Shades of Passion

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SIMON WOULD HAVE PREFERRED to assign a patrol officer to watch Nina, but getting her to agree to stay with her friend Karen was the best he could do right now. Still, before he left, Simon warned Nina to be careful.

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” he said. “Please.” It was like the first day she’d come to shadow him all over again, when he’d warned her not to endanger herself in an attempt to help someone they encountered on a call. He hadn’t known it at the time, but despite being one of the most compassionate women he knew, she wasn’t foolhardy. She’d be fine, he told himself.

She smiled tiredly, as if she was remembering that first day, as well. “Don’t worry yourself, Simon. I’ll be fine so long as I’m not anywhere near you. At least, that’s your theory, isn’t it?”

She looked at a point over his shoulder, her back to Karen’s front door. The other woman was waiting inside and had promised to lock the door again as soon as he left. She even had a state-of-the-art security system. There was no reason to delay his departure any longer.

Except, of course, for the fact he didn’t want to leave her. But that was his heart and his body talking. His mind—that little voice he listened to when assessing life-and-death situations on the job—was telling him this was the right thing to do. He hadn’t listened to that voice where Lana was concerned, and look how that had ended. This time, he wasn’t taking any chances.

“I’ll be at the office,” he told her, “until I have to leave for the gala. Even if I’m not at the office, remember what I said before. If you need something, you can call anyone in SIG. Even Stevens. They all care about you, Nina, and won’t hesitate to respond if you need them.”

“How convenient for you,” she said. “You can ensure I’m protected without having to put yourself out any longer.”

“Damn it, don’t! I’m not abandoning you. If you need me, if you call me and I can be here, I will be here. Do you understand?”

“Sure.”

“Then promise me you’ll call me if you need me.”

She just looked at him, then turned to walk inside.

He grabbed her arm. “Damn it, Nina, promise me!”

She wrenched her arm away. “Fine,” she said. “I promise. Now, is that all?”

“No,” he said, before bending his head and stealing a kiss from her. He’d much rather she’d kissed him on her own, but her mouth softened under his and that was enough. He buried his hands in her hair and cradled her face, trying to communicate to her with his lips and tongue how very much he cared about her. And how scared he was about letting her down. She raised her own hands and touched his face. The contact was electric and jolted him back to reality. Already the thought of walking away from her was unbearable. He was only making it worse. He pulled away, once more said, “Be careful,” and then left.

As soon as he got into his car, Jase called to tell him he had information about the security cameras in the SIG parking lot and the vandalism of Simon’s car. “You’re not going to like it,” Jase warned. And he was totally right.

* * *

BACK AT SIG, JASE TOOK a sip of coffee, then said, “Whoever broke into your car and set up the doll did it in exactly five minutes, between four and five after four. That’s when the security disks were tampered with, resulting in a five-minute blank. This guy was smooth. And he knew our system.”

“Another cop?” Simon asked, a hollow feeling in his gut. DeMarco? he wondered.

Impossible.

But was it really?

Davenport had gotten into Nina’s house despite a security system that DeMarco had just installed. And then there were the initials—BD—that matched those of the kid, Billy Dahl, who DeMarco had shot in New Orleans. He couldn’t bear to think that another cop—a friend—could be doing such vile things, but he also recalled his conversation with Nina, the one they’d had on the beach before they’d made love. She’d said that trauma could affect someone who’d exhibited no prior signs of mental illness and skew his reality so much that he would do things he normally wouldn’t. DeMarco had talked about some of the symptoms he’d been experiencing, including hearing things, and if he was hearing things, who knew what else was going on...whether his link with reality had truly slipped.

“Let’s assume it’s a cop, Simon,” Jase said. “Can you think of anyone who has a personal vendetta against you?”

He thought about it, then shook his head. “I’m not everyone’s favorite person around here, but I can’t think of anyone I’ve pissed off lately.”

“How about not so lately? When you were away from SIG? When you were a captain?”

