‘And I’ve got biscuits and cheese, and other nibbly things,’ Sarah added. She’d walked on ahead and was waiting at the top of the steps. ‘We’ll see you shortly.’
When Max joined her, she walked with him along the veranda to the next door.
‘I’m in the third, and I believe you’re in here. This should be cosy! Not to mention fun!’
He heard a gurgle of laughter in her voice, and saw a glint of amusement in her eyes.
If he was so easy for a stranger to read, what had happened to the ‘calm, remote scientist’ image he thought he promoted?
CHAPTER TWO
SHOT to pieces by one brief sighting of Ginny Willis, that’s what! Max admitted gloomily to himself a little later.
They were sitting in her flat, Sarah’s ‘nibbles’ on a plate on the coffee-table and something delicious simmering on the stove in the kitchen.
‘It’s only a vegetable curry,’ Ginny had told him when he’d commented on the savoury aroma earlier. ‘Easy to throw together, and rice is great for making things stretch.’
She was so darned composed he wanted to shake her. Had the fierce blaze of emotion which had flared between them six years ago died completely? Was nothing rising from the ashes within her but the irritation of smoke?
That’s probably all there is, he decided gloomily.
Ginny perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. She’d used the excuse of having to stay close to the kitchen to remove herself from Max’s immediate ambit but, given the behaviour of her body, Antarctica wouldn’t have been far enough away.
‘Did you get through to your family?’ she asked Sarah—mainly to avoid the questions she wanted to ask Max.
Sarah smiled as if ‘getting through to her family’ had brought her great pleasure.
‘I phoned Mum and Dad and spoke to James.’ She turned to Max. ‘He’s my toddler,’ she explained. ‘He and I were to spend a fortnight with my parents while Tony was down south at a conference, then this locum came up and as Mum and Dad live on the coast only an hour’s drive away, they practically forced me into taking it. I think they wanted James all to themselves.’
Max made a polite noise but the conversation died. Ginny, as hostess, felt obliged to restart it.
‘That’s Sarah sorted, so what are you doing here?’ she asked Max. ‘And I’d like the truth please, Max, not some carefully woven fantasy.’
‘I’m studying stress in both patients and staff in accident and emergency facilities.’
His voice, with its soft overlying burr of an American accent, seemed to stroke her skin, so she had to fight against its insidious effect, fight to appear normal and unaffected by it—or his presence. His eyes, a gold-flecked brown, looked into hers, holding her gaze so steadily she knew there had to be more to this job than he’d said. It was as if he were daring her to disbelieve him.
‘There’d be far more stress in the A and E department of any of the major city hospitals, so why choose a regional city like Ellison?’
‘It’s a six-month contract. I’m doing the big ones as well,’ he said, acknowledging her challenge with a little nod. But it was the flicker of a smile in his eyes that made her knees tremble—the suggestion of something shared between the two of them.
Though what had they shared?
Friendship, certainly. A bond forged by an inexplicable affinity that happened rarely when two people met. The beginning of something she’d foolishly thought would last for ever and he, apparently, had seen as just another short diversion on his path through life.
Trembling knees reminded her of the kisses she’d pressed on him as she’d proclaimed—again and again, if she remembered rightly—her undying love.
The embarrassment such memories always brought prickled beneath the surface of her skin, but the other stuff happening inside her was even more disturbing. And proved her right to a certain extent! The physical attraction had certainly survived.
But was attraction love?
And could she get involved with him, when he’d hurt her so badly once before?
Get involved? Cynical laughter sounded in her head—as if a man like Max would still be unattached!
As if he’d still be attracted to her!
If he ever had been…
‘To what end?’ Sarah asked, which was just as well because right now Ginny was worrying too much about the physical manifestations of attraction—like her trembling knees and muddled thoughts—to be able to pursue her hostess duties in maintaining the conversation.
‘Reduction—what else?’ Max answered so easily Ginny realised his meeting up with her, while surprising him, couldn’t possibly be throwing his body into the kind of chaos she was experiencing.
