Shades of Passion

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ON MONDAY MORNING, Simon pushed back from the old newspaper articles he was reading and cursed.

Nina Whitaker wasn’t just rich. She was connected. Well connected.

She was the daughter of Charles Whitaker, a former governor of South Carolina.

He shouldn’t be surprised, he thought. Even without the Pacific Heights mansion, she screamed class and pedigree and affluence more than any woman he’d ever met.

Yet part of him had been surprised. Because of the car she drove. Because of the porn flick she’d been carrying when he’d first met her. But mostly because of what she was trying to accomplish. Why wasn’t she in South Carolina, using her father’s connections to make the differences she sought, he wondered. But he already knew the answer to that.

First, she’d already accomplished what she wanted in South Carolina. Her MHIT program had started in Charleston and was now firmly established there.

Second, she was running.

And with good reason.

She’d told him about Elizabeth Davenport, her patient who had committed suicide, but Nina hadn’t told him about her sister. The sister who had committed suicide years before her patient had. There hadn’t been the same amount of press coverage there’d been on Elizabeth Davenport’s suicide, likely because, unlike Lester Davenport, Nina’s father had swept everything under the rug. But the brief reference to the event and her sister Rachel’s subsequent obituary hadn’t been difficult for Simon to find, either. All he’d had to do was conduct a search of Nina’s and her father’s names, and it had come up. Anyone who cared to look for it could access information about the tragic event. One article had even included a picture, not of Rachel, but of a teenage Nina, sitting on the stoop of a house, looking scared while police officers and medics talked close by.

He recalled the photograph he’d seen in her foyer. The picture of her laughing and embracing a girl that looked eerily like her. A girl that had to have been her sister. What had losing that sister cost her? Especially given that her sister hadn’t died because she was sick or murdered, but because she’d chosen to die. Chosen to take her own life, regardless of the fact that Nina had obviously loved her.

He barely knew Nina, yet it made no difference. His heart ached for her.

He generally thought of psychologists and psychiatrists as bleeding hearts and, given Nina’s background, it was probably truer than normal. She’d made excuses for Lester Davenport’s actions, writing them off as grief over losing his daughter. It was a grief she and her family were intimately acquainted with and explained why she’d been so reluctant to cause Davenport trouble without concrete proof he’d left that letter for her. Hell, she hadn’t wanted to cause him trouble even assuming he had left the letter. She’d suffered tragedy early on in her life and it was no wonder she was trying to make positive changes for those suffering from mental illness. With that kind of emotion driving her, how could she possibly see that her well-meaning compassion and yearning to help a disadvantaged group of citizens could be dangerous? To other civilians. To cops. To herself.

And just what was he going to do about that?

He was still contemplating the question when she walked into the SIG detective pit. His gaze took her in hungrily, but the visual stimulation wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch her again. Explore her body, inside and out.

“Detective Granger,” she greeted him, her voice breathless.

He looked up in time to catch her blushing and he knew immediately she was remembering the kiss they’d shared. He didn’t have to remember. It hadn’t left his mind for one freaking second. She must have seen the rush of desire that washed over him because she glanced away and shifted uncomfortably.

“Am I—” She cleared her throat. “Am I dressed appropriately?” She wore heather-gray slacks, a purple-and-black top and a purple sweater. Black ballet flats with a jaunty ribbon completed the elegant package. “We didn’t really talk about it, but I assumed slacks would be fine. Do I pass muster?”

Right. As if his gaze had been roving her body simply to assess her clothes rather than to appreciate the woman underneath. But whatever. He could give her that illusion. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers against his chest. “You look fine,” he said, and thought, No truer words have ever been spoken. She looked amazing. And he needed to stop thinking about how great she looked—how much better she’d look if they’d just made love—and focus on the day ahead. “Have a seat. I’d like to go over some things before we head out.”

She nodded and took a step toward the chair beside his desk. Before she could sit, however, two men walked into the room. Commander Stevens and Gil Archer.

Lana’s father.

Simon couldn’t help it. He stiffened, something that Nina obviously noticed.

Her features grew quizzical and she turned to face the other men. They were about the same age, fit despite their graying hair and both wore suits. The only striking difference between them was that Gil was a few inches shorter than Stevens.

Commander Stevens held out his hand. “Good morning, Dr. Whitaker. It’s good to see you. Do you have any questions I can answer before you and Detective Granger head out today?”

