Dr. Patterson’s heels clicked all the way down the tiled floor of the hospital hallway. She had been heading out to the Kennedy Center when Kyle Cunningham called her. Her date was with a professor at John Hopkins – tall, dark and handsome with an M.D. and a Ph.D. behind his name. He had invited her to see the Washington National Opera’s performance of Carmen and drinks at the Columbia Room afterwards. She hadn’t had a swanky night out like this since…forever. And yet, the second she heard Cunningham’s voice she felt that damned flutter in her stomach. Her palms were sweaty and by the end of the conversation she had made a promise to him that completely derailed her entire evening.
Damn it!
She hated that he had that effect on her. He was a married man – off limits. But the chemistry between them was so tangible she swore others had noticed, no matter how careful Gwen had been.
They had worked together only a few times – three to be exact. Gwen was a psychiatrist and had her own successful practice in the District. Her clients – she referred to them as clients, rarely patients unless they required hospitalization – included senators and congressmen, even a five-star general, but she specialized in criminal behavior. Sometimes she wondered what the hell she was thinking, but the subject fascinated her.
She’d written a book, published dozens of articles and suddenly became the go-to-expert in the media. A year ago her guest appearance on a national talk show had attracted the attention of the Assistant Director of the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico. He wanted to hire her as a consultant on a murder case. Then came another case and another. It didn’t take long and Gwen was wishing Kyle Cunningham would think of her without there being a dead body involved.
She thought this might be the time when she answered her phone and he said, “Gwen, I need you.”
Yes, those very words and the tension in his voice had made her knees go weak though she tried to blame the cracked sidewalk and three-inch heels. He’d literally caught her on the street before she climbed into the waiting town car.
Even when he asked his favor and it was all about business she didn’t once consider saying, “no.”
What in the world was wrong with her?
Why hadn’t she told him that she had a hot date and tickets to the opera? That she was wearing a little black dress with a slit up her thigh – totally inappropriate attire for a hospital visit. Not to mention that the three-inch heels were already killing her feet.
He asked his favor and she before she knew it she heard herself instructing him which hospital to use and telling him, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Then she got in the town car, redirected the driver and made the phone call to cancel her swanky night out. That’s just what friends did for each other, she told herself, knowing full well she and Cunningham were not really friends. But that was how she explained it to Professor Hottie.
Now she stopped as the nurse’s station. The unit secretary looked up at her and Gwen didn’t flinch as the woman’s eyes traveled down checking out Gwen’s dress but without a flash of judgment. She had probably seen stranger things in the last several hours. She thought the woman looked familiar but didn’t take anything for granted and introduced herself.
“I’m Dr. Gwen Patterson. I’m meeting a young girl the FBI’s bringing in.”
“Already here.” She pointed down the hall. “They have her in room 233. Finally got her sedated.”
“I was hoping they’d wait for me to talk to her before they did that.”
“If they’d waited you would have needed a helmet.”
“That bad?”
“Mostly scared. They said her daddy was one of the victims.” The secretary got up from behind the counter and grabbed something from a drawer. She handed it to Gwen and said, “No sense in ruining a perfectly awesome dress.”
Gwen unfolded the garment. The white lab coat would be too large but she smiled and said, “Thanks.” She slipped it on and started rolling up the too-long sleeves as she made her way to room 233.
Before she got to the door, a man came out of the room. His hair was tousled, his tie loosened and his suit wrinkled. He looked exhausted. She barely recognized him.
“Agent Delaney,” she called out to him.
Relief crossed his face as he ran his fingers through his hair with one hand and offered her his right.
“Thanks for coming Dr. Patterson.” Then he noticed her dress and heels. “Looks like we interrupted a special evening.”
She shrugged like it didn’t matter and told him, “I’ve seen Carmen a half dozen times. I already know how it ends.” It wasn’t Delaney’s fault, after all. She could have said, “no.”