Eight Classic Nora Roberts Romantic Suspense Novels

by Nora Roberts

  She hadn’t mentioned fear for her life. Logan considered it a very interesting and telling omission. Either she had not yet brought herself to face it, or she linked the possibility with her dread of failing.

  “You’re so sure you’re going to fail?”

  “Yes, and I detest the idea.” The admission brought a self-deprecating smile. Tess ran her fingers over the cover of the antique Bible and found the carving deep and smooth. “There’s something in here about pride going before a fall.”

  “I tend to think that depends on the pride. You’ve given the police everything a trained psychiatrist could, Tess. You haven’t failed.”

  “I never have, you know. Not really. Not on a personal level. I did well in school, played hostess very properly for my grandfather until my practice cut back on my free time. As far as men were concerned, after one minor disaster in college I always made sure I called the shots. Things have been very safe and tidy until … well, until a few months ago.”

  “Tess, as far as this case is concerned, you were brought in as a consultant. It’s the police department’s responsibility to find this man.”

  “Maybe I could have left it at that. Maybe,” she murmured, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not totally sure. But now, how can I? He’s turned to me. When he spoke to me, there was a desperation, a plea. How could I, how could any doctor try not to answer that?”

  “Treating him at some later date isn’t the same thing as feeling responsible for the results of his illness.” A frown of concern entered his eyes as he linked his fingers and rested them on the desk. “If I had to speculate out of hand, before a thorough reading of this report, I would say he’s drawn to you because he senses compassion, and a certain vulnerability. You have to be careful not to give so much of the first that you fall victim to the second.”

  “It’s difficult for me to follow the rules on this one. Ben—Detective Paris—wanted me to go out of town. When he suggested it, for a minute I thought, I’ll go. I’ll get on a plane and go down to, I don’t know, Mazatlán, and when I come back this will all be over and my life will be as neat and tidy as it used to be.” She paused and met Logan’s quiet, patient gaze. “I really detest myself for that.”

  “Don’t you consider it a normal reaction to the stress of the situation?”

  “For a patient,” she said, and smiled. “Not for me.”

  “There is such a thing as overachievement, Tess.”

  “I don’t smoke. I’m a very light drinker.” She came back to sit. “I figure I’m entitled to a vice.”

  “I don’t have sex,” Logan said contemplatively. “I suppose that’s why I feel entitled to smoke and drink.” He looked back, pleased that she seemed more at ease. Confession, he knew well, was good for the soul. “So you’re staying in Georgetown and cooperating with the police. How do you feel about that?”

  “Nervous,” she told him immediately. “It’s an uneasy feeling to know someone’s watching you all the time. I don’t mean just—” Shaking her head, she broke off. “I have such a difficult time knowing what to call him.”

  “Most people would call him a killer.”

  “Yes, but he’s also a victim. In any case, it’s not just knowing he might be watching that unnerves me. It’s knowing the police are. At the same time I feel satisfied that it’s the right thing. I didn’t cut and run. I want to help this man. It’s become very important to me to help him. In the dream, when I was faced with him I fell apart. Therefore I failed him and myself. I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “No, I don’t think you will.” Logan picked up his letter opener, running the hilt through his hands. It was old and a bit tacky, a souvenir from a trip to Ireland during his youth. He was fond of it, as he was of many foolish things. Though he didn’t consider Tess foolish, he was becoming fond of her as well. “Tess, I hope you don’t take offense if I suggest that after all this is over, you do get away for a while. Stress and overwork can break even the strongest of us.”

  “I won’t take offense, but I might take it as doctor’s orders.”

  “Good girl. Tell me, how is Ben?” When she gave him a blank stare, he smiled. “Oh, come, even a priest can smell romance in the air.”

  “I suppose you could say Ben is another problem.”

  “Romance is supposed to be a problem.” He put the letter opener down. “Are you calling the shots this time, Tess?”