Nina glanced at Simon. “We were just about to sit down and discuss what he has in store for me.” Her gaze shifted to Gil Archer, who was just holding out his hand to Simon.

“It’s good to see you again, Simon,” he said quietly.

“Likewise, sir,” Simon said, though he could barely speak past the lump in his throat. Gil Archer had always been unfailingly polite to Simon, before, during and after Simon’s personal relationship with Lana. He’d never said anything to make him think that he blamed Simon for his daughter’s death, but it didn’t matter. Even during the best of times, when Simon knew he wasn’t to blame for what had happened, he had trouble remembering that when in her parents’ company. He didn’t see them often, but because Stevens and Archer were old friends, it happened on occasion. At least Lana’s mother wasn’t here. The last time he’d seen her, she’d vacillated between being catatonic and sobbing over the loss of her daughter. Of course, that had been at Lana’s funeral...

Aware that Nina’s gaze was bouncing back and forth between them, Simon cleared his throat. “Mr. Gil Archer, this is Dr. Nina Whitaker.”

Archer nodded and smiled. “Of course. Dr. Whitaker.” He held out his hand, cradling Nina’s when she placed it in his. “You’re the psychiatrist Stevens has been telling me so much about. Not to mention that I read about you in the paper. Commendable work helping Simon find that little girl. Rebecca Hyatt’s grandfather is a member of my golfing club. Very appreciative. And very wealthy. We both donate considerable amounts of money to worthy causes each year. Between you and me, I’m sure he’d be happy to donate funds to the proposed program Stevens will be considering. If it moves forward, of course.”

“Of course,” Nina said mildly. “That would be wonderful. And do you feel the same way, sir?”

Archer glanced at Stevens and laughed appreciatively. “Watch out, Stevens. This one will have you agreeing to a number of things before you know it.” He turned back to Nina. “Do I feel the same way? I believe I do. My daughter, Lana, was a psychiatrist and I couldn’t have been more proud of her. Funny,” he said, tilting his head. “You even look a little like her. Isn’t that right, Simon?”

Simon shifted uneasily. He’d thought the same thing when he’d first met Nina, but oddly enough, he’d stopped seeing the resemblance since then. At some point, he’d stopped comparing her to Lana. In fact, he realized suddenly, he’d stopped thinking of Lana altogether. At least, he’d stopped torturing himself with thoughts of her like he usually did. Mostly what he’d been thinking about the past few days had been her. Nina. The kiss they’d shared. And how much he wanted to kiss her again.

Instead of agreeing with Archer, Simon said, “It was good seeing you, sir. Commander. But as Nina said, we were just sitting down to get started.”

“Right. Right,” Archer said. “I suppose we should get going. I was just checking with Stevens here to see if he had any recommendations. We’re a little short-staffed at work and getting bigger and bigger contracts every day. If you’re ever interested in extra pocket change, Simon, or know someone who is, just let me know.”

Pocket change? For the most part, Archer paid big bucks, which was why so many cops had signed on with his firm after taking early-retirement packages.

“Gil runs one of the biggest security firms in the city,” Commander Stevens explained to Nina.

“I do, but as I said, I’m a big supporter of mental health professionals. In fact, I’m on the Board of Directors of the San Francisco Golf Club and we’re sponsoring an upcoming fundraiser to raise funds for those with mental illness. I believe you’ll be attending, Simon?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Perhaps, Dr. Whitaker, you can join us, as well? Maybe you can even be a featured speaker, talk about this extra training you’re proposing, so we can waive the entry fee? Shall I send you an invitation?”

She nodded and smiled, but was probably just being polite. Any idiot could see she’d stiffened up ever since Gil Archer had told her she looked like his daughter and had turned to Simon for confirmation.

Stevens and Archer left, and Nina finally sat down.

Her gaze rested heavily on him, but he tried to ignore it as he took his own chair. “So, have you done a ride along before?”

She paused, then nodded. “I have. In Charleston. Not over the course of several days, the way I’m going to do here. But I did a day here and there.”

“Did anything interesting happen?”

She shrugged. “Not really. Some traffic stops. Nothing terribly dramatic.”

And had that disappointed her? he wondered. Had she been craving excitement? Adventure? Was that what this was really about? But no, she hadn’t been any more thrilled with this partnership than he’d been. And despite their kiss, or maybe because of it, she probably still wasn’t.

