Shades of Passion

CHAPTER TWELVE

SIMON WALKED OUT TO his car but abruptly stopped. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t say what, exactly, but his gut was telling him not to leave. The few times he’d failed to listen to his gut had resulted in danger. Most recently, his gut had told him that Lana’s actions had put her in danger. It had told him to stay with her. Watch her. Protect her. He hadn’t done that. Instead, he’d let his pride and his anger affect him. He’d walked away from her, which had given her the opportunity to walk straight into a serial killer’s arms...

Shit. Thoughts like that didn’t support his comments to Mac, and what he’d thought was his honest belief, that he didn’t blame himself for Lana’s death. He wondered what Nina Whitaker would say about that. That he truly held himself responsible? Whatever her response would be, and however much it would anger him, he wasn’t going to ignore the unsettled feeling he was having now.

Doubling back to her front entrance, he knocked on the door. She didn’t answer. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. Frowning, he considered the possibilities. She could have hopped in the shower. Or more likely, stepped out onto the patio to take in her spectacular view.

He went around the side of the house. The backyard was a mess—piles of brick and earth, the place obviously undergoing some sort of landscaping. But she wasn’t on the patio. After hesitating briefly, he tested the small patio door next to the kitchen, and found it unlocked. Not smart of her but lucky for him. He inched it open and called out, “Nina. It’s Simon.”

Again, no answer.

Alarm crawled up his spine.

Where the hell had she gone?

“Nina?”

He stepped in. Kept calling her name as he checked one room after another. He didn’t draw his gun, but he was acutely aware of the weight of his off-duty piece in his pocket holster. He positioned his hand at the ready, prepared to use the weapon if he needed to.

In the living room, he startled a large tortoiseshell cat with large white rings around its eyes—like a clown face. The cat hissed, then dove under the couch. He scanned the area, noting the impressive main-floor kitchen. Next to the kitchen were two doorways, one leading to an informal dining area, the other leading to a huge pantry and food prep area that was as big as the kitchen and dining area in his own apartment. Everything was neat and tidy, but the airy rooms only served to highlight how little space one tiny female would occupy. He wondered if the sheer size of the house made her feel as lonely as he imagined it would.

He didn’t like the idea of her being lonely. Hated it, in fact. It just didn’t seem fair. She obviously had a huge heart and a tremendous amount of courage—the way she’d placed herself in front of Michael Callahan, protecting him despite Simon’s derision and aggression, spoke to that. Who protected her? Who brought her joy? Pleasure?

And what the hell business was that of his? His increasing obsession with her bothered him. It made him want to turn around and get the hell out of there. But then he remembered how cold her hand had been. How she’d been trembling. Almost as if she’d been scared. And how she’d obviously been trying to hide that from him.

He found the idea of her being scared even more disturbing than the idea of her being lonely.

He was heading toward what he figured was her bedroom when she stepped out, her gaze on a piece of paper. She must have caught sight of him from her peripheral vision because she glanced up. And screamed.

Simon held his hands out, palms up, surrender style. At the same time, he noted the look of wild fear in her eyes. She was wearing earphones and blasting music. Her fear was understandable given he’d startled her in her home. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d already been frightened before that. “Whoa. It’s just me.”

She ripped her earbuds out of her ears. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I’m sorry. I knocked. Called out. You didn’t hear me.”

“So you just decided to come inside?”

“I thought something was wrong.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. Just a feeling. Something told me you were in danger.”

It was quick, but he saw her expression flicker.

He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t too far off the mark. What’s going on, Nina?”

“Nothing.” But she shifted, unsuccessfully trying to hide the paper she was holding behind her.

“Don’t lie to me. What is it? Did you get bad news?”

She stared at him, trying to decide whether to trust him, then shrugged. “I got a note from someone who’s angry with me. It was a little disturbing.”

“By disturbing, do you mean threatening? Let me see it.”

She took two steps back. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a private communication.”

“By all means. Let’s protect the privacy of someone who’s threatening you. Damn it, there’s no patient here that you need to protect. And if someone’s frightened you, you shouldn’t be protecting him at all.”

“It isn’t so much what was said that frightened me as the fact that it was left on my doorstep. I—I don’t like knowing someone who’s angry with me knows where I live, especially since my house alarm is broken. But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You can’t know that. Let me see it. Please.”

