last time? “I don’t understand. You have never mentioned a child.”
“It’s a long story, Luc. I was afraid for her safety. My parents raised her on a farm, in the countryside, hidden from my friends and colleagues who may have asked too many questions.” A shadow of panic spread across her face. She hugged herself, her shoulders slumped. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Even me?” Realization dawned. She had never loved him enough to trust him with her secret. His gut twisted. “Why, Olivia?”
Her eyes brimming with unshed tears, she turned her head and bit her lip.
Was she regretting the long years wasted without love
?
“Chérie, why did you not confide in me?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but she bristled and averted her eyes.
“Please, let’s not talk about it now.” She eased out of his hold, her body rigid.
He was missing something. “Who is the father?” Refusing to be jealous of a man who belonged in the past, Luc stepped back and held Olivia at arm’s length, his gaze focused on hers.
Her face changed, determination replacing vulnerability. “He’s dead.”
Luc was a pro at judging people’s expression. The hatred in her eyes and tightening of her jaw convinced him she was lying.
“Is that what you told your daughter?”
“In a way, she began the charade. One day she came back from school and asked why she didn’t have a daddy like her friends. I started saying her dad was gone. And she said, ‘You mean Daddy died in the war like Sue’s daddy?’ I didn’t know what to do. I said yes. She hung onto the story. Later when she asked for more details, I just invented.”
“And you let the...confusion drag for years?” Disappointment and understanding warred inside him.
“Yes. Melissa respects and admires the memory of her father.” Olivia’s lips pursed into a sarcastic line. “A hero who died saving two other soldiers during the Kuwaiti war, before her birth.”
“A nice story. But a bad lie.” Secrets again. Secrets that snared his guts in a web of deceit. He cursed himself for not suspecting a deeper problem when she’d ended their relationship. “Olivia, don’t you think Melissa is entitled to the truth?”
“The truth is ugly, Luc. Too ugly. I wanted my daughter to grow up happy. Well-adjusted. Respecting the memory of a heroic father, rather than crying about feeling unwanted.”
“I assume the father is a salaud.” He paused searching for the English word. “I mean a...a jerk.”
New emotions clashed inside him. Anger against the man responsible for Olivia’s fear. Heartache for her hurt. Resentment for the empty years he’d spent trying to forget her with a string of French socialites eager to capture his heart and his newly inherited fortune.
Olivia closed her eyes, pain creased her forehead. Her hands rose, fingers spread as if to fend off a blow. “Please, enough.”