Debra Webb - Past Sins

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I’ve met a lot of terrific ladies in my life who would

definitely fall into the Bombshell category, but not one

with a truer heart than Vicki Hinze. Vicki possesses every

single trait that epitomizes a Bombshell heroine. I feel

privileged to call her my friend.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

Coming Next Month

Never count on anything to last.

From the large window in reception Dr. Olivia Mills watched uneasily as her final patient climbed into his Bentley and drove away from her West Hollywood office.

Other than talking to the dead, this particular patient was a class act. Well dressed, well mannered, wealthy. Unfortunately, like far too many Hollywood residents, his love life might never be stable. But then, that meant job security for her. As long as people needed a sounding board her calendar would stay full.

That, she mused, was the upside of high anxiety.

Though her private practice wasn’t that large, she had half a dozen or so eccentric has-been stars on her patient list as well as a few she considered to be regular civilians—in other words, not employed in the entertainment industry. Most, in or out of the business, she had inherited from the man who’d retired after four decades in this very location.

Olivia had been fortunate enough to meet him during the leasing process and they’d formed an instant friendship—an extremely rare development for her. The whole father-figure notion hadn’t been lost on her at the time.

Her new friend had recommended her to all his patients, ensuring a grand start to her new endeavor. That he’d passed away only a short time later had reiterated a couple of theories that she’d operated under for a significant portion of her life—never depend on anyone, never count on anything to last.

If she were like most in her current field of expertise she would have her own shrink with whom to discuss that very issue as well as a multitude of others. But the past sins that had formed her deeply rooted cynicism were far too great to lay at anyone else’s door.

Tearing away from those dark thoughts, she locked the front entrance and tidied the magazines on the table near the sofa. She surveyed the small reception room, noted the drapes were looking a little drab and out of date. She’d have to do something about that before long. It was hard to believe she’d been here three years already.

A tiny knot formed in the pit of her stomach when she thought about how comfortable she’d gotten with this life.

Never count on anything to last.

“Enough, Olivia,” she muttered. Looking forward was the only direction she allowed nowadays. No exceptions.

Before turning out the lights she checked the soil in the pots of salmon-colored geraniums to see if they needed water. Good to go for another day, she decided as she clicked off the light. Exhaustion nipped at her heels. She’d had a full schedule, one interesting client after the other. She had to smile as she considered some of the stories she’d heard. She did love her work. Loved her life, as well.

And that was the truly scary part.

“Stop it,” she muttered. Stop thinking stupid thoughts. Stop overanalyzing and contemplating the worst. Her period had come and gone this month. There was absolutely no reason for her to be obsessing like this. Depression wasn’t her style, no matter how hormonal she felt on any given day. The right kind of training could teach a person to block most any discomfort. And she’d had all the right training.

More ancient, irrelevant history she didn’t want or need to think about.

Five minutes was all she needed to straighten her office and dictate the results of her final session. The patient continued to experience panic attacks related to the death of his last liaison. He’d been in one of those mega-intense relationships where physical intimacy overwhelmed his entire existence to the detriment of his mental well-being.

Olivia had experienced that kind of relationship personally and could understand how one could get caught up in the incredible sensory rush. It was like a drug. The memories evoked by the thought were immediately stuffed back into their designated compartment before regret and too many other emotions to name could take root and ruin what should be a perfectly good evening.

What was wrong with her today? She hadn’t had this much trouble maintaining a proper attitude in more than two years. Listening to that last patient go on and on about the powerful bond with his lover had obviously prodded loose far too many pieces of her own past. There was simply no other explanation.

After a deliberate mental adjustment and checking of her calendar for the next day, she locked her desk and files, made her way out the side exit and climbed into her Audi. She lowered the convertible top, backed out of the alley that served as a parking lot and pointed the car toward home.

Home.

Even after three years that felt a little foreign.

In her former life she’d moved around a lot, seldom spending more than a few months in any one place. She’d had a home base, so to speak, but nothing she would have called home. Certainly not in the way she considered her small ranch-style house in the Hollywood Hills. It was her first real home. The admission brought with it another prick of uncertainty. Why all the creepy feelings of imminent doom? Apparently she needed a long, hard run to clear her mind. Extreme physical exertion would likely do the trick. Maybe she’d spent too much time behind her desk lately.

She slid her Oakleys into place and sped along Santa Monica Boulevard. The sun felt amazing and she abruptly wished she were on the beach soaking up some rays. She definitely needed a vacation. Maybe that was the real problem. It was the middle of July already and neither she nor Jeffrey had made time for an escape.

She’d have to speak with Jeffrey about getting away. It was past time. Their combined work schedules were grueling. Between his research at the lab and her high-maintenance clients, they barely had time to manage dinner on a regular basis.

Olivia glanced at her watch. Just past 1800 hours.

Her teeth clenched as she cursed and amended her assessment—6:00 p.m. was what she’d meant.

The tiny gold heart and delicate matching chain lying against her throat abruptly felt like a rock pressing down on her. She would not think about the past.

She took the turn up Mount Olympus, scarcely letting off the accelerator. The oleander and casa blanca lilies and tropical hibiscus were in full bloom. The colorful displays in pots and flower beds were eye-catching and filled the breeze with their sweet smells. She wished she knew all their names. She’d never been much of a gardener. Now that she had the time and place for it, she felt aeons behind on what she should know—what everyone but her appeared to know. Her neighbors gave the impression of having been born with green thumbs.