He knew it was the please that finally did it. If he’d pushed, if he’d ordered, he had no doubt she’d do her best to keep the note away from him. As it was, she hesitated, sighed and then tried to hand him the note.

“Hold it out for me,” he said. “So I don’t get my prints on it.”

She did. Simon’s jaw clenched as he read it.

“Do you have a Ziploc bag you can put it in?”

She hesitated. Nodded. Quickly got an oversize plastic bag from the kitchen and put the letter inside. Only then did Simon take it from her.

“Do you know who left it for you?”

“No.” But again there was that slight hesitation.

“Doc?”

“I don’t know. I automatically thought of one person, but he’s on the other side of the nation. Or at least he should be.” She rubbed her forehead, then shook her head. “No. It can’t be him.”

“Him who?”

She opened her mouth. Shut it. “Nope. I’m not accusing a man of something like this when I don’t have proof that it’s him.”

“What if the proof is the fact that you end up hurt? Proof is the police’s job to find. Or maybe it’s just that all psychiatrists would rather risk their lives and the lives of other people to give dangerous criminals the benefit of the doubt.”

“So we’re back to your disdain for my job?”

He could have said they’d never left it, but he didn’t. “Nope. We’re here. With you scared. With someone threatening your life. And with you not willing to tell me about it. Yet you forget. We’re supposed to work together. Haven’t you considered the fact that someone threatening you might be a threat to me, as well? To your patients?”

She bit her lip, obviously taking what he said seriously. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell you. But I want your word you’re not going to go off half-cocked, hunting down someone who might have simply let his emotions get the better of him and written down something that he shouldn’t have. It doesn’t mean he has any intention of acting on it.”

“I promise not to go off half-cocked. I’m not much for half measures anyway. When I do something, if I ‘do it,’ I make sure I go in all the way.”

The sexual innuendo was unmistakable and deliberate on his part. At worst, he wanted to distract her; at best, he wanted to make her smile. The fact she didn’t smile let alone call him on his statement told him she really was scared. But she wasn’t stupid. She narrowed her eyes, searching his face for humor, and he was careful to keep his expression blank.

“Have a seat,” she finally said. “I have to get something, and then we’ll talk.”

* * *

NINA WENT INTO HER STUDY, shut the door and leaned back against it as she tried to get her racing heart to slow down. Simon had scared her, yes, but she was feeling off balance for another reason altogether. Because of the letter she’d received yes, but also because...well, she’d thought he was sexy before...

When he acted all firm and protective of her? Wow.

She’d been tempted to throw herself in his arms and gobble up all that manly strength and protection he was offering her. As much as that made her feminist ideals howl in shame, it was only natural to want to be taken care of at times. She knew that. She just couldn’t let herself give in to those feelings and actually rely on him. At least, not for anything more than his professional advice or protection.

She moved to the drawer where she kept the three cards she’d accumulated over the years. Again, she hesitated. She believed Beth’s father was essentially harmless, but finding the letter on her doorstep had been a deviation from his routine. It was troubling, and Simon was right. She might be willing to take chances with her own safety, but she couldn’t do that with others. It was best to show him the cards, maybe even let him ask a few questions, rather than be stupid or prideful about it. It might go a long way to showing him that she wasn’t careless or a complete bleeding heart. Go a long way to getting him to trust her. She wanted to help people, but she didn’t want to endanger herself, emotionally or physically, to do it. Since they’d be working together, it was important he know that.

She took a deep breath before walking toward the kitchen. She’d get more Ziploc bags. Put the cards inside before she gave them to—

She passed the living room and, at the sight in front of her, she stopped abruptly.

Simon Granger was sprawled out on her couch, his knees splayed casually open. One arm rested against the back of the couch, while the other encircled her cat, Six. It struck her how big he looked, how masculine against her chenille sofa, and next to her curved-leg coffee table and end tables. When he saw her, he straightened and she mentally shook herself. Rushing to the kitchen, she retrieved six of the largest Ziploc bags she had. One at a time, she placed each card and each envelope inside a separate bag, spreading each card open first so he could easily view both the outside and inside. As she did so, she was acutely aware of his gaze on her and the way her hands trembled slightly.