‘Mainly in the larger facilities where I believe staff burn out and patient complaints are far more of a problem,’ he continued. ‘Would it be better to split them—to have two separate departments instead of one? If regional hospitals like Ellison show that a smaller facility works better, with less stress, I’d have to decide why, then see if that factor could be made to work in another setting.’
Ginny weighed up all the words and found they didn’t quite balance.
‘So, where did you start this study?’ she asked.
She saw the slight tightening of his lips, and remembered, even after six years, it was a dead give-away that he was about to be evasive.
‘Truth time, Max,’ she added. ‘You’re with friends.’
He looked towards her and his eyebrows lifted, just slightly.
‘Am I?’
Pain that he could even ask stabbed into her chest and she pressed her hand towards the ache, slid off her stool and walked into the kitchen to pretend to fuss over the food. His footsteps told her he’d followed her.
‘I’m sorry, Ginny. That was unforgivable. I’d hoped to keep the secondary situation separate but I must be transparent.’ He spoke crossly but the hand he rested on her shoulder was as gentle as the brush of a moth’s wing.
‘First Sarah sussed me out, now you’ve pinned me to the spot.’
He was close behind her and she imagined she could feel the shape of his body, although a couple of inches of air still separated them.
‘The dinner’s ready. Maybe, while we eat, you can tell us whatever you can. It’s not as if we want you divulging state secrets here.’
She moved away, but he followed, spreading the three plates she’d set out earlier and opening the cutlery drawer.
‘Forks only?’ he asked, making himself at home in her kitchen.
‘Yes!’ The word came out more sharply than she’d intended, because she knew the longer he stayed in here the more impossible it would be for her to eradicate the memory of his presence later. Even when he wasn’t there, she’d see him, feel him, sense a closeness. It had happened six years ago, this sensation of him being with her in the spaces they’d briefly shared, and, judging by the way her body was reacting to him tonight, nothing had changed to prevent it happening again.
‘There’s some mango chutney in the fridge—you could put that on the table as well.’
As he turned to open the refrigerator door, then bent his lean frame to peer into the coolness, she gave in to impulse—desire—to study his body, to relearn the configuration, the easy elegance of line and movement. He wasn’t a bodybuilder type, but he had muscles honed by his pastimes of rowing and wind-surfing, muscles that moved his lanky frame with, to her eyes, an exceptional grace.
‘This?’ he asked, straightening up in time to catch her watching him.
She nodded to indicate he’d found the right jar, and turned her back, determined to stop thinking of Max the man and consider Max the scientist.
Consider what he was doing here.
Temporarily!
She spooned rice onto the three plates, added generous servings of the spicy curry, then shoved the plates across the counter. No way was she going to ask again about his real purpose at Ellison, but apparently Sarah had no su
ch qualms.
‘To put you in the picture, Ginny,’ Sarah said, when all three of them were sitting down, ‘Max has done some study overseas into the stress factors in serial killers, though I’m just as confused as you are over what he hopes to find out at Ellison General. Only one of the victims was connected to the hospital, isn’t that right?’
Ginny turned to Max, wanting him to reply—to explain—but he was attacking his meal with the single-mindedness of a man on the verge of starvation.
‘Come on,’ she prompted. ‘The food’s not that good.’
He looked up and grinned at her, making her heart flutter and her stomach do a cavorting thing not conducive to good digestion.
Neither was the fact he didn’t wear a wedding ring—not even a tell-tale band of pale coloured skin where one had been removed.
Though his marital state was none of her business!
‘I’m marshalling my thoughts. The state police wouldn’t need lie detectors if they had you two on the force. We’ve barely met—or re-met in the case of you and me, Ginny—and you’ve already shot my cover.’
‘We won’t tell a soul,’ Sarah said. Although she spoke in a joking manner, the look she sent Ginny suggested it was a promise.