“We’ll head over to SFPD where you can watch some of the intake procedures. We’ll also keep track of specific calls and respond to the most interesting ones. We’ll just be observers. Patrol will handle the action. I know you’ve got a job to do, but so do I. The main thing we’re going to be focused on is your safety. You’re not going to do anything to endanger yourself. Is that clear?”

She raised a brow. “I had no plans to do so, so that’s comforting.”

“I just want to make it clear—this isn’t about you trying to save anyone.”

Now she frowned. “The program I’m advocating is all about preventing harm and saving lives, but I wasn’t planning on diving in front of a bullet for anyone today. Not even you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Then whom, exactly, are you worried about? And what makes you think I’d endanger myself to help a total stranger?”

When he didn’t immediately answer, her gaze flickered down to his desk and the papers there. He knew the instant she figured out what they were—old press coverage of her sister’s suicide—when her face paled. He didn’t like the flash of pain on her expression and immediately wanted to shove the papers into the trash. Away from her view. But he forced himself not to. He had a point to make. An important one. Her past was painful, but it was best he knew about it. Best she knew he knew about it.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” he said softly. “About Elizabeth Davenport, too.”

“But?” she asked snappishly.

“But a woman on a crusade is a dangerous thing. That’s why we need to discuss these things now. Before we hit the road.”

She said nothing else. She refused to say anything else. And he refused to give in to his sudden urge to shift guiltily, as if he’d done something wrong. To counter the feeling, he went on the offensive.

“You told me about Elizabeth. Don’t you think you should have told me about your sister, too?”

Her eyes widened. “Why? The only reason I told you about Beth was the threatening note. It was relevant. Rachel’s death...isn’t relevant to anything at all.”

She was lying. He knew it and so did she. Something like that would be relevant to everything she did, but before he could respond, she stood. “Besides, telling you would have been too easy. It would have deprived you of the pleasure of doing your little detective thing, right? I knew you’d look into it anyway and find out yourself.”

But her last words didn’t ring true. She’d been truly blindsided by the fact he’d dug up information on her sister. Or maybe she’d just been blindsided by the fact he was making her talk about it.

“My little detective thing, huh?” he asked softly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s really nothing little about me.” She blushed and he’d bet she had to forcibly stop her gaze from dropping to his crotch. Not so much to admire him, but to put a curse on him. “Besides, sounds like rationalization to me.”

“I’m nothing if not rational. Believe me, your warnings are unnecessary. I don’t have a death wish and I don’t plan on endangering myself to help strangers in some misguided attempt to save my dead sister. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Great. Then how about you tell me something now?”

“What is it?” he asked warily.

“Who in your past endangered herself to help others? Your mother? Your sister? No, your girlfriend.” He stiffened and she nodded. “Was she a psychiatrist? Is that why you hate my profession so much?”

“Yes, she was my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend, but still. And yes, she was a psychiatrist. And while hate is too strong a word, I admit I’m leery of those in your profession because she died and she didn’t have to. She was murdered by a serial killer she was trying to help.”

“Let me guess. We’re talking about Gil Archer’s daughter. Lana. The one he said I look like.”

“We’re talking about Lana, yes. And as to whether you look like her?” He studied her while she held herself stiffly. “You’re both blonde. Pretty. But different,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah. I’m alive. But apparently I’m paying for her mistakes. You grew to distrust her, so now you distrust me. You distrust all psychiatrists. You probably distrust anyone with a mental health issue. Heck, anyone with anything you perceive as a weakness at all. So how do you handle your own weaknesses? Or do you simply expect yourself to be Superman?”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. I’m a cop and you have a history—”

“A history that’s my business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s your business so long as it doesn’t affect me. That being the case, I just want to make sure we’re clear on what this next week is going to look like. That’s all.” He stood and shrugged into his jacket. “You ready to go?”

“No,” she said quietly. “You’re coming down on me because I withheld my past, or so you think. Don’t do the same thing. My sister’s suicide was a tragedy and sure, it could conceivably impair my judgment. But what do you call your girlfriend’s death? What about the fact you admitted it affects how you think about psychiatrists and I’m betting probably affects how you think about the mentally ill, as well? You want to question me about my past? You can expect the same thing in return.”

Simon’s jaw clenched. “Fine.” He sat back down again and held his arms out. “What do you want to know?”

