Virna DePaul - Shades of Passion

“But we are. And we pity them. That’s enough. I never want to be pitied.”

Nor do I, Nina thought. But sometimes circumstances just lend themselves toward pity.

Without her permission, her gaze once again wandered to the big man now pacing in the waiting room. The set of his shoulders and his energy-driven stride told her he wouldn’t want to be pitied. Would likely deplore such sentiments more than most. Yet she’d seen the shadows in his eyes. Knew he grieved, if not another person, then some loss of self that had happened a long time ago. Her instinctive desire to soothe and heal him wasn’t surprising, but the renewed surge of chemical attraction was. Her mind wanted to get to know Simon Granger better, but so did her body. Nina turned back to Sandy, who was also staring at the man. “I’m heading back to my office. Want me to see what’s keeping Kyle so you can stay and enjoy the view?”

Sandy didn’t take her gaze off him. “You don’t mind? I’ll be your slave for life.”

Nina laughed. Before she left, she couldn’t resist one last glance at him. He looked up, and through the Plexiglas partition, his gaze immediately collided with hers. For tense seconds, they stared at one another. Then he glanced away, leaving her to simultaneously savor and curse the sizzle of desire that once again coursed through her.

She obviously needed to get out more. Find someone fun, have herself a little frolic and stop drooling over the patients. Problem was, she rarely socialized so finding someone fun to frolic with was a little difficult.

As she approached Kyle’s office, an athletic young man with curly blond hair was just leaving. He wore a short-sleeved T-shirt that revealed brilliantly colored tattoo sleeves. A particularly gruesome tattoo caught Nina’s attention—a skull with a unicorn in its mouth. Philosophical statement? Evidence of personal frustration over bipolar tendencies? Or both?

She almost rolled her eyes at her mental questioning.

Sometimes a tattoo was just a tattoo.

The man was saying goodbye to Kyle. “I’ll check out the clinic you told me about. Thanks, Dr. Shepard,” he said before turning and catching sight of Nina. He smiled before walking away.

In spite of his disturbing tattoo, he seemed...carefree. Happy.

Which was good, of course, but a little unusual for one of Kyle’s patients. Kyle specialized in PTSD, and his clients typically had the same brooding quality as the man pacing restlessly in the waiting room.

Kyle stepped into the hallway. “How’s it going, Nina?”

“Good. Sandy sent me to check on you. Your next patient’s getting a little restless.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

When Nina got to her own office, she noted that her in-box was still empty and checked her watch. Looked like she and the police officer in the waiting room were both being a little impatient. If she’d read him accurately, he was obviously waiting to be seen by a doctor he had no respect for. Not uncommon with cops who were reluctant to show weakness or reach out for help, even though doing so was key to their continuing ability to do their jobs.

And she? She was waiting for her annual present from Lester Davenport, of course. The deliberate reminder of his daughter’s death and the part Nina had played in it.

Nina didn’t need the reminder. She knew the significance of today’s date.

And she blamed herself enough as it was.

Still, ten minutes later, when the mail finally arrived, Nina’s hands were shaking. When she saw the envelope with the familiar handwriting on it, her breath stuttered in her chest.

And when she opened up the envelope and withdrew the card inside, she closed her eyes and thought, No. She obviously hadn’t blamed herself enough. Like always, Davenport’s note caused pain to run through her like a thousand razor blades, but this time, there was something else added to the mix.

Fear.

Because Beth’s father wasn’t content with angry words anymore. This time, he’d included threats.

Several of them.

But all of them amounted to the same thing.

His daughter was dead.

And he wanted Nina dead, too.

CHAPTER FIVE

SIMON FIGURED DR. KYLE Shepard was a middle-aged man’s version of Little Orphan Annie. It wasn’t a particularly attractive combination, but it probably lulled most people into a false sense of security. They’d be too distracted by the doc’s garish red hair to pay any attention to how he was trying to siphon out their most private thoughts.

Not Simon.

His guard was up and would stay that way. He wasn’t taking any chances when it came to his job, but he didn’t need some stranger prying around in his head, either.

“So, Detective Granger, you’re here because you’re a trauma survivor.”

It wasn’t a question, but given the way the doctor paused, he clearly expected Simon to respond.

“I’m here because my superiors ordered me to be,” he drawled.

“And how do you feel about that?”

He smirked. He couldn’t help it. Why the hell did shrinks always lead with that damn question? What the hell difference did it make how he felt about a situation he couldn’t change? “I don’t feel anything about it. I’m here. I’ll cooperate. All I want is to get back to work.”

“All you want? But that isn’t true, is it? You want Lana Hudson to be alive, don’t you?”

Simon stared at the redhead, thinking he’d underestimated him. Shepard had gone in for the kill mighty fast. Faster than Simon had expected. “What I want and what is possible are two different things. What I want is irrelevant.”

Dr. Shepard nodded. “With respect to Lana, or with respect to your life in general?”

The temper that had been simmering below the surface suddenly flashed. Simon leaned forward in his chair. “Am I here for full psychoanalysis? Because, frankly, I thought I was here for grief counseling given a serial killer tortured and killed my girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Dr. Shepard said mildly. “Wasn’t she?”

Simon sat back. “She’s dead. Can’t get any more ‘ex’ than that.”

“Why had you two broken up?”

He’d known that question was coming, and he didn’t pull any punches or try to hide the ball. He knew perfectly well why Lana had broken up with him and he’d made his decisions knowing it would happen. “She didn’t like the fact I’d gone back to work the streets after taking a management position. She didn’t want to be involved with someone with a death wish, not when she’d already lost her husband to the war.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

He gazed steadily at the doctor. “I’m not afraid of death.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Simon said precisely, “I don’t wish to be dead.”

“Have you ever? As a teenager? When you were in the military?”

Dr. Shepard stared at him with an intensity that, if Simon didn’t know better, implied he knew his deepest, darkest secrets. Instinctively, he slammed every defensive wall he possessed in place. “No.”

“Then what do you wish for?”

He forgot about why he was there—to safeguard his job—and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Right now, I’m wishing this appointment was over and I was back at work.”

Several tense seconds of silence followed his response. Great, Simon thought. Now he’d gone and pissed the guy off. But damn it, he didn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t have to be. He—

“Work is important to you. Why?”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was this guy asking questions when the answers were so damn obvious? But fine, Simon thought. The sooner he gave the doc the answers he wanted, the sooner he could get out of here. “I make a difference there. I like to think I keep the bad guys on their toes. I delay them a bit.”