Virna DePaul - Shades of Passion

He whipped his hand away and took a step back.

To her credit, she didn’t smirk or comment on his retreat.

“Michael Callahan is still in the hospital,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, and even though he hadn’t meant to sound critical, she obviously interpreted his words that way.

She pursed her lips then nodded. “He was held on a seventy-two-hour hold for evaluation, but under the law can be kept for an additional fourteen days for treatment.”

“Even though he’s going to prison the second you’re done with him?”

She gave him a chiding look. “He’ll only go to prison if he’s deemed competent. And only then if he’s convicted—”

Simon snorted. “He gave you the information that led us to that little girl. He’ll be going to prison eventually.”

He didn’t say the words if I have anything to do with it but they echoed around them nonetheless.

She sighed. “Maybe prison is where he’ll end up. Maybe not. And whether you or I think he deserves to be imprisoned is irrelevant. It’s up to a jury, one that’s been given all the facts, including those about Michael’s psychotic break at the time he took the little girl.”

“Right. And you’re going to be the one to tell them those facts. Don’t forget to bring your box of Kleenex while you’re at it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Look, I know you’re—”

“Simon, you going to introduce us to your friend?”

Nina’s head whipped around at the sound of Jase Tyler’s voice. The handsome, sandy-haired Texan stood several feet away. Beside him, Carrie Ward, fellow agent and Jase’s girlfriend, struggled to keep her expression serious but her curious gaze bounced between Simon and Nina as if she was watching a tennis match. A very interesting tennis match.

“Dr. Nina Whitaker,” Simon bit out. “Meet Special Agents Jase Tyler and Carrie Ward.”

The trio shook hands.

“Sounds like you and Simon were discussing the pros and cons of rehabilitative therapy. You a shrink, Dr. Whitaker?”

Nina cautiously turned to Carrie. “I’m a psychiatrist, yes. Do you have an interest in rehabilitative therapy, Detective?”

Carrie smiled. “Working with this bunch? I need all the help I can get.”

That startled a laugh out of Nina, and Jase and Simon looked at each other. Despite himself, Simon had to forcibly stop himself from smiling, too.

“Seriously, whether I’m interested in rehabilitative therapy depends,” Carrie said. “Whose rehabilitation are you discussing?”

Nina hesitated, but Simon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk. Granted, Jase and Carrie weren’t as touchy about shrinks and therapy as he was, but as fellow cops they knew how often criminals tried to excuse their actions with claims of mental illness. “She’s treating Michael Callahan.”

“The guy who kidnapped that little girl.” This time it was Jase who made the statement, not Simon, but his tone was clearly critical.

Nina lifted her chin. “I’m here to speak with Commander Stevens. If he decides to fill you in, you can discuss your disdain for my profession then. Outside my presence.”

Jase stared at her, his expression blank, before he tipped his head. Simon saw the gesture for what it was—a small sign of respect. The same respect he felt for Nina. They couldn’t help it. They worked in a male-dominated, often violent world. The fact that Jase and Carrie’s relationship was going so strong was testament to the fact that, despite his previous dalliances with drop-dead gorgeous but fragile women, Jase was instinctively drawn to strong women who kept their soft hearts more under wraps. Just like Simon usually was. And Nina Whitaker was definitely a strong woman. In many ways, however, in ways that related to her patients, Nina’s soft heart was on display for everyone to see, whether they liked it or not.

“It was nice meeting you, Detectives,” she said to Jase and Carrie. Then she turned to Simon. “Goodbye, Detective Granger. I’d say it was a pleasure, but we’d both know I’d be lying.”

Jase made a choking sound that obviously communicated his amusement.

As Simon watched Nina stride out of SIG, Carrie elbowed Jase.

“Looks like you made less of an impression on her than even Simon here,” she said.

The other man grinned at her. “I no longer want to make a good impression on women. Just one particular woman.”

Though they immediately separated, walking to their respective desks, Carrie couldn’t hide the pleased blush that colored her cheeks. Knowing how much the two had gone through to be together, the sight pleased Simon, but he couldn’t let them see that. “Jesus, I’d tell you both to get a room, but you’re already living together. Give me a break, would you?”

He threw himself into his chair, trying to convince himself he could actually concentrate on work after seeing Nina Whitaker again.

Jase laughed. “Funny. That’s exactly what Carrie and I were saying to each other before we interrupted you and the doc.”

Simon frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You two were generating more heat than a five-alarm fire. Too bad she’s...well...you know.”

Simon grunted, but Carrie interjected, drowning out the sound.

“Too bad she’s what? Smart? Beautiful? Has a backbone?”

Simon swiveled around to stare at her. “Did you miss the part where I said she’s Michael Callahan’s shrink?”

“Nope. I didn’t. Did you forget that Lana did a lot of good before she was killed?”

Simon’s heart twisted. Stunned silence echoed around them.

“Jesus, Carrie,” Jase said.

But Carrie just continued to look at Simon. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Simon, but you can’t blame every psychiatrist for what happened to Lana. She was good at her job. What happened to her was the work of one man, and one man alone.”

“A man Lana thought was sick.”

Shadows suddenly appeared in Carrie’s eyes, giving her a haunted expression. “Brad Turner was sick. Sick enough to dismember a woman. Sick enough to peel the skin off another—” Her voice rose a notch before she tamped down her emotions.

“Carrie,” Jase said softly, but Carrie shook her head.

“No. I’m okay. Lana isn’t. Because of Brad Turner. But maybe if someone had listened to her, or someone like her, earlier, maybe Brad Turner would’ve gotten help long before he met Lana. Maybe he wouldn’t have killed the women he did. And maybe Lana would be alive today. Have you ever thought about that?”

Simon had no doubt that his face must look as haunted as Carrie’s just had. At least, that’s how he felt. Haunted. And nauseous. He rose and walked toward the door, hoping it didn’t look like he was stumbling.

“Simon, wait.”

Simon froze, but didn’t turn around.

“I—I care about you. We all do. We’re worried and—”

Simon turned toward her. “Don’t be worried. And for God’s sake, don’t care about me. All it’s gotten me so far are weekly appointments talking to a man about how I feel and what I’d do differently if I could. But no more. I’m through with ‘not-really-mandatory-but-essentially-mandatory’ counseling. You can tell both Mac and Commander Stevens that. Worry and caring? No, thanks. I don’t need it, Carrie, and frankly, I don’t want it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“YOU WANT ME TO SHADOW Simon Granger?” Nina asked Commander Stevens in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I’m a psychiatrist, not a cop.”

“And that’s exactly the capacity in which we want you to serve, Dr. Whitaker. I’m not asking you to go into overtly dangerous situations with Detective Granger. He’s not a street cop, but an investigator. His casework is controlled and he’s not an adrenaline junkie. To the contrary, he’s put in for a return to management.”