Her eyes widened slightly before she asked, “How—how long ago did she die?”

“Six months ago. Next question.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“No. But I saw her afterward and I know exactly what he did to her. Given how often I imagine what really happened, I might as well have been. Next question.”

She shook her head. “I—I’m sorry.”

“And like I said, I’m sorry about your sister. We’ve both had to deal with tragedy. I’m just trying to make sure we don’t have to deal with more.”

“Fine.” She stood. “Have I alleviated your concerns?”

Since she obviously wasn’t going to ask any more questions about Lana, he relaxed slightly and stood, as well. “Not by a long shot. But I’m hoping we’ll get there. I—”

“Hey, Simon.”

Simon looked up at the sound of DeMarco’s voice. Nina glanced up, too, and for a second he saw appreciation flicker over her face. Mentally, he scowled. Maybe she went for the tall, dark and Latin-lover kind of guy, and DeMarco was certainly that. He clenched his fists when Nina smiled secretively.

“What’s so funny?” he growled.

She started. Looked up at him guiltily. “Nothing. I was just thinking about something my friend Karen said.”

“Uh-huh.”

DeMarco stepped up to them. He glanced at Nina, then back at Simon with a quick yet not so subtle waggle of his brows.

“Hey, DeMarco. We were just heading out.”

“Whoa. Not so fast. Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Simon sighed. “DeMarco, this is Dr. Nina Whitaker. She’s going to be shadowing me for a few days.”

“Doctor. As in medical doctor or—?”

“Doctor as in a shrink. I mean, psychiatrist,” he said when Nina glared at him. “She’s advocating some further training for the department.”

DeMarco turned a curious gaze on Nina. “Training in what?”

“Expanded training on mental health consumers and de-escalation techniques,” she replied. “But more than just that. Part of the program consists of establishing a Mental Health Intervention Team. Training dispatch to route certain calls to that team rather than patrol.”

“That right? Sounds fascinating. Tell me more.”

“I’m not sure we have time...” She glanced at Simon, and he jerked his chin, indicating she should go ahead. If he was going to give her a fair shot at changing his mind about the merits of the MHIT program, he needed to know more about it. For the first time, he found his curiosity outrunning his skepticism.

“The pilot program I helped launch in Charleston was actually modeled after one formed in Australia. The program has four key aims—reducing the risk of injury to police and mental health consumers during mental health crisis events, improving awareness by frontline police of both the risks involved in dealing with mental health consumers and the strategies to reduce potential injuries, improving collaboration with other government and nongovernment agencies in the response to and management of mental health crisis events, and reducing the time taken by police in the handover of mental health consumers into the health care system.”

DeMarco nodded and hummed. “Sounds ideal. But then again, around here we tend to focus more on reality than the ideal, don’t we?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, we’re short on manpower and funds already.”

She smiled tiredly, as if she’d heard the same argument over and over again. “And that’s justification for failing to implement effective policies? Policies that can improve what you do?”

“Not a justification. Just an explanation. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Really? Thanks for pointing that out to me,” Nina said lightly. “But seriously, many of the police officers in Charleston were skeptical, too. At first. But afterward, the results are unassailable. Self report data has evidenced a reduction in the number of times that medical attention has been required for a member of the public as a result of officers being MHIT trained. Also, MHIT training has increased police officers’ confidence when dealing with a mental health problem or a drug-induced psychosis. Qualitative data from Charleston Health staff working specifically in mental health has—”

She stopped speaking abruptly. Simon, who’d been fascinated by what she’d been saying, blinked and glanced at DeMarco. The other man was smiling, as if he, too, found Nina fascinating. And attractive.

Simon felt an immediate sense of possessiveness and had to bite back a warning for the other man to back off.

Nina shook her head. “Sorry about that. As you can probably tell, give me an opening and I’ll run with it. I’ve talked to so many people about supporting the program, including donating to the cause, that I’ve pretty much memorized the spiel.”

“It’s a great spiel.”

“She already persuaded Gil Archer to donate a chunk of change,” Simon said.

DeMarco whistled with admiration. “I’m ready to reach for my checkbook right now. Maybe when we have more time you can tell me more.”

Nina just smiled politely while Simon bit back a growl.

DeMarco laughed, then turned to Simon. “We haven’t hung out in a while. You wanna get a drink sometime this week?”