  “It doesn’t seem as though either of us is. We’re just fumbling around. He—I think we care for each other a great deal. We just haven’t gotten around to trusting each other yet.”

  “Trust takes time if it’s going to be solid. I’ve had a couple of professional discussions with him, and one rather drunken meeting at a little bar downtown.”

  “Oh, really? He didn’t mention it.”

  “My dear, a man doesn’t like to mention he got drunk with a priest. In any case, would you like my opinion of Detective Paris?”

  “Yes, I think I would.”

  “I’d say he’s a very good man, dependable. The kind of man who probably calls his mother once a month even when he’d rather not. Men like Ben bend rules but very rarely break them, because they appreciate structure, they understand the concept of law. There’s an anger in him he keeps well buried. He didn’t give up the Church because of laziness, but because he found too many flaws. He gave up the Church, Tess, my dear, but he’s Catholic right down to his toes.” Tim sat back, pleased with himself. “Sixty-second analysis is my speciality.”

  “I believe it.” She pulled a file out of her briefcase. “I hope you have as much luck with this. I cleared it with Captain Harris. This is my updated report. You’ll also find the transcripts of my phone calls. I’d appreciate a miracle.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks for listening.”

  “Any time.” He rose to go to the door with her. “Tess, if you have any more nightmares, give me a call. It never hurts to ask for a little help.”

  “Where have I heard that before?”

  Logan watched her go through the outer office before he closed the door.

  He watched her exit the building. It was dangerous to follow her, but he knew the time for caution was almost over. She paused by her car, looking for her keys. Her head was bent, as if in prayer. The need billowed up inside him until his head rang. Groping, he found the white silk in his coat pocket. Cool, soft. It steadied him. Tess pushed the key into the lock.

  If he was quick enough, sure enough, it could be over in minutes. His fingers clutched and unclutched on the amice while his heart thudded in his throat. A few forgotten leaves, dry as dust, rustled around her ankles. He saw the wind blow wisps of hair around her face. She looked troubled. Soon, very soon, she would be at peace. They would all be at peace.

  He watched her get into her car, heard the door close, then the sound of the engine. A puff of smoke spurted out of the tailpipe. The car made a gentle sweep of the parking area, then turned onto the road.

  He waited until the police car made the turn before he went to his own car. She would go to her office now, and he would continue the vigil. The moment hadn’t arrived. There was still time to pray for her. And himself.

  Tess hung up the phone, leaned back in her chair, and shut her eyes. She was batting about .500. In her game, that wasn’t nearly good enough.

  Joey Higgins. How could she treat the boy if she couldn’t talk to him? His mother had taken a stand. Joey was no longer drinking, therefore, Joey was fine and no longer needed the embarrassment of a psychiatrist. It had been a painful and ultimately fruitless conversation. She had one more shot. She had to make it good.

  Leaning forward, Tess buzzed her secretary. “Kate, how much time do I have before the next appointment?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “All right. Please get Donald Monroe on the line for me.”

  “Right away.”

  While she waited, Tess looked over Joey’s file. Their last
session remained very clear in her mind.

  “Dying’s not such a big deal.”

  “Why do you say that, Joey?”

  “ ’Cause it’s not. People are always dying. You’re supposed to.”

  “Death’s inevitable, but that doesn’t make it an answer. Even very old people, very sick people, cling to life because it’s precious.”

  “People say when someone dies, they’re at peace.”

  “Yes, and most of us believe there is something after life. But each of us is here for a reason. Our life is a gift, not always easy, certainly not always perfect. Making it better for ourselves and for the people around us takes some effort. What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

  He gave her a blank look. “Spaghetti, I guess.”

  “Meat balls or meat sauce?”

  The smile was quick, but it was there. “Meat balls.”

  “Suppose you’d never tasted spaghetti and meat balls. The sky would probably still be blue, Christmas would still come once a year, but you’d be missing something pretty terrific. And if you weren’t here, say you’d never been born, we’d still have the sky and Christmas, but something pretty terrific would be missing.”