‘Not a soul,’ Ginny concurred.
Max seemed to consider their pledges for a moment, then he smiled again.
‘Good, then I won’t have to shoot you after I tell you.’
He took another forkful of food, slipped it between lips which still gave Ginny tremors just looking at them, chewed slowly, then set down both plate and fork.
‘Ginny probably remembers I did my thesis for my master’s degree on stress factors,’ he said to Sarah. ‘In fact, I used her group for a number of small experiments.’
‘Purely to do with stress?’ Sarah teased, and Ginny found her cheeks heating for the first time in years. Twenty-six years old and still blushing! It was ridiculous.
Max saw the wave of colour wash beneath Ginny’s clear skin and felt again the stress that hadn’t formed part of his thesis. His own stress when he’d realised how attracted he’d been to a student in his charge.
Concentrate on the subject, he told himself, but his mind was still having trouble with ordinary functions, so concentration was a major effort.
‘Back in the States, I became involved with research into serial killers because all the prevailing wisdom suggested a stress factor in the perpetrator’s life usually triggered the first murder.’
‘And you were an expert on stress factors,’ Sarah put in.
‘I was trying to be,’ he replied, glancing from her to Ginny, who was pushing her meal around her plate as if the selection of the next mouthful was paramount in her mind.
So much for all those declarations that what she’d felt hadn’t been just physical attraction—that she’d feel the same way about him for ever!
‘But if you’re looking for stress factors in the murderer, what are you doing at the victim’s place of employment?’
Sarah’s question brought him back from contemplation of Ginny’s bent head, the graceful curve of neck and the pale, silky skin revealed when her hair swung forward.
‘Those stress triggers simply got me into it,’ he explained to Sarah, hoping he was conveying the right amount of professional demeanour even though in his mind he was contemplating the delights of a kiss pressed on that curve of neck, on a patch of skin right above the second cervical vertebra.
‘While a lot of research has been done into criminal profiling, particularly where a serial killer is suspected, unless a crime has bizarre characteristics or sexual undertones, the police don’t suspect they have a serial offender on their hands until several similar crimes have been committed. So, quite often, the profiler doesn’t come into it until fairly late in the piece.’
‘Too late for the victims by then, isn’t it?’ Ginny murmured.
‘Exactly,’ Max told her, refusing to be put off by the negative vibes she was emitting. ‘Which is why, a couple of months ago, I took part in a brainstorming session involved with looking at the crime from the victim’s side. Surely, it was argued, if we could learn more about the victims of violent crime, we might learn more about the offender, and perhaps, some way down the track, be able to predict possible targets.’
‘Really tricky in Ellison—just look for women with long dark hair!’
As the sarcasm bit, Max glanced towards Ginny.
‘Fair comment, but there could be more than that. And studying Isobel’s surroundings in more depth seemed the best place to start. After all, I hope to fit in better at a hospital than I would at a hairdressing salon or a department-store cosmetic counter, where the other victims worked.’
‘Even if one of the doctors tried to have you thrown out?’ Sarah teased.
Max acknowledged her remark with a quick grin but he was more attuned to Ginny. She’d given up all pretence at eating, and her mesmerising eyes were filled with pain and confusion.
‘Did you know Isobel well?’ he asked gently. ‘I know you worked with her, but were you close?’
She shrugged, as if she didn’t know how to answer. Or was she wondering how to admit she hadn’t known—liked—her colleague?
‘She hadn’t been in the A and E department long. She was young, a first-year resident, so we were just another experience for her, and not a particularly pleasant one at that. She never seemed entirely happy, but whether about her stint in A and E or medicine in general, I don’t know. Maybe she felt she’d chosen the wrong career—or perhaps she didn’t want a career at all. Maybe she was hankering to stay home and have a family but felt, having studied and qualified, she should at least do some work.’
‘But if you don’t like it, why bother? Especially if she didn’t need to work,’ Sarah said. ‘Her husband must be earning good money. He could have afforded to keep her.’