“I was captain for three weeks. The men I worked with during that time seemed to respect me. Like me, even. Of course, I wasn’t there to make friends. I made some tough decisions, one in particular...” He frowned. He wondered whether it would be enough to make someone come after him like this.

“What was the decision?”

“I shut down a program for retired annuitants, retired police officers who were able to stay on the P.D.’s payroll as contract investigators. The entire program got the boot for purely budgetary reasons.”

“Retired police officers would know about our security system just as much as current ones. How about I check into it? You’ve got to get ready to rub elbows with the bigwigs at that fundraiser, don’t you?”

Simon cursed under his breath. “I should blow it off. There’s no reason you should be chasing down leads while I put on a tuxedo and eat a gourmet meal. Especially when those leads might involve a dirty cop.”

“No reason except the mayor and Commander Stevens will be pissed if you don’t show. It’s fine. I’m here anyway and I have the time to check it out.”

Simon hesitated, then sighed. Being on a team was all about covering someone one moment and being covered the next. He knew he’d do the same for any member of the team, and that made it easier to accept Jase’s help now. “Thanks, Jase. I’ll head back as soon as I can after the gala.”

“No rush.” Jase hesitated. “Is Nina attending the gala with you?”

Simon briefly looked away. “No. She’s staying at a friend’s house.”

“So you’re running again?”

Simon frowned. “What?”

“Doesn’t take a genius to know what you’d do once you found out you were linked to the homeless murders. To know that you’d separate yourself from her. I get it, but she has to be hurt. Especially if you two had gotten as close as I think you have.”

At first, Simon resisted Jase’s obvious attempts to get in Simon’s business. But then he thought of DeMarco again. How not getting in DeMarco’s business had left his friend feeling like he had to deal with his problems alone. Simon also remembered what Nina had said: that you couldn’t truly know you were handling something unless you were willing to talk about it with another person. Before he knew he was going to, he confessed, “Yeah, well, we got pretty close. And yes, she’s hurt. But better her feelings are hurt than she ends up dead like...”

“Like Lana?” Jase asked softly.

“Yeah. Like Lana.”

“Lana was killed by a serial killer while on the job, Simon. She walked into that situation of her own accord because she was trying to help him. That’s not going to happen to Nina.”

“And how do you know that, Jase? ’Cause I sure don’t.”

Of course, Jase didn’t have an answer because there wasn’t one. No guarantees that Nina wouldn’t die just as brutally and suddenly as Lana had one day.

Simon got up to leave, then hesitated. “Have you talked to DeMarco?”

“I touched base with him earlier today. He sounded better. Said he went and saw a counselor who is helping him figure some things out. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but he’s hoping soon.”

“Good.” His earlier suspicions about DeMarco had vanished as quickly as they’d formed. He knew the man. No way was DeMarco responsible for any of the things that had happened over the past week. Even so, despite his renewed confidence in his friend’s innocence, Simon’s mind was a mess. He kept twirling one possibility after another around his head, but none of them felt right.

On his way home, he had to pass by the cemetery. The one where Lana was buried. And before he knew it, he was pulling in and walking to Lana’s grave.

Simon stared at Lana’s tombstone and remembered the slight breeze he’d felt the last time he’d visited her. The air was still now. Dry and uncomfortable. For a second, he almost couldn’t breathe.

Had it been just three weeks ago that he’d come here to visit Lana? Even less than that since he’d met Nina? That boggled his mind. He’d known Lana for years. He’d loved her. Yet even though he’d known Nina for far less time, it was amazing how much he’d grown to care about her. And, dare he admit it...how much he’d grown to love her?

Yes, Simon thought. He loved her. He, who had never been one to fall in love quickly, had fallen in love with Dr. Nina Whitaker in less than two weeks. For the briefest moment, he felt guilty. How had Nina so thoroughly filled the place in his heart that had once only belonged to Lana?

Did I do this to you, Lana? Did you blame me, as your life left you, for failing to protect you?