  Her buzzer brought her back to the present. “Mr. Monroe on one.”

  “Thank you, Kate. Mr. Monroe.”

  “Dr. Court. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, Mr. Monroe, I feel there’s a big problem. I’m strongly opposed to Joey withdrawing from treatment.”

  “Withdrawing? What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Monroe, are you aware that Joey missed his last session?”

  There was a pause before she caught just a whisper of a weary sigh. “No. I suppose he decided to take off on his own. I’ll discuss it with Lois.”

  “Mr. Monroe, I’ve already spoken to your wife. She’s decided to take Joey out of therapy. I take it you weren’t informed.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Another pause, then he drew a long breath. “Dr. Court, Lois wants Joey to resume a normal life, and he does seem a great deal better. We told him about the baby, and his reaction was encouraging. He’s going to help me paint the nursery.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Monroe. My feeling is, however, that he’s far from ready to pull out of therapy. In fact, I still believe he would be helped a great deal by some time in the clinic we discussed.”

  “Lois is completely opposed to the clinic. I’m sorry, Dr. Court, and I do appreciate your concern, but I have to back her on this.”

  Anger surged, barely controlled. Couldn’t he see it was the boy he had to back up? That they both had to back up? “I understand that you feel you should show Joey a united front. But, Mr. Monroe, I can’t stress enough how vital it is for Joey to continue to receive consistent professional help.”

  “And, Dr. Court, there’s also the risk of overanalyzing. Joey isn’t drinking, he isn’t hanging around with the same crowd he was when he was drinking. He hasn’t even mentioned his father in two weeks.”

  The last statement had alarm bells ringing in her head. “The fact that he hasn’t mentioned his father only means he’s repressing his feelings. His emotional state at this point is very tenuous. Can you understand, when there is little self-esteem, suicide becomes almost easy? I’m afraid—no, I’m terrified of what he might do.”

  “Dr. Court, I can’t help but think you’re overreacting.”

  “I promise you, I’m not. Mr. Monroe, I don’t want to see Joey become a statistic. What I want, more than anything, is for his therapy to stop, when he’s ready. It’s both my professional opinion and my gut instinct that he’s not.”

  “I’ll see if I can convince Lois to bring him back for another session.” But even as he said it, Tess recognized the dismissal. Some other boy might slash his wrists or swallow a bottle of pills, but not Joey.

  “Mr. Monroe, has anyone asked Joey if he wants to continue seeing me?”

  “Dr. Court, I can only promise to look into this.” Impatience came through now, with a trace of annoyance. “I’ll use whatever influence I have to see that Joey comes back for at least one more session. I think you’ll see for yourself how much better he is. You’ve been very helpful, Doctor, but if we feel Joey is well, then the sessions should be stopped.”

  “Please, before you do anything, would you get a second opinion? Perhaps you’re right not to take my word for it. I can recommend several excellent psychiatrists in the area.”

  “I’ll talk to Lois. We’ll consider it. Thank you, Dr. Court, I know you’ve helped Joey a great deal.”

  Not enough, she thought as the connection broke. Not nearly enough.

  “Dr. Court. Mr. Grossman is here.”

  “All right, Kate. Send him in.” She took Joey’s file, but didn’t put it away. Instead she set it aside on her desk, within easy reach.

  It was nearly five when the last patient left for the day. Kate stuck her head in the door. “Dr. Court, Mr. Scott didn’t schedule his next appointment.”

  “He doesn’t need one.”

  “Really?” Kate relaxed against the door. “You did good work there, Dr. Court.”

  “I like to think so. You can take his file out of current patients.”

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  “Do it tomorrow, Kate. If you hurry you can get out of here exactly one minute early.”

  “Watch me. Good night, Dr. Court.”