Simon’s shoulders relaxed. Why was he getting upset over DeMarco’s flirtation with Nina? Like Jase, the guy pretty much flirted with anything that moved. “Sure. Let’s touch base in a few days.”

DeMarco nodded. “Will do.” He held out his hand for Nina to shake. “It was nice meeting you, Dr. Whitaker.”

“Likewise.”

Humming softly, DeMarco settled in at his desk. Simon shook his head when he recognized the melody, “Me and My Shadow.”

As Simon and Nina walked to his car, Simon abruptly asked, “So what was it that your friend told you? And why did it make you smile when you met DeMarco?”

She stumbled slightly, which just piqued his curiosity more. She didn’t answer until they were inside the car and he turned toward her, obviously waiting for an answer. “She—um—commented that she thought your team was particularly blessed in the good looks department.”

“Right,” he snorted and started the car engine. “And DeMarco confirmed that in your eyes?”

“Sure. He’s a good-looking guy. Nice, too.”

Simon pulled out of the SIG parking lot. It required a key card to enter, so Nina’s wreck of a car was probably a few blocks away on the curb or in a public parking lot. “He is nice. And he seemed to like you.”

“What’s not to like?” she said mildly. “Except in your case, my career, of course.”

“Look, I’m trying to be open-minded, I promise. I listened to your spiel, as you called it, back there, didn’t I?”

“And?”

“And I can’t argue with your good intentions,” he acknowledged. “That’s not what this is about. Like DeMarco said, it’s more about practicality. Reality. That’s all.”

“Why don’t we just agree to disagree on what’s practical or realistic?”

“Fair enough.”

After several minutes of silence, Simon tapped his palm on the steering wheel. “We’ll be together for the next few days, but I want you to know, if you ever need anything and I’m not around, you can always contact anyone on my team. Commander Stevens. Our lead detective, Mac, is away on a case, but there’s Jase or Carrie, who you met the other day. Or even...DeMarco.”

She seemed surprised by his non sequitur, but nodded. “Thank you. Does that include a date to the fundraising gala Gil Archer was talking about? Because if DeMarco’s free...”

He shot her an exaggerated scowl.

Nina snorted. “I’m joking. Sheesh.”

“Please, don’t joke about the gala. I’m not exactly looking forward it. At least if you were there, that would be a step in the right direction.”

Her eyes rounded at that before she glanced away, trying not to look pleased. “Oh. Well...good. So...does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I never said I hated you. I said I didn’t like you. And you were right when you corrected me. It’s your career—or more accurately, certain aspects of your training—I don’t like, not you.”

When she remained quiet, he said, “I might as well keep my reputation as a straight shooter, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That would be good.”

“So. Funny that your first attempt at teasing me involves going on a date with DeMarco. Is that called verbalizing an unconscious desire in your line of work?

She blinked dramatically. “Why, Detective Granger, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.”

He grunted. Then shrugged. “I do, don’t I?”

When he said nothing else, she shook her head in amazement. “Straight shooter, right?”

“What can I say? I hate lying, even to myself. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Just like I didn’t like DeMarco flirting with you. Maybe I’m just old-fashioned. We have kissed, remember? And despite your stated feelings on the matter, well, as far as I’m concerned, the jury’s still out on whether we’ll be doing more.”

She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it.

“No comment?” he asked. “No insisting that our kiss got me out of your system like you were hoping it would?”

“How about I change the subject and say DeMarco’s lucky to have you.”

He looked at her chidingly, but gamely responded, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“It’s obvious you’re friends and he looks up to you. But it’s also obvious he uses his humor as a mask. What you do, it’s hard. You must rely on each other to stay grounded.”

Simon thought about it. Although he didn’t ask for help often, he’d never doubted the other SIG members would be there for him if he needed them, but did they feel the same about him? Did DeMarco? DeMarco’s flirtations with Nina aside, he’d been quieter lately. More engrossed with his work. Maybe even...troubled?

Was that why DeMarco had asked to have drinks with him? Did he need to talk some things out?

He made a mental note to check in with his friend when they got back.

“So...when I saw him the other day, Commander Stevens commented that you’ve got your eye on a management position. Is that—is that right?”

“Sure. It’s a promotion. More responsibility. More pay. Why not?”

“You seem to love what you do right now. You seem to be good at it.”

