He stopped abruptly, realizing that the top two buttons of her shirt had become unfastened while she danced. He couldn’t help noticing the lace trim of her soft pink bra and a hint of cleavage. He felt a rush of excitement mixed with inexplicable shyness race through his body.
“Eh . . . Dr. Clayton . . . your shirt . . .”
“Oops!” She turned around to button up. When she turned back to him, he was surprised to see no sign of embarrassment in her face. Instead, there was a mischievous tone in her voice when she said, “I flash people on purpose. Like I said, ‘whatever it takes to cheer up my patients!’”
Richard laughed.
As they made their way to a table and sat together, she talked about her dance lessons as a little girl—her only chance to be physical and move in her “perfect little lady” upbringing. He talked about his childhood, which was opposite of hers, filled with sports and lacking any exposure to arts. He found himself sharing about his attempt to take guitar lessons as a teenager. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed that and how he later regretted quitting.
Time passed quickly as they chatted. They found out they shared a fascination for the ocean, and she got him talking about his passion for surfing. Pessimist friends had warned him he was too old to pick up the sport, and he was proud of having proven them wrong. She complimented his tan and his wide swimmer’s shoulders, and he found himself flattered to the point of shyness, delighted by the thought that she’d been paying attention to him. Who was this starry-eyed man he couldn’t recognize?
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Something was different tonight. Maybe it was her relaxed attitude from being off duty. Maybe it was his knowledge that she was no longer a suspect and he was now off duty. If he didn’t know that the punch was alcohol-free, he would’ve thought they were both drunk. She was smiling more widely than usual, making him laugh and touching his arm while talking. He was bewitched by the stranger in front of him. She wasn’t the serious doctor he knew, but she also wasn’t the eye-candy he used to contemplate from afar. She was a woman. A very interesting, very attractive woman.
She was telling him about her childhood beach excursions with her sister, when Latin beat music began. Gasping, she leapt up from the table. “This is one of my favorite songs! Let’s dance, Richard.”
Grabbing his hand, she tried to get him up from his chair. He pulled back. “Oh no, Joy. I’m a lousy dancer. I can shift my weight from one foot to the other to pretend I’m dancing to rock music; but in anything that takes more coordination than that, I’m lost.”
Joy kept pulling. “Come on, please! You’re not coming back tomorrow, and who knows if we’ll ever see each other again.”
Not feeling like debating that argument, he got up and followed her.
On the dance floor, they stood in front of each other, holding one hand. Richard shrugged, not knowing what to do. She led his free hand to her waist and put hers around his neck. His heart jumped.
He tried to move with her to the rhythm of the music, but her proximity was too much of a distraction, even if he hadn’t been dance-challenged.
Joy laughed. “Man, you weren’t kidding!”
“I warned you.”
“This doesn’t make sense. You’re a surfer and an athlete. You must have plenty of balance and coordination. Why can’t you dance?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t.”
Joy stopped and looked at him, her right hand on her chin and the left hand holding her right elbow. “I think I know what’s going on. You’re trying to dance with your left brain.”
“What?” That was the weirdest justification for poor dancing he’d ever heard.
She explained, “Your dominant hemisphere, the intellectual side of your brain. Dancing is an activity that needs to start in the right brain, like any form of art.”
Richard stared at her, puzzled.
“Okay, let’s try this,” she said. “Close your eyes.”
He obeyed.
“Listen to the music. Feel the music. Feel the music entering your ears and spreading through your whole body like a tingling.”
Richard wasn’t sure where this was going, but he did as she said.
“Now, keep feeling the music and evoke the state of mind you used to be in when you played your guitar years ago.”
It had been a long time, but now he remembered the feeling of peace that playing used to bring him. He felt transported back in time.
“Now, don’t think about it,” he heard Joy say. “Don’t plan anything. Just feel the beat of the drum and follow it.”
She positioned their arms again, and they started moving to the music. Noticing an improvement, he opened his eyes. Soon, they adjusted to each other, and the process felt effortless. It helped that she was great at following his lead. He felt so comfortable that he didn’t try to persuade her to stop when the song finished and another piece started.
As they danced to the second piece in its entirety, he was amazed. He was far from being as good as she was, but he was doing what he’d never been able to do before.
The second song came to an end. Raising his arms, he shook his head. “Joy, did you hypnotize me or something?”
Laughing, she hugged him.
His body tensed. For a second, he resisted her, but it was a lost cause. Giving in, he embraced her and lost himself in the familiar feeling of softness and warmth. It was every bit as delicious as it had been before, but this time there was something new. The usual sensation of feeling her soul came with a new intense awareness of her body. Her breasts against his chest, his hands touching her back and waist, her agitated breathing, the beating of her heart, her smell now arousing him instead of soothing him. He hungered for so much more than a hug.
What have you done to me, Carl Andrews? Now I can’t get her out of my mind.
* * *
At the end of the party, Richard insisted on walking Joy to her car in the dark, almost-empty parking lot.