  “Good night, Kate.” When the phone rang she reached for it herself. “I’ve got it. Go on home, Kate.” With her hand on the receiver, she took a long breath. “Dr. Court.”

  “Hi, Doc.”

  “Ben.” A layer of tension dissolved. She heard background noises of phones, voices, and typewriters. “Still at work?”

  “Yeah. I wanted you to know I’d be a while yet.”

  “You sound tired. Did something happen?”

  He thought of the day he’d put in and the stench he wasn’t sure would ever wash off his skin. “It’s been a long one. Look, why don’t I pick up some pizza or something? Things should be wrapped up here in another hour or so.”

  “Okay. Ben, I’m a good listener.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Go straight home and lock the door.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See you later, smartass.”

  It wasn’t until she hung up that Tess realized how quiet the office was. Normally she would have appreciated an hour in the evening to herself. Her desk could be put in order, paperwork could be finished up. Now the quiet seemed too close and too thick. Calling herself a fool, she picked up the Scott file to close it out. Success was satisfying.

  She took the files and tapes from her late-afternoon patients and locked them away. Joey Higgins’s file remained on her desk. Knowing she was spinning her wheels, Tess put it in her briefcase to take home.

  Three times she caught herself looking toward her door with her pulse throbbing.

  Ridiculous. Determined not to be a fool, she checked the next day’s appointments. There were two policemen outside, she reminded herself, and one in the lobby. She was perfectly safe.

  But each time she heard the elevator hum in the hall outside, she felt a jolt.

  If she went home now, the apartment would be empty. She didn’t want to face solitude there now, not now that she was sharing the apartment with Ben.

  What was she getting into? Sighing, she began to gather the rest of her things. She was over her head with Ben Paris. Just how did the eminent Dr. Court deal with falling in love? Very poorly, she decided as she went to the closet for her coat.

  If it were spring, she’d have an excuse for daydreaming and smiling at nothing in particular. Smart people fell in love in spring, she thought, when everything was fresh and seemed as though it would stay that way.

  She stopped at the window. The trees that marched along the street in front of the buildings were dark and naked. What patches of grass could be seen were already yellowed and tired. People huddled inside their coats, heads bowed again
st the wind. It wasn’t spring, she thought, feeling foolish. And everyone’s hurrying home.

  Then she saw him. He stood very still in his black coat, just in back of a group of young trees. Her breath caught. Her knees trembled. Watching—he was waiting and watching. Instinctively, she swung around for the phone, grabbing it from her desk. She’d call downstairs, she thought as she began to punch buttons. She’d call and tell the police that he was outside, watching. Then she’d go down too. She’d go because she’d promised herself that much.

  But when she turned back to look, he was gone.

  She stood there a moment, the phone in her hand, the number half dialed. He was gone.

  Just someone on his way home, Tess told herself. A doctor or lawyer or bank executive walking home to keep fit. She forced herself to walk back to her desk and calmly replace the phone. She was jumping at shadows. Because her legs were still unsteady, she sat on the edge of the desk. Layer by layer she rebuilt control.

  Diagnosis, acute paranoia.

  Prescription, hot bath and quiet evening with Ben Paris.

  Feeling better, she drew on her cashmere coat, hefted her briefcase, and tossed her purse strap over her shoulder. After locking her office, she turned and saw the knob on the reception-area door turn.

  The keys in her hand slipped out of nerveless fingers. She took a step back into the door she’d just locked. The door opened an inch. The scream backed up in her throat, bubbling hot. Frozen, she stared as the door opened a bit more. There was no maze to run through, no place to go. She took a deep breath, knowing she was on her own.

  “Anybody home?”

  “Oh, Jesus, Frank.” Her knees felt like butter as she braced herself against her office door. “What are you doing sneaking around the halls?”

  “I was walking down to the elevator and saw the light under your door.” He smiled, delighted to find her alone. “Don’t tell me you’re taking work home again, Tess.” He stepped inside, strategically closing the outer door at his back.