Every doubt and insecurity he’d ever harbored came swamping through him. What right did he have to try to go on with his life when Lana no longer could? What right did he have to apply for a commanding role, when he’d had the role once before and given it up? When doing so had cost him Lana, had driven a wedge between them, and for all he knew, had driven her to act so recklessly that it had gotten her killed. He’d f*cked everything up, just like he was f*cking up this case.

He hadn’t been able to stop another attack. Hadn’t been able to stop Lana from being killed. Hadn’t seen how troubled DeMarco had gotten. Hadn’t kept Nina from being hurt again and again and again...and most recently, by him.

Instinctively, he moved closer to Lana’s headstone. He touched the smooth surface as if doing so would grant him a physical connection with the woman he’d once loved.

The breeze suddenly picked up and swirled around him. Simon closed his eyes. Envisioned Lana’s beautiful face. He could swear for a second that he smelled her. Heard her.

But it didn’t comfort him. All it did was make him remember that he’d lost her.

And that, one way or another, he was going to lose Nina, too.

Help me, Lana, he thought. Help me to understand what’s going on. Who is this killer? What’s motivating him? He’s killing for a reason. To prove something. But to whom?

Me? Nina? The mentally ill? The cops?

Who is he targeting?

To his surprise, the answer came to him, not in Lana’s voice, but his own.

Maybe he’s targeting all of us at once.

But why? And more important, who could pull off something like that? Who did Simon know that could carry out that kind of vendetta without getting caught? Whoever he was, he was dancing circles around the police, staying one step ahead of them despite the advanced security systems that had been put in place.

As the questions swirled through his mind, Simon’s vision focused on the epitaph that Lana’s parents had engraved on the elegant marble.

Two words on the tombstone came into stark relief.

Beloved Daughter.

BD.

It couldn’t be, he thought.

But was it really that much crazier than any of the other theories he’d come up with?

He’d thought Lester Davenport’s grief over losing his daughter had driven him to murder. He’d even briefly considered whether the same thing had motivated Rebecca Hyatt’s father to strike out. Couldn’t that same reasoning apply to Gil Archer, who’d lost his daughter, too?

What if BD didn’t stand for someone’s name but something else? Something like an endearment.

Beloved Daughter.

Davenport and Hyatt had blamed Nina for the deaths of their daughters. Who did Gil Archer truly blame for Lana’s?

The cops for not protecting her?

A mentally ill man for killing her?

Simon for breaking up with her before she was killed?

Nina for working with Simon, and even dating him, after his daughter no longer could?

It made sense. More sense than anything had up to this point.

If Simon was right, Gil Archer was going after all of them.

And he was winning.

* * *

AFTER LEAVING THE CEMETERY, Simon hit the ground running. After a brief stop at SFPD to put together what he needed, the first thing he did was visit Rita Taylor and show her a photo lineup that included Gil Archer’s photo. Unfortunately, Rita’s identification didn’t go exactly as planned, and Simon was now having to move to Plan B—a plan that he needed Jase and Carrie’s help to carry out.

“That’s quite a theory,” Jase said after whistling in amazed disbelief. He leaned back in his desk chair, hands folded against his chest. “But I have to say, given the security systems that have been tampered with, especially the parking lot security tapes, it makes sense. Archer set up our security system, did you know that?”

“I did,” Simon said. “And it’s something I definitely considered in wading through all this. And in formulating my plan.”

“It’s a good plan,” Jase said, “if a little risky. You really think she’ll go through with it?”

Simon thought about the woman Jase was referring to—Rita Taylor. “She said she will. Naturally, she’s scared, especially after everything I’ve said about her needing to take her own protection seriously. But showing her the photo lineup didn’t work. She said a couple of the men, including Archer, looked like the guy, but she couldn’t be sure. She insists she needs to see the man up close, see him talk, get a ‘feel’ for him, in order to make a positive ID. She’s willing to take some limited risks. According to her, it beats living in fear every day of her life.”

“Well, between you accompanying her, and Carrie and I covering your back, we’ll limit the risk to her. And if it turns out you’re right, she’ll certainly take Gil Archer by surprise, which you’ll be able to witness for yourself. We’ll be there right when the gala starts.”