Unlocking the car door with the remote, she turned to look at him with a sad smile. “Well, Richard, I guess this is goodbye.”
He took her hand. “Please promise me you won’t get run over by a car crossing the street the minute I’m not there to watch you.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I have a very efficient guardian angel. If it didn’t seem like it lately, it’s because . . . I think she took a few days off while you were here, knowing you had it all under control.”
He chuckled, but there was no joy in his voice. “Trust me. I’m no angel.”
Putting her hand on his shoulder, she softly said, “I disagree.”
They hugged. This time the hug was sad, tight, and long. Each time she tried to break the embrace, he resisted it. She had to push him softly to finally get out of his arms.
He let her move away from his chest but still held her arms. He looked at her with intensity, first at her eyes and then at her lips. He didn’t stop to think. Holding her head, he slowly leaned down and kissed her.
Time stopped. Her lips tasted of cherry and were exactly as soft and warm as he’d imagined—like in his dream. The déjà vu was so strong it was frightening. After fantasizing for months about that mouth, he’d imagined the experience would be an explosion of lust and desire, but there was something holding him back. Something he’d never experienced before in a kiss.
It was tenderness.
He’d wonder later on how so many thoughts could’ve crossed his mind in such a short time. He felt her relax in his arms. For a split second, he felt her lips parting, giving in to the kiss, and felt the distant murmur of an upcoming avalanche of passion starting to rise in him.
And it was over.
Freeing herself from his hands, she walked a few steps away. “Well, it’s getting late. Have a good night.”
Her breathlessness didn’t escape his attention. He could hardly believe it. Even now, she was trying to pretend that nothing had happened. As she opened her car door to get in, he held her arm.
“
How about getting dinner this weekend?”
Joy was obviously shaken. “Uh . . . dinner? That’s not possible. I . . . have to take care of my children.”
He spoke slowly. “That’s what babysitters are for, like tonight.”
She was having a hard time pretending to be calm. “But, if we had dinner, that could be misinterpreted as if we were dating; and that’s obviously not possible.”
Richard felt as if he’d been slapped. “Can you explain to me why it’s so obviously not possible?”
“Well, in the first place, because you have a girlfriend, Hailey.”
Richard was startled. He’d completely forgotten about his fictional character’s girlfriend. He shook his head. “Hailey and I . . . our relationship is not exclusive.” The words that never bothered him before made him feel dirty after having kissed Joy.
“And second,” she interrupted him, “because I have strict rules, and I don’t go out with patients or their relatives.”
Frowning, Richard glared at her. “I’m not your patient.”
“But Nana is.”
He gasped. “Nana’s my . . . ex-girlfriend’s aunt. That’s not a relative!”
“Blood ties or not, you’re family to her.”
Richard’s frustration was turning into anger. He knew she was making excuses not to go out with him. He felt the blood rush to his face and the rage building in his chest, but he decided to avoid being rude.
Finally, he simply said, “Good night, Joy.”
He walked away without turning back, got in his car, and drove away speeding.
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Trained in cue reading, he’d never misinterpreted a woman’s signals. He could’ve sworn she was into him.
In spite of his undercover persona, tonight he’d shown more of his real self to her than to any woman before. He’d exposed his soul to her, and she had rejected him. Apparently, she didn’t think he was good enough for her.
Every internal put-down voice he’d ever repressed rose at once.
You’re white trash. You’re a slacker. You’re an impostor.
He should have never listened to Carl.
How could you be so stupid to believe that a rich, fancy doctor would ever go for a broke, low-class man like you? She doesn’t even know you’re a federal agent. For her, you’re nothing but a simple cop.
Transferring his anger from himself to her brought faint relief. Using the car’s Bluetooth, he dialed Samuel’s number. The moment Samuel picked up, he rushed to talk.
“Sam, I changed my mind. I want you to officially put me in charge of the O’Hara case.”
On the other side of the line, Samuel chuckled. “I have news for you, my friend. You’ve always been in charge. I never took your name off as case agent.”
“Good.”
With a quick goodbye, Richard disconnected the call.
It was decided. He’d solve the O’Hara case if it was the last thing he’d do. He’d do it to get as far as he could in his career, and he’d become somebody.
But he’d also do it as his revenge. If anything, to see the shock on Joy Clayton’s face the day she realized who the man she’d rejected really was.
Chapter 20
Richard sat on a garden bench at the psychiatric hospital in front of Laura Bonas. Wearing the hospital uniform with her hair a mess, she looked more insane than ever. She munched on a slice of chocolate cake, and chocolate frosting smudged her mouth and face.
Sighing, he thought once more how pathetic his life as an investigator was turning out to be. He’d wasted months investigating a woman who, in the end, had been exonerated. Now, for the two months since he left her, he’d been following the track of a sect he wasn’t even sure existed.
Talk about being stuck at a dead end. His best hope to track down O’Hara’s murderers was to learn about them by convincing his elusive Master, Carl, to give him his book of teachings. But all Carl did in their frequent meetings was probe him about childhood memories. Richard now feared that those were nothing but a trick to keep him distracted. Lately, in a desperate attempt to get information from another source, he was visiting Laura Bonas. How much lower could he fall?
