Page 17 of Mercy (Buchanan-Renard 2)

  “FBI?” She couldn’t hide her alarm. “Then you must think —”

  He interrupted her. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Noah’s a family friend, and I thought it would be a good idea to let him look at the clinic. Get his opinion. Besides, he’s over in Biloxi, and he loves to fish. A day or two in Bowen will be a vacation for him.”

  “I will appreciate his help . . . and yours too, but I wonder if maybe we aren’t making a mountain out of what could have been just a random act.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  She rubbed her temples. “No, I guess I don’t. I don’t think Ben believes kids did it either,” she admitted. “He walked around the clinic with me, and we both noticed there weren’t any footprints outside the window. The grass was still soggy. It had rained hard the night before. There should have been footprints.”

  “So why did you argue with me about how he got in?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted it to be easy and make sense. Do you know the first thought I had when I saw my office?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone really hates me. It scared me,” she said. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with a name, but honestly, I haven’t been back in town long enough to make enemies. Give me a couple of months, and I’m sure I’ll have a list as long as my arm.”

  “I doubt that,” he said. “The man was definitely out of control in your office. Noah will have some ideas for us.”

  He popped another Triscuit in his mouth. Without some squirty cheese or peanut butter, the crackers tasted like sawdust to him, but he kept eating them anyway.

  “Men like Noah catch criminals, and you put them away.”

  “Something like that.”

  “At least you don’t have to worry about people shooting at you.”

  “That’s right.” His quick agreement was a lie, of course. Hell, he’d been shot at, kicked, bitten, punched, and spit on while he was doing his job. He’d even had a contract taken out on him — twice now that he recalled — and when he went after Leon’s family, he received daily threats.

  “I have a theory,” she said.

  “Let’s hear it.” He was digging into the bottom of the box, searching for one last piece of sawdust he could eat.

  “One of Dr. Robinson’s patients was trying to steal his file.”

  “What would his reason be?”

  “I don’t know. I thought that if he had some contagious disease or some diagnosis he didn’t want his insurance company or his family to know about, then maybe he might want to steal his file. I know I’m reaching, but that’s the only theory I can come up with as to why the files were all torn apart.”

  “Did Robinson give you a list of his patients?”

  “Yes, he did. There was a printout in a manila envelope taped to one of the boxes. He didn’t have a big practice considering the length of time he worked here. From what I’ve heard, Dr. Robinson needed to take a couple of sensitivity classes. He offended his patients.”

  “Which is why he didn’t have a big practice.”

  “That’s right.”

  “After Noah goes through the clinic and tells us what he thinks, you’re going to have to match the files with the list of names to see if anyone’s chart is missing.”

  “Assuming that list wasn’t destroyed.”

  Theo nodded. “I also think you should call Robinson and ask him if there were any difficult patients. You’ll know what to ask.”

  “Yes, all right. He probably has a copy of the patient list anyway if we need it.”

  He noticed she was rubbing the back of her neck. “Are you getting a headache?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Maybe I can ‘sort of’ fix it.”

  He got up and joined her on the sofa. Then he put a pillow on the floor between his bare feet and told her to sit there while he worked the kinks out.

  The offer was irresistible. She got settled between his knees and stretched her legs. He put his hands on her shoulders, then pulled back.

  “Take your robe off.”

  She unbuttoned the robe, untied the belt, and slipped the robe off.

  “Now take your pajama top off.”

  “Nice try.”

  He grinned. “Okay, then unbutton the top buttons.”

  She had to undo three buttons so his hands could get to her skin.

  Too late, she realized what she was doing. His big, warm hands were touching her bare skin, and, oh, Lordy, did it feel wonderful.

  “Your skin’s soft.”

  She closed her eyes. She should make him stop, she thought. How crazy was this? Theo was the reason she was feeling so tense, and now he was making it blissfully worse. Oh, yes, she should definitely make him stop. She turned her head to the side instead so he could rub the knot on the column of her neck.

  “You know what I thought when I first met you?”

  “That I was irresistible?” she teased. “So irresistible you had to throw up on me?”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I was out of my mind with pain then,” he reminded her. “And that’s not what I was talking about anyway. After the surgery, when you came into my room and you were telling me about Bowen and your clinic and the people who live here . . . you know what I was thinking then?”

  “That you wish I’d stop talking and let you get some sleep?”

  He tugged on her hair. “I’m being serious here. I’m gonna tell you why I really came to Bowen.”

  His tone of voice indicated he wasn’t teasing. “I’m sorry. What were you thinking?”

  “That I wanted what you had,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “I saw something inside of you I had when I first started out, but somewhere along the way, I lost it. That never bothered me until I met you. You made me want to find it again . . . if that’s possible.”

  “What was it you saw?”

  “Passion.”

  She didn’t understand. “Passion for my work?”

  “Passion to make a difference.”

  She paused for a moment. “I don’t want to change the world, Theo. I’m only hoping I can make a difference in a little corner of it.” She got up on her knees and turned around to face him. “You don’t think you make a difference?” she asked, astonished.