“Can’t stay in one place too long or a person will grow complacent. I made the move last year, but got bored. Transferred back. It—it probably wasn’t the wisest choice.”

“How come?”

Simon glanced at her. “Are you psychoanalyzing me again, Doc?”

“Not at all. I’m just...trying to get to know you better. You intrigue me.”

He grinned. “Yeah? Well the feeling’s mutual.”

They stared at each other for several seconds before he looked away and concentrated on the road again.

“So you got bored and wanted back on the streets, but what changed? You want to be bored again?”

“Maybe,” he said, clearly surprising her. “What? You weren’t expecting that answer?”

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to answer at all.”

“As we’ve already discussed, Lana dying has had a huge impact on me. I suspect you already guessed that. I cared about her. I loved her. And I hate that I couldn’t save her. Of course I don’t want to be that helpless again. I want more control in my life. Control I’ll have a better chance at maintaining if I’m a captain rather than a detective. For example, the fact that we’re having to work together right now? That wouldn’t be happening if I was management.”

“Good point. Although one subject to debate. Commander Stevens indicated this would give you a better idea of what management was actually like.”

Really? Simon thought, wondering which one of them was right. But in the end it didn’t really matter. The fact was, even though he hadn’t wanted to work with her at first, he was enjoying her company immensely now. And that included the conversation they’d just had about his career decisions and how they’d been affected by Lana’s murder, no less. How the hell had that happened? When had he decided that Nina wasn’t an opponent, but a smart, beautiful woman whose company he enjoyed enough to let down his guard. When had it become so natural for him to tell a woman he barely knew that he liked her and was thinking about kissing her again?

It had begun when he’d visited her home, he realized. When she’d joked with him about their “doing it.” And his respect for her had been growing by leaps and bounds ever since.

Fortunately, before he could think about it too long, a call came through on his radio. He listened to the dispatcher’s communication with the patrol officer. Then he switched lanes. “We’ve got our first call,” he said abruptly.

* * *

SITTING AT HIS DESK, DeMarco was supposed to be working some leads in a carjacking case but he was growing more and more frustrated with each minute that passed. He’d felt fine when he’d been talking to Simon and his doctor friend, but now for some reason his mind kept wandering. And not to Nina Whitaker, the woman who’d just walked outside with Simon. Hell, that would have been understandable. She was a damn good-looking woman. Smart, too. If he was merely thinking that or about getting her in bed, he wouldn’t be worried. Distracted, but not worried.

Instead, DeMarco kept thinking about the murder of that homeless man, Louis Cann, and how he and Simon must have missed something even though he knew damn well they hadn’t. And what was worse, DeMarco kept thinking that the Cann case file was calling out to him.

He didn’t mean that his instincts were urging him to look at the file.

He meant the file was literally calling out to him from the file cabinet across the room.

“Hey, DeMarco,” it was saying in a voice eerily reminiscent of Bill Cosby. “Come and get me. Open me up and I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

DeMarco gritted his teeth and willed the voice to go away. Instead, it continued calling to him. He felt a fine sheen of sweat break out on his body.

Abruptly, he whirled around, wondering if Jase Tyler, their resident jokester, was messing with him. Jase was at his desk all right, but he was talking to Carrie. They both looked up at his sudden movement.

Jase raised a brow. “Hey. You okay, DeMarco?”

DeMarco swallowed hard. “What? Yeah, of course I am.”

He turned back to his desk. Blinked rapidly and tried to focus on the papers he’d been reading. The letters were all swirling around. And that damn voice was still calling to him.

Get the f*cking file, he told himself. Then the damn voice will shut up.

Slowly, DeMarco stood and made his way to the file cabinet. Acutely aware that Jase and Carrie were watching him, he opened the right drawer, found the file and reached for it. His hand hovered over the file almost fearfully, as if he expected the damn thing to leap out and bite him. He forced himself to pick it up.

A sudden clanging across the room made him jump. He whirled around and shouted, “What the f*ck?” Automatically, he reached for his sidepiece.

“Whoa, DeMarco,” Carrie said, holding up her hands. “I just tossed my soda can in the trash.”

“Jesus, Carrie. You startled me.”

When she and Jase just stared at him, he shook his head.

“Damn it, I’m sorry. I think—I think I should go home for a little while. I’m not feeling well.”

“You want me to drive you?” Jase asked.

DeMarco shook his head. “No. But thanks. I’ll be fine.”

