Virna DePaul - Shades of Passion

Someone else.

With determination, she thought about the man from the parking lot again.

He wasn’t quick to smile, but when he did, the expression softened his intimidating, almost grim countenance into something mischievously boyish. It made her think of playing tickle-tag along the ocean shore or dancing the salsa at a hip city club or resting her head in his lap while she read a book in Golden Gate Park. In other words, it made her think of all the things she’d like to do with a partner, yet her life had become her work and she rarely dated, and she hadn’t yet met a man she could picture herself doing all those things with. At least not before him...

Given he was a complete stranger, that was either pathetic or a sign that she was ready to explore dating again. It was all a matter of interpretation.

The question was which interpretation she was going to choose.

Having reached the sixth floor, Nina pulled open the stairwell door and headed toward her office. And just like always, once she immersed herself in work, thoughts about what might be possible in any other aspect of her life faded away.

* * *

HIS LONG LIMBS SPRAWLED out in front of him, Simon tried to put the pretty doctor out of his mind and waited for his appointment with the shrink to start. As more and more time went by, he found himself thinking about her and wondering if he should track her down. Then what?

Despite that porn DVD in her purse, she didn’t look like a woman into casual sex, which meant she probably had gotten it from one of her patients.

When he caught himself smiling, he shook his head. He had to focus here, not think about some intriguing woman and the equally intriguing contents of her purse.

Impatiently, he glanced at his watch. It was already twenty past the hour. Rising, he strode to the receptionist’s window. She was another pretty blonde and she was talking to...

His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

The pretty doctor.

Simon waited as the women continued their chat, then cleared his throat.

They looked up. The blonde doctor’s green eyes widened in recognition.

Simon nodded. “Hello again.” Their gazes remained locked before he managed to turn his attention to the receptionist. “Do you know how much longer Dr. Shepard is going to be?” Simon asked.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Right.”

He felt the gaze of the other woman on him and looked back at her. She smiled.

She had an incredible smile.

Attraction once again morphed into something else. Desire. Need.

He made up his mind to ask her out. Maybe she wasn’t into casual sex, but he could always get lucky, right?

Then he noticed the badge now hanging around her neck.

Nina Whitaker, MD, PhD. Psychiatry, Psychology.

A psychiatrist.

Just like Lana. Only Nina Whitaker was a twofer. An MD and a PhD.

She’d truly made it her life’s work to help the mentally ill.

Air left his lungs and the damned pain wormed its way upward again. Silencing a swearword, he turned away without returning her smile.

* * *

AS THE TALL, BROODING man stalked away from the receptionist’s window, Nina reached past Sandy to close the sliding Plexiglas window.

“God, isn’t he gorgeous?” the receptionist gushed.

That, Nina thought, is an understatement. For the second time that day, the brief glimpse of the man had gotten her motor running. “Gorgeous, sure, but he also has a major chip on his shoulder.” Her heart had nearly exploded out of her chest at seeing him again, but despite the renewed spark of interest in his eyes, she hadn’t missed how his expression had grown disdainful once he’d seen her name tag. “What’s his name?”

“Simon Granger. Isn’t that just hunky?”

The strong name fit him, she thought. “Who’s he here to see?”

“Dr. Shepard.”

Ah. That made sense. Kyle worked primarily with military and law enforcement. And since Simon’s hair was on the longer side, that meant... Nina nodded. “He looks like a cop.”

“Yep. You wanna talk to him? Who knows? Maybe he could be of service.” She grinned. “Seriously. Didn’t you say your meetings with the police chief had stalled?”

More like hit a brick wall, Nina thought. Karen had been wrong. Even given Nina’s experience with establishing the MHIT program in Charleston, she was having little luck convincing San Francisco officials that spending time and money to train officers on advanced strategies to deal with the mentally ill would be worth it in the long run. The police chief hadn’t disputed the training could make a difference for the suspects, but thought it would likely jeopardize his men more than it would help them.

“My men are trained to use force only when it’s absolutely necessary to protect themselves or others. They don’t need to be second-guessing themselves by considering the mental health complexities of the suspect in question. That’s something that becomes relevant once the suspect has been contained and any threat he poses diminished. In the moment, it doesn’t matter why someone’s acting dangerous, only that he is,” he’d said.

Nina had heard the same argument again and again. And in all fairness, it had some validity. But protecting police was only one aspect to be considered. Those same cops had to make distinctions between the suspects they apprehended all the time. They handled men and women and children differently. They approached things differently if someone was elderly, had an established record, or had never been in trouble with the law a day in his life. They considered how someone was dressed, how they walked, how they talked. An understanding of someone’s mental condition was another aspect that should be considered when entering a situation, and glossing over it was the easy answer.

Bottom line, however, was most cops hated the idea of coddling a criminal and were resistant to seeing one in a compassionate light. Maybe it was because it made it harder for them to do their job. But that was no excuse for ignorance.

She looked once more at the gorgeous guy in the waiting room. “Too bad I don’t do cops,” she murmured only half-jokingly.

Sandy laughed. “You don’t do anyone, Nina. Good thing I do.”

Smiling, Nina straightened. She’d leave the flirting to the receptionist. As sexy as Simon Granger was, he was still a cop. One who obviously disdained what she did for a living. “I’ll be on the geriatric floor.”

“Ms. Horowitz still there?”

Nina pictured the elderly woman who’d gifted her with the DVD Simon Granger had seen and who had a penchant for Old Hollywood lingerie, even when she was hospitalized. “For a little while longer, I think. Then the family will likely call hospice.”

“It’s hard to imagine a life as vibrant as hers coming to an end.”

Nina frowned. She tried, she really tried to hold back the dual images, the first of her sister as she lay in her coffin, and the second of a teenage girl with a pink ribbon tied around her neck, but it was impossible. It had been exactly three years since Beth Davenport had hung herself, but Nina knew no amount of time would make her forget the horror of finding her body.

Just like it wouldn’t erase the horror of finding her sister’s.

She swallowed hard, speaking only when she was sure her voice would be steady. “The end of any life is hard to imagine. But there are far worse ways to go. Ms. Horowitz will be surrounded by people who love her when her time comes. That’s really all any of us can ask.”

“I’d rather fall asleep and never wake up without ever having to deal with a deteriorating body or mind.”

“Most dementia patients aren’t aware of the infliction,” Nina reminded her.