  “Yeah, sure I do,” he said very matter-of-factly. “I’ve just lost my enthusiasm for the job, I guess. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. The men I put away . . . they’re like rodents. Every one I lock up, three more take his place. It’s frustrating.”

  “I think you’re experiencing burnout. You’ve been working long hours since your wife died. You don’t allow yourself time to play.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You told me you loved building things with your hands, but you also said you haven’t had time for the hobby in four years. In other words, since your wife died.”

  She could tell he wanted to interrupt her, and so she hastened to add, “And fishing too. You told me you used to love to fish, but the way you said it was as though you were talking about a past life. You’ve been punishing yourself long enough, Theo. You have to let it go.”

  His immediate reaction was to tell her he hadn’t come to Bowen to get analyzed and that she should leave him the hell alone. She’d hit too close to the bone . . . but she’d only told him what he already knew. For the past four years he’d been running as fast as he could so he wouldn’t have time to think about his failure to save his wife. The guilt had been eating at him for a long time. It had taken his energy, his enthusiasm, and his passion.

  “You need to kick back and let life pass you by for a couple of weeks.”

  “Doctor’s orders?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You’ll feel rejuvenated. I promise.”

  She was worried about him. He could see it in her eyes. Lord, she was sweet. And what was he go

ing to do about that? He was beginning to like her a hell of a lot more than he’d anticipated.

  “And if you decide to go back to Boston, you’ll have a new attitude.” “If I go back?”

  “I meant when you go back,” she corrected.

  He didn’t want to think about Boston or work or his future or anything else for that matter, and that was so unlike him. He was a planner, always had been for as long as he could remember, but now he didn’t want to plan anything. He wanted to do exactly what Michelle had suggested. Kick back and let the world pass him by.

  “It’s funny,” he remarked.

  “What is?”

  “You . . . me. It’s like fate threw us together.”

  She smiled. “You’re a contradiction, Theo. A lawyer with a romantic side. Who would have thought that was possible?”

  Theo decided to lighten the mood. Michelle was so easy and fun to tease and gave as good as she got. He liked embarrassing her. The esteemed doctor could blush with the best of them.

  “You know what else I thought when I met you?” he asked with a playful grin.

  “No, what?” she asked suspiciously.

  “You were sexy. Real sexy.”

  “Oh.” The word came out with a sigh.

  “‘Oh,’ what?”

  Oh, boy. “The baggy green surgical scrubs, right? The outfit’s a real turn-on.”

  “That cute little mask hid your best feature.”

  “My freckles?”

  “No, your mouth.”

  Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Theo certainly knew how to flirt. He could make her squirm and pant at the same time.

  She smiled sweetly. “You haven’t seen my best feature yet.”

  He raised an eyebrow in that wonderful Cary Grant way she loved. “Yeah?” he drawled. “Now you’ve got me curious. You’re not going to tell me what your best feature is, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You want me to spend half the night thinking about it?”

  She hoped he would. She hoped he’d squirm a little too, just the way she did every time he looked at her. She knew she wasn’t going to get much rest tonight. Why should she be the only one sleep-deprived? Tit for tat, she thought. She was suddenly feeling quite pleased with herself. Theo might have been the master at sexual banter, but she was finally feeling as though she was holding her own. She wasn’t such a neophyte after all.

  You mess with me and you pay the consequences.

  “You want to fool around?” he asked.

  She laughed. “No.”

  “If you’re sure . . .”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then maybe you’d better button your top.”

  She glanced down at her chest and let out a loud groan. The silk pajama top was completely undone. Damn those silk buttons. They never stayed put. Her breasts were covered, though just barely. Mortified, she frantically rebuttoned.

  Her face was bright pink when she looked at him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Are you kidding? Why would I want to do that? I liked it. And don’t look at me that way. I didn’t unbutton the thing. I’m an innocent bystander.”

  She sat back on her heels while she put her robe on. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for the massage. It helped.”

  He leaned forward, cupped the sides of her face and kissed her. Her mouth was so soft and warm and sweet. She tasted like peppermint. He took his time coaching a response, trying not to rush her.

  There hadn’t been time to prepare. She hadn’t realized he was going to kiss her until his lips were touching hers. She didn’t resist. She should have, but she didn’t. Her lips parted, and then he deepened the kiss and she went limp.

  She was his for the taking and both of them knew it.

  He abruptly pulled back. “Sweet dreams.”

  “What?”

  “Good night.”

  “Oh. Yes, I’m going to bed.”

  There was a definite twinkle in his eyes. He knew what he’d just done to her. She’d all but melted in front of him. Lord, what would happen if they made love? She’d probably have a complete mental breakdown.

  How could he turn it on and off so quickly and efficiently? Experience and discipline, she decided as she stood and walked out of the room. Years and years of experience and discipline. She, on the other hand, apparently had the discipline of a rabbit. One kiss and she was ready to have his babies.