But even as he said it, DeMarco knew he was lying. Because he was holding the Cann file now. And it was still calling to him. This time, however, it wasn’t taunting him about a dead homeless man named Louis Cann.

It was taunting him about Billy Dahl, the teenage boy DeMarco had shot six years ago in New Orleans.

* * *

WHEN SIMON AND NINA arrived at the modest little house off of Mission Street, the patrol car was already parked outside. Simon explained that he’d assess the situation first and would return for her only if he determined it was safe. Even so, he said, “Stay here,” before exiting the car and entering the residence. To her surprise, he returned a few minutes later and got back in the car. Silently, he started the engine and reached to put the car in gear. She stayed him with a hand on his arm.

“What’s going on? Is the situation already over?”

He gave a curt shake of his head. “Officer Harrison has it under control. At least, he will.”

“But you don’t want me to go in,” she confirmed. “Who’s the suspect? Is he exhibiting signs of mental illness like the dispatcher thought?”

“It’s a she. And yes, there may be a mental health issue involved.”

“Then why shouldn’t we go in?”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Look, I just think it would be better if we wait for the next call.”

When she merely continued to stare at him, he finally sighed. “It’s a teenage girl. A suicidal teenage girl.”

“Oh.”

He nodded. Said softly, “We’ll take another call.”

Because she’d told him about Beth. And he’d read about Rachel. And he didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.

Was he right? The minute he’d said the words suicidal teenage girl her heart had nearly exploded out of her chest. Now her mouth was dry and her hands clammy. Keep it together, Nina. This isn’t about them and it isn’t about you. It’s about a different girl who might need you. Or one down the road who might benefit if the MHIT program got the green light.

She cleared her throat. “No. It’s okay. If this is clearly a mental health call, it’s best I—I see how Officer Harrison handles things.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes grim. When he made no move to exit the vehicle, she did it herself. She heard him curse lightly before opening his own door again. They followed the sounds of voices through the front door and the adjacent hallway. A middle-aged woman wearing a pink housecoat and turquoise flip-flops stood in an open doorway. They could hear the low murmur of a male voice in the bedroom and hysterical female sobs getting higher and higher.

“This is Anne’s mother,” Simon said and although Nina nodded at the woman, she couldn’t help wondering what the officer and Simon were thinking, letting the woman stand there in full view of her daughter. For all they knew, the mother had upset the daughter and her presence was continuing to do so. When they peeked inside, Nina immediately stiffened.

The uniformed officer was talking to a teenage girl, telling her everything was going to be okay. The girl, however, had backed herself into a corner, a sure sign that she needed space, but Officer Harrison hadn’t gotten the clue. When he took a step closer, his hand on his weapon—maybe his Taser—the girl flinched and shifted, giving Nina a good view of the long-bladed kitchen knife in her hand.

Anne’s mother moaned as her daughter stabbed repeatedly at her thigh, nicking herself so that her light Capri pants grew spotted with blood.

“What’s he doing?” Nina asked. “He needs to back off.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “She’s harming herself. He’s going to disarm her so we can transport her to a hospital under a 5150 watch. Standard procedure.”

“He’s only making things worse. She’s a wall walker. He needs to back away.”

“He can disarm her easily enough.”

“And risk someone getting hurt in the process? Trust me, Simon. Ask him to back away.”

Simon looked at her, seemed to struggle with himself, then said to Officer Harrison sotto voce, “Officer, return to the hallway, please.”

Officer Harrison looked confused but backed toward them. Immediately, the girl stopped stabbing herself.

“Leave me alone,” she screamed. “I just want to die. I can’t live like this. Can’t live—” She jabbed the point of the knife in her thigh again. Now the blood trickled down her leg instead of dotting her capris. The situation was escalating as Anne’s mind took her further and further into a deep, dark place.

“Can I talk to her?” Nina asked Simon, pushing back the constriction in her chest.

He nodded, his lips so tight they lost color, but he didn’t take his eyes off Anne.

“Anne,” Nina called out gently, “I’m not with the police. I’m a doctor and I just want to help you. Will you talk to me?”

It took her a few tries, but within minutes she had the girl’s attention. Anne’s breathing started to slow and she inched closer toward Nina. Suddenly, however, she froze.

“I don’t want to talk to them. To the men. You come in and I’ll talk to you.”