Max saw Ginny’s lips expand towards a smile. His heart leapt into overdrive as he waited for the full-blown effort to appear. But it remained little more than a fleeting grin—and a self-deprecating one at that.
‘She could have afforded to keep him,’ she said—to Sarah, not to him. ‘Her mother was a Courtney—the family owns half of western Queensland—and thanks to being the only girl in a family of boys, a doting grandmother left her a fortune in her own right. I guess she might have stuck to the job because of Paul—because she felt she should do it to please him—or because he expected it of her.’
Max found himself wondering about the murdered woman. Ginny didn’t sound too impressed by someone working to fulfil a husband’s expectations. Or was it the money? He could understand Ginny’s reservations if Isobel had put on airs and graces, made much of her money. A no-nonsense person, his Ginny—not that she was his Ginny.
And in six years she might have changed.
‘But as a person?’
Sarah asked the question and Max was pleased. It saved him pushing the subject. Saved him drifting too far into the past as well.
Ginny lifted her shoulders in an ‘I can’t explain’ kind of shrug.
‘As I said, I didn’t know her well. She was a good doctor, she worked hard, but she was a very reserved kind of person. Though she and Paul obviously had something good going for them—he was always popping in to see her.’
‘No wonder he’s so devastated,’ Sarah murmured, but Max was watching Ginny and noticed another small movement of discomfort in her shoulder region.
‘He’s not devastated?’ he asked, and received a quick glare of reproof.
‘Of course he is,’ Ginny said, defending the man with far more vigour than the conversation, to Max’s way of thinking, required. ‘But he was different. It was obvious he loved Isobel—I mean, he positively haunted the place while she was there. But he included others in his…happiness, I suppose is the word I want. He was friendly towards all the staff.’
You in particular? Max wondered, hoping the stab of pain he felt wasn’t anything as adolescent
as jealousy.
‘So you feel you knew him better than her?’
A quick frown told him she didn’t like the question but, being Ginny, she gave it careful consideration.
‘Only superficially,’ she said at last. ‘He’s that kind of man. You know, the type of person who always knows someone wherever he goes, the kind who can wave or nod to acquaintances all the way through an airport.’
It was an apt description, placing Paul Markham neatly into a slot in Max’s mind. Though he’d need to meet the man, and listen to other opinions, before he had a rounded picture of the bereaved spouse.
‘I still don’t see why you’re at Ellison.’ Ginny stood up and collected the plates as she spoke. ‘I’ve ice cream and that crackly chocolate sauce if either of you would like afters. Sarah?’
Had she added the offer to make the first remark seem inconsequential, or was his own confusion over meeting Ginny again making him over-analyse every word she spoke?
‘No sweets for me,’ he said, echoing Sarah’s refusal. ‘The curry was delicious and I’d hate to spoil the lingering taste with anything as mundane as ice cream.’
‘And you’d hate to answer in a straightforward way if you could scoot around a couple of detours and lose your listeners on the way.’ This time the smile did appear—flashing across Ginny’s face in a way that made him think of bright summer sunshine.
Be still, my foolish heart! The silly phrase echoed in his mind, and he really did need to get his heartbeats under control, but he rallied enough to smile right back at her.
‘I didn’t hear a question.’
She leaned against the kitchen bench and studied Max for a moment. She glanced at Sarah, then back at him again.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘There! That’s a question.’
How much could he tell her—tell either or both of them? If only his brain had been in better working order—if only he’d asked Brent about the limits of confidentiality!
He looked at Ginny and knew he couldn’t lie.
‘I’m here to do the stress study, but I started it at Ellison because of the murders. I’ve probably done more theoretical work on serial killings than anyone on the local police force, so I’ve taken on a consultancy role with them. I’m available if they want to ask me questions and being at the hospital, particularly being in the place where Isobel last worked, might give me some insights that will help the police somewhere along the track.’
A Woman Worth Waiting For Page 3