  God, she was disgusting. And did he have to be such a great kisser? She shoved her hair out of her face. Mr. Big City was going to eat her alive if she didn’t get a handle on her emotions. She wasn’t an innocent. She’d been in a relationship before, and at the time, she’d believed she was going to marry the man. He hadn’t kissed the way Theo had, though, and he hadn’t made her feel so alive and desirable.

  The big jerk. Michelle tripped on the hem of her robe going up the stairs. As soon as she reached her bedroom, she threw the robe on a chair. Then she got into bed. She stayed there about five seconds, got up again, and went downstairs.

  Theo was back at the desk, typing on his laptop.

  “Listen, you.” She came close to shouting.

  “Yes?” he asked, his hands poised over the keyboard.

  “I just want you to know . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’m a damned good surgeon. While you were out getting all that experience . . . screwing around, and I use that word specifically . . . ”

  “Yes?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  She poked herself in the chest. “I was busy learning how to use a scalpel. I just wanted you to know . . .”

  “Know what?” he asked when she abruptly stopped.

  Her mind went blank. Several seconds passed in silence. Her shoulders slumped and she said, “I don’t know.”

  Without another word, she left the room.

  Could she have made a bigger fool of herself? “I doubt that,” she whispered as she got into bed. She felt like David going to meet Goliath and forgetting to bring his slingshot. Letting out a loud groan, she rolled onto her stomach, pulled the pillow over her head, and closed her eyes.

  He was making her nuts.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Monk hated surveillance. He stood in the shadows of a weeping willow watching Dr. Renard’s house, waiting to make certain she had gone to bed so he could return to his motel room and catch a few hours’ sleep. He would have to listen to all the taped telephone calls first, of course. He rubbed his thigh as though to console himself because he’d torn his best pair of khakis climbing the telephone pole when he’d placed the tap.

  While he stood there, hour upon hour, waiting and watching, he thought about past assignments. He liked to go over each minute detail. He wasn’t being ghoulish, and he certainly wasn’t getting any perverse pleasure thinking about his victims. No, his goal was to review his performance and then analyze it. What mistakes had he made? What could he do to improve himself?

  He’d learned something from each job he’d taken. The wife in Biloxi kept a loaded gun under her pillow. If her husband knew about it, he’d failed to mention it to Monk. He had almost gotten his head blown off, but fortunately he’d been able to wrestle the gun away from her. Then he’d used it to kill her instead of wasting valuable seconds trying to suffocate her. Expect the unexpected. That was the first lesson.

  And then there was the teenager in Metairie. Monk’s performance that night had been less than perfect, and looking back, he realized he had been lucky that no one had walked in on him. He’d stayed much too long. He should have left the second the job was finished, but he watched a movie on television instead. What made that all the more remarkable was the fact that Monk never watched television. He felt he was far too intelligent to stare at the trash the networks put out to numb the already numb minds of beer-guzzling couch potatoes.

  This movie had been different. And vastly amusing. The film had just begun playing when he’d broken into the victim’s bedroom. He

still remembered every detail from that night. The pink-and-white-striped wallpaper with the tiny pink rosebuds, the assortment of stuffed animals on the client’s bed, the pink frilly curtains. She had been the youngest client he had ever taken on, but that fact hadn’t bothered him much at all. A job, after all, was simply that. A job. All he cared about was getting it done and getting it done right.

  The music from the video, he recalled, had been blaring. The client had been awake, half-stoned on a joint she’d just smoked. The air smelled sweet, heavy. She was dressed in a short blue T-shirt, her back against pillows and the headboard of the pink canopy bed, a super-sized bag of Doritos in her lap. She mindlessly stared at the screen, unaware of his presence. He’d murdered the teenage girl with the acne-ravaged face and the oily brown hair as a special favor — and for twenty-five thousand — so that good old Dad could collect on a three-hundred-thousand-dollar policy he’d taken out on his only child six months before. The policy had a double indemnity clause, which meant that if the cause of death was proven to be accidental, Dad would receive double the face value. Monk had gone to great lengths to make the murder look accidental so that he would receive double his fee. The father had been most appreciative of his work, of course, and although it hadn’t been necessary to explain why he wanted his daughter murdered — the money was all Monk was interested in — he confessed that he was desperate to get the loan sharks off his back and was only doing what he had to do.

  Ah, fatherly love. Nothing like it in the world.

  While he was killing her, he listened to the dialogue from the movie, and within a minute or two, he was captivated. He shoved the deceased’s feet out of his way, sat down on the foot of the bed, and watched the movie until the last credits came on, all the while munching on Doritos.

  He had just stood up to leave when he heard the garage door opening. He’d gotten away in the nick of time, but now, thinking about the foolish risk he’d taken, he realized how fortunate he’d been. What lesson had he learned from that experience? Get in and get out as quickly as possible.

  Monk believed he’d vastly improved since those early murders. He’d dispatched Catherine without any problems at all.