Finally, she sat next to him, taking care to keep several feet of breathing room between them.

“What’s its name?” Simon asked.

“What?”

“Your cat.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “Her name is Six.”

He nodded. “On account of her having six toes on her left hind leg.”

She let out a light laugh. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

“Nope,” he said.

“Well, I know it’s not the most original name, but it was better than the name the shelter gave her.”

“Which was?”

“Clownface. I just couldn’t do that to her.”

“Yep,” Simon said, grinning. “Six is such a better name.” His grin faded, though, when he glanced at the cards in her hand. “Come closer and let me see that,” he said, patting the empty cushion next to him. “And tell me about this threat.”

She hesitated, then shifted closer. His heat and solid strength washed over her. Comforted her. The relief almost made her dizzy. She was used to being by herself. To living in this great big house with no one for company but Six. It rarely bothered her and most of the time she enjoyed her independence.

But it was comforting to know she wasn’t entirely alone now. Not in this.

She hadn’t told anyone about the cards she received because she hadn’t wanted her past to play any role in her life in San Francisco. Maybe it was time to tell someone. And Simon obviously wanted to help. “Every year I get a card from a patient’s father. It marks the year of the patient’s death. She was a teenage girl named Elizabeth Davenport. Beth. She came to me after her mother died. She was suicidal. Suffered from acute depression and delusions. And despite my best efforts, she ended up killing herself.”

“That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

She nodded and held out the cards. “Her father blamed me. Quite publicly. He couldn’t tell reporters enough about how I’d screwed up and cost his daughter her life.”

“Did he ever try to hurt you? Physically?”

“One night he cornered me in a parking lot. He screamed at me. At one point, he grabbed my arm. But one of my colleagues chased him off. I never saw him again after that.”

“But you heard from him.”

“Yes. Three times. The third the most recent—the day you and I met. The third anniversary of Beth’s death. I—I didn’t really take it seriously. And I assumed that would be the last I’d hear from him. At least for another year.”

“Until you received the letter today.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence?” Her question sounded weak to her own ears. “Granted, it could be from Beth’s father, but it’s not consistent with the cards I’ve received. Plus, he’s always handwritten his notes. This one is typed.”

“He threatened you in the recent card he mailed you. Why not up the ante? Why not come here and prove he’s serious? That doesn’t sound like coincidence to me. It sounds like cold-blooded intent—at the very least, intent to scare you. And he obviously succeeded.”

He read over the three cards she’d handed him, his face darkening with each one. He picked up a pen and small pad of paper he’d placed on the coffee table. “What’s his name and where does he live?”

“Lester Davenport. He lived in Charleston, last I heard.”

“That’s where you lived before moving to San Francisco?”

“Yes, but I also lived in Seattle for a while before finally deciding on San Francisco.”

“And he found you in Seattle, too,” he said, noting the Seattle address on one of the envelopes he held. “Do you know how?”

“No, but I’m a licensed professional who works with the public. I imagine it wouldn’t be too difficult to search for psychiatric practices on the web. After all, you found out where I lived, right?”

“I have access to public records that a normal person doesn’t. You need to make an official complaint,” he said.

Her chest went tight. “I—I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not? Even if he didn’t threaten you with the letter, the cards are sufficient. Right now they’re just written threats, but someone with a vendetta will often escalate their behavior with no warning whatsoever. There’s a real threat of actual harm, and you need to take that seriously.”

“I do. I admit the letter I received this morning scared me—I’m still scared—but we don’t know that Lester Davenport left it. Even if he did, it doesn’t mean he’ll really hurt me. I met him before Beth killed herself. He brought her to me because he wanted to get her help. I honestly think he’s just a father in mourning. Beth was his only daughter and before she committed suicide, her mother died of cancer. Lester lost everything he loved in a matter of months. He’s stuck in the grief process. People say things when they’re hurt and grieving that they don’t mean. That they’d never say otherwise. I think he simply needs to vent, and I don’t want to take legal action because he acted rashly and end up causing more problems for him.”

She sounded almost desperate to make him believe her. And she knew why. Knew she was making excuses for Lester because she was also making excuses for her own father, the same man who in his grief had told Nina it was her fault Rachel had died.