She extended her plate to him. “Would you like some cake?”
He shook his head. “Chocolate goes straight to my waist line.”
Licking her spoon, she muttered, “You know that’s not true. They have made you believe it is.”
“They? Who are they?”
“Everybody, the consensus reality.”
“Really?”
Her face twitched. “Yes. They’ve told you so many times that when you eat chocolate you gain weight that you end up believing it, but it’s not true. What makes you gain weight is really your thoughts.”
Richard made an effort not to laugh. “So, my thoughts are what makes me gain weight. How do you explain that I always gain weight when I start having sweets?”
“Because you’re conditioned now. Each time you eat sweets, you start worrying that it’s going to make you gain weight, so you think about gaining weight and—voila! You do. The real reason people have weight problems is because they have thoughts about fatness. I’ve learned my lesson. I eat anything I want and control my weight by keeping my mind full of thoughts about slenderness.”
Her face twitched again, and she slapped it. “I’m sorry about my face, Mr. Fields. It’s a side effect of this new antipsychotic medication they have me on here. I wonder why they insist on me taking all these pills.”
He nodded. “I wonder the same. Listen, Ms. Bonas, are you sure you’ve never seen this?” He showed her the picture of the Lords of the Universe coin.
“If I had, I’d be wearing it right now. That’s one stylish pendant. I wonder if they sell matching earrings too.”
Rubbing his forehead, Richard wondered again what he was doing there.
She noticed his disappointment. “Poor Mr. Fields, you look exhausted. I wish I could help you more.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I am tired. You have no idea how many people I’ve interviewed in the past weeks.”
Lowering her voice, she said, “Mr. Fields, you know that I’m a psychic, right?”
Resigned, he sighed. “You mentioned it before.”
“I sense that you already met the murderer you’re looking for and missed him or her. You should go back to the people you already interviewed.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. For some reason, lately, he was more receptive to Bonas’s illogical thinking. “What makes you say that?”
“I can’t explain it; but in part, it’s because it’s like you have it written all over your face . . . a sign that says: I missed something I’ve been searching for all my life.”
He gaped at her.
“I’ve seen the change in you over the past couple of months. Your migraines are back, your heartburn’s acting up, your mood is horrible. Your vibrational alignment is lost.”
Richard didn’t answer. Narrowing her eyes, she gasped. “Oh! I see there’s something else.” She shook her head. “That woman hit you hard, huh?”
He was astonished. She looked at him with compassion. “Don’t take it out on her for pushing you away, Mr. Fields. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with her. It’s always like that.”
Richard was speechless. The noise of his cell phone brought him back. It was Keith.
“Richard, come right away. There’s been a murder attempt against Dr. Josh Levenstein.”
* * *
Richard stepped down from his SUV and rushed through the Medical Office Complex parking lot. Several police cars were already there.
He entered the building, feeling his heart pounding. This was the moment he’d feared for months. Another victim had been attacked, and he blamed himself for how painfully slow his investigation was progressing. He wished he could beat himself up.
Keith, already waiting for him in the lobby, signaled Richard to follow him. Richard held h
is breath as they entered Dr. Levenstein’s office.
To his surprise, he didn’t find the man lying on the floor unconscious or looking severely injured. The doctor paced around the office with a gesture of exasperation, looking like his usual megalomaniac self and yelling at a police officer.
“This is unacceptable! I can’t believe how useless you people are. If anything happens to me, I’m going to sue you all!”
Richard recovered from his confusion in time to look at what Keith was showing him. It was a brick with a note taped to it reading: “You’re going to hell.”
Richard sighed deeply, relieved. “Do you call that a murder attempt?”
Levenstein turned to Richard, livid with rage. “Of course I do! That thing crashed against my windshield while I was driving! If it had hit my head, I’d be dead by now! I demand that my protection be doubled! I demand that you get to the bottom of this!”
Richard looked at the brick silently. Keith asked, “What do you think, Richard?”
“I doubt that this has anything to do with us. This is too unsophisticated to have been executed by the LOTU—not their style.”
“Don’t you think this may mean they’re growing desperate and being more obvious?”
“No. I think it’s more likely there are other people around here who hate the doctor. Have the note checked for fingerprints and handwriting analysis, and we’ll take it from there.”
Keith walked out of the office, leaving Richard alone with Dr. Levenstein. The man was still beyond himself.
“I am warning you . . . whatever your name is. If anything happens to me or my family, I’m going to sue you!”
Richard smiled. He got a kick out of the fact that no matter how many times he ran into the man, he never seemed to have any recollection of who he was or if he’d seen him before. It was as if the man thought there was nothing in the world outside of himself important enough to notice.
At that moment, one of his multiple secretaries walked in. “Dr. Levenstein, this patient says you saw him in the hospital and started him on chemo, and he now needs to see you as soon as possible because he’s due for the next dose. You are booked the whole week. Where do you want me to put him?”
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