Nina glanced at Simon, who this time met her eyes. He shook his head.

She turned back to Anne and said, “My friend is afraid you might accidentally cut me with your knife. If he stays in the doorway, will you put it down?”

Shakily, the girl did as she asked, placing the knife on a small television console.

Nina moved forward, but Simon grabbed her arm. “The knife’s still within her reach.”

“It’s okay. She’s calmed down. She’s not going to hurt me.”

“You’re not going in there. Have her come out.”

“She wants me to come in. As a show of trust. It’s okay. She’s calm. Willing to talk. I know what I’m doing, Simon. I do this for a living, remember?”

“So do I. You’re not—”

A loud thud emanated from the front of the house and Simon automatically glanced that way. Praying she was doing the right thing, Nina pulled out of his grip and walked inside the room with Anne.

Simon’s low but vicious curse made her wince, but she put all her attention on Anne and calming the girl down. She’d made progress and was moving toward the doorway with her when a man’s harsh voice drifted inside the room.

Anne let out a guttural cry, a low moan that started deep in her throat and carried through the room, ending with Anne screaming, “Don’t let him near me!”

A man, overwhelmingly large and with a face full of rage, tried to push past Simon, who held him back. Quick as a snake, Anne grabbed the knife with one hand and Nina with the other.

The young girl was much stronger than she’d looked. Her grip was tight as she held the knife at Nina’s side.

“I can’t let him near me,” Anne choked out.

When the blade pierced fabric and the cool metal met her skin, Nina fought to keep her knees from buckling.

* * *

SIMON’S HEART THUDDED in his chest at the sight of the frail, desperate-looking teenager holding a knife to Nina.

“Stop this, Anne. You’re such a bad daughter! I’m your father and you will listen to me. Damn it, put the knife down.”

F*cker. Didn’t Anne’s father realize his daughter was about to blow? That this time she wouldn’t just be hurting herself, but someone else? Simon shoved the man back with his shoulder and into Harrison’s iron grip. Without turning his focus away from Nina, he ground out, “Harrison, get Anne’s parents out of here. Now.”

When Officer Harrison and Anne’s parents were gone, Simon turned back to Anne.

She was trembling and breathing heavily. Nina, despite her best efforts to remain calm, looked scared.

“Listen to me, Anne. You’re frightening Nina. You need to let her go now.”

“I don’t want to see my father.” Anne whimpered, her eyes wild.

“No one’s going to make you see him,” Simon said. His gaze assessed the distance between him and Anne, and he weighed the risk of Tasering her while she still held Nina.

Nina obviously sensed his intentions. “It’s okay, Simon. Just stay back. Remember what I said about giving Anne some space. She and I are going to talk. Can you take a few steps back?”

He frowned, his gaze on the knife at her side. He was so damn angry with her he could barely see straight. She’d deliberately disregarded all his earlier warnings about not placing herself in danger, and damn it, he’d let her. He’d trusted her. Let down his guard because he’d known how shaken she’d be at Anne’s situation, and that had shaken him, as well.

But while she had a knife to her side at the moment, that knife hadn’t been there before Anne’s father had called out. Fact was, she had been making progress before the man had shown up. She and the girl had been walking toward them, the girl’s face relaxed, her breathing even. She’d calmed the girl down once. Maybe she could calm Anne down again.

His instincts told him he’d trusted her for a reason. They told him to do it again. Finally, he determined he had no real choice.

Simon took several steps back, but he didn’t leave.

“Your father,” Nina said, even though her gaze remained locked with Simon’s. “He scares you, Anne?”

The girl sobbed. “Yes.”

“Okay. I understand. But he’s gone. Simon won’t let him inside. And I don’t scare you, do I? We were talking. Getting along. You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

Anne shook her head. “No. Just—just keep my father away from me. I don’t want to see him. I can’t breathe when I see him. He tells me what to do. What to eat. What to wear. What to say. Where to look. It’s like he’s choking me. I can’t live. Not like this.”

“Okay. I’m going to help you. I promise. But you need to let me go. Can you do that? Please.”

After a tense prolonged moment of silence, she lowered the knife and released her death grip on Nina. Instead of immediately leaving, however, Nina turned back toward Anne.

“Thank you, Anne. Now, let’s put down the knife and walk on over to Detective Granger. He’s a good man and he’s going to make sure your father doesn’t interrupt us again.”