Simon watched her carefully, as if aware something in her past was driving her to defend Lester Davenport. Hell, he could have been a therapist himself given the way he was studying her.

Finally, he said, “You know it’s him, Nina.”

She shook her head. Then somewhat contradicted the gesture by saying, “Maybe. Part of me might suspect it’s him. But I can’t know it. And neither can you.”

He grunted. Stood abruptly, which dislodged Six and caused her to prance away. “Will you at least let me check it out? Have the letter processed for fingerprints? Make some inquiries. Unofficially?”

Unofficially. That she could handle. And like he’d said—they’d be working together. He might not be thrilled by that fact, but he obviously took his job seriously and would feel compelled to look into the situation whether she gave him her permission or not. She was a witness and a potential victim, that was all. Just another part of the job for him. He was attracted to her, but that wasn’t the same as caring about her. After all, he’d told her flat out that he didn’t even like her. She had to remember that. “That’s fine. Just keep it off the books.”

He nodded, and tucked his pad and pen into his inside jacket pocket.

She stood, as well. “Thank you again.”

He stared at her. Then to her surprise, he stepped closer, raised his hand and lightly gripped her chin. “Thank you for confiding in me. Despite the issues we have between us, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She jerked at his words. His words negated her earlier thoughts. Made it sound like he really did care about her. Probably just more games to manipulate her and get what he wanted out of the shadow program, she thought. But she’d play along. “Are you always this straightforward?”

“Honestly? I’m usually not this talkative. Just ask anyone I work with. But when I do talk, yes, I try to be a straight shooter.”

Yes, that was more than apparent. She wondered if he knew how utterly attractive that made him. More attractive than he already was, which was obviously considerable.

She bit her lip.

She was already playing along. Now that her fear and worry about the letter had been dissipated slightly, she found all she wanted to do was luxuriate in this odd connection she felt to him. Despite the “issues” he’d referred to, he was a good cop. A good man. One who said he was attracted to her and one who’d already verbalized his utter certainty that, if they worked together as planned, they’d eventually end up “doing it.” Having sex. Sex she hadn’t had in a good long time. Sex she hadn’t wanted to have in a long time.

But that had obviously changed. Her body wanted sex. With this man. The sooner the better.

Of course, that couldn’t happen, but he’d already shown a propensity to flirt. To tease. Maybe he’d be willing to do it a little longer. Maybe flirting with him—maybe even kissing him—would stabilize and reinvigorate her as much as she’d been hoping her planned trip to the ocean would.

“So,” she said, reaching up to lightly trail her fingertips against the outer wrist of the hand he was touching her with. She liked the way his eyes immediately darkened. “Were you being honest when you said you’re attracted to me? When you said something happening between us is unavoidable?”

“Yeah. I was.” He frowned and pulled his hand away from her touch. Interesting. Despite having more than his fair share of chutzpah, was he actually scared of the very attraction he’d just copped to? Actually scared of little old her?

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a say,” he explained. “I think you’re attracted to me, too, but if you don’t want anything to happen, all you have to say is no and nothing will.”

“But you doubt my ability to say no?” She smiled slightly. “You’re very perceptive, Detective.”

He narrowed his eyes. Those same eyes that had caused her to wax so poetically in her own mind when Karen had asked about them. Steely gray, they should have been remote. Hard. Instead, they reminded her of velvet. And how much she loved the feel of velvet.

“Meaning?” As if against his better judgment, his hand slowly lifted again. Instead of cupping her chin this time, he cradled her cheek in his palm.

Her breath quickened and she moistened her lips. His lips parted slightly as he watched her.

“Meaning, we aren’t working together. Not yet. If ‘something’ is going to happen between us anyway, maybe—” When she paused, he swiped his thumb slowly against her lower lip. Automatically, she gasped at the pleasure that small touch brought her.

He shifted ever closer, brushing her body with his. “Maybe...what?”

“Maybe we should—grab the bull by the horns, so to speak.”

He smiled, not just with his mouth, but with his eyes. Eyes that were focused intently on her mouth. “Exactly what part of me—or you—is the bull is this scenario?”