“I’ll see you there, Jase. And thanks.”

As he left SIG, Simon again wondered if he was thinking crazy. Did he truly believe Lana’s father, Gil Archer, a respected community member and a friend of Commander Stevens, was the person behind the homeless murders?

He did. It felt right. In a way that suspecting Hyatt and even Davenport hadn’t.

Besides, it was just a theory, Simon told himself. There was nothing wrong with exploring possibilities. Isn’t that what Commander Stevens had said when he’d suggested Nina might know something about the murders? That a police officer had to remain objective despite personal relationships with others? Despite what he thought he knew about a potential witness or suspect?

Simon was simply taking a page from Stevens’s playbook.

He had some possibilities to explore.

Covertly, he thought.

And given that tonight was the fundraising gala and that Archer was going to be there, it was the perfect opportunity for him to do so.

* * *

“SO WILL YOU GO WITH me, Nina? We both got invitations from Gil Archer to attend this fundraising gala to benefit the mentally ill. I wasn’t going to go by myself, but now that you’re here, it could be fun.”

Nina did her best to ignore the heavy linen and embossed invitation Karen was waving in front of her face. There was no way she was going to that fundraising gala. Simon was going to be there and she didn’t want him to think she was mooning over him, following him around with stars in her eyes when he’d already made it clear he wanted her to stay as far away from him as possible.

Because he wants to protect you, she reminded herself. Because he’s afraid the same thing is going to happen to you that happened to Lana. That you’re going to die on him.

It made perfect sense he’d be worried. But she couldn’t help wondering if it was a convenient excuse because he’d simply grown tired of her. They’d gone to bed a few times, but so what? He’d never once said he wanted anything more from her. Never once said he loved her.

Not the way she’d said she loved him. Even though she’d told him she hadn’t meant it, that it had just been the sex talking, he hadn’t believed her. And she couldn’t lie to herself anymore, either.

She did love him. She loved Simon Granger.

But it didn’t matter. Not with a killer still out there, infecting them with fear time and time again.

In her mind, dead men carved with the letters BD swirled around, clashing into one another. Jarring her reality. Considering it was his job to find the killer, how much more did those images play through Simon’s mind? With that kind of weight on his shoulders, it was a wonder they’d managed to get close at all.

And even once the killer was caught? There was still her career and the massive differences in their life views that would constantly drive a wedge between them.

“Nina. Are you even listening to me?” Karen said.

Focus, Nina, she told herself. What had Karen been saying? Oh, yeah. “You know how much I hate having to make small talk with strangers,” she murmured.

“You could take your cop. Bet he’s good on the dance floor,” Karen teased.

Nina’s heart twisted, and pain shot through her chest. The only dancing she and Simon had done had been in bed, and now she’d probably never feel his naked body stretched over hers again. That thought left her feeling morose.

“He’s not my cop,” she mumbled. “And we’re not dating.”

Dating was where a guy picked a girl up at her house with flowers in hand. Dating was where the guy took the girl to dinner and the movies and hoped for a kiss good-night. Dating was where a guy willingly waded through five or ten dates before getting lucky enough to get it on in the girl’s bed. Dating was not living in the guy’s house because a serial killer was after the girl. Dating was not using sex for distraction.

“Fine. Forget I said anything about that. You don’t need a date because you have me. And if you don’t want to go just for fun, think about work.”

“The police have already decided to go forward with the program, Karen. We no longer have any reason to schmooze them into it.”

“But we can always schmooze for money. The more money we have, the better training we’ll be able to provide. Besides,” she said, “how often do you and I have a chance to go to something like this? These golf club people are the richest in the city. And the ones with the most power. You never know when one of them might be willing to scratch your back because you were nice to them at a charity fundraiser. Tomorrow, you’re going back to your patients. I’ve already agreed to take the lead on the program. Let’s go have some fun. I said I’d buy you drinks when this is all over, remember?”

At that, Nina actually smiled. “The drinks at this thing are going to be free. It’s an open bar, remember?”

“Is it?” Karen said with an expression of mock innocence. “Even better.”