“What I mean is, maybe we should try to defuse any tension by satisfying our curiosity now. Our curiosity about kissing,” she amended quickly. “Not anything more. But a first kiss? That’s bound to be on our minds. Considering we’re attracted to each other, I mean.”

“Right.” His gaze remained on her mouth. “Seems reasonable,” he said.

“Right. Especially because—well, maybe what we’re anticipating won’t live up to the fantasy. That’s almost always the case. If we kiss, chances are we’ll see this—this—”

“Connection?” he asked.

“Yes, chances are we’ll see this connection between us isn’t anything special.”

He brought his gaze up to hers. He looked doubtful, then amused, but simply said, “Hmm. I’m willing to give it a try if you are.” He arched a challenging brow.

She swallowed hard and said, “I— Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Good.”

Instead of lowering his head and kissing her right away, however, he continued to stare into her eyes. He rubbed his thumb against her lip again. His stare combined with his gentle touch had her trembling. It was so much better than trembling with fear, the way she had been when he’d first arrived.

“There’s just one little problem, though,” he said.

She struggled to concentrate. “What’s that?”

“What happens when a kiss blows our mind? What happens when it isn’t enough? Because I’m pretty certain that’s what’s going to happen.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’ve been so honest with me. And I have to be honest in return. We can’t sleep with each other. It would complicate things. But this...maybe we can have this. And hope that’ll be enough?”

He didn’t agree with her. She hadn’t been expecting him to. And though she’d said the words, though she’d meant them and knew they had to be said, she didn’t quite believe them herself.

“Well, here goes...” he said.

And covered her mouth with his.

* * *

KISSING NINA WHITAKER felt fresh.

New.

Like he’d never kissed a woman before, and for a man of Simon’s experience, that was saying something. It troubled him at first. Made him hold back. But when she seemed to melt—her mouth parting, her body relaxing into his—he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Groaning, he opened his mouth, slanting it to get at her better. Deeper. His tongue didn’t so much invade as it took with confidence of its welcome. She’d admitted she wanted him. Hell, she’d initiated and justified this kiss even as she’d warned him he couldn’t have more. That thought grated at him. Spoiled the pleasure he was experiencing more than he wanted to admit. But he forced himself to push his agitation away.

Here. Now. They could have this, she’d said. And he was going to take advantage of every last second of it.

God, he’d missed this. The closeness of a woman. Her softness. Her scent. They highlighted his strength and cautioned him to be gentle even as they urged him to let down his defenses. Yet even as he wallowed in the familiar feeling of intimacy, he was acutely aware, once again, that this was different. She felt different. Tasted different. Smelled different.

Better than anything or anyone he’d ever had before.

Her tongue tangled with his, rubbing almost shyly against him, and he lowered his hand to the small of her back, urging her closer. Her breasts pressed against his lower chest, and though he’d thought something about her car and then her house didn’t quite fit, that wasn’t true for their bodies. They fit. Divinely.

He was breathing fast and his skin prickled and he wanted more. He wanted to strip her. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. He wanted inside her. Now.

“Simon,” she gasped, and he became aware of her hands, not pulling him closer but holding him away. He pulled back. Or tried to. His body didn’t cooperate the way he was expecting it to.

Not that he could blame it, really.

His hands had fallen even lower to cup her ass and his lower body was pressed tightly against hers. That warm, sweet juncture between her thighs cradled his erection and without his conscious thought, he was pushing into her, as if he could get through the barriers of their clothing and into her warm moist heat by sheer will. Her eyes were wide. Slightly shocked.

And he felt that same shock rippling through him.

Holy f*ck. What was this? He’d been planning on enjoying a kiss. He’d been looking forward to challenging her statement that a kiss wouldn’t lead to anything more. But he hadn’t been expecting to be swept away by his own passion for her. Forget passion. By his own need.

He couldn’t need her. He wouldn’t.

But he wasn’t an idiot, either.

Working together was going to be damn difficult. Even more difficult than he’d anticipated.

Forcibly, he uncurled his hands from her flesh and took a step back.

He cleared his throat. “You said we can’t sleep together because it’ll complicate things, right?”

Slowly, she nodded.

He took a deep breath. Released it. “I think we already hit complicated and dove straight into a f*cking mess.”