“I’m touched. Truly, truly touched.”
“That’s great. Your sarcasm is always so helpful.” John paused, sighed, then, “Mitch, you left here mad as hell. I was afraid you’d go on another bender, or do something even crazier.”
“Like what?”
“Like take out your anger on Dylan Reede.”
Mitch lowered the phone so he could glare at it. When he put it back to his ear, he said, “Did I hear you right? The possibility that I would harm her—any woman—actually crossed your mind?” He rolled his lips inward, mentally counted to ten, then said, “You know what? Fuck you.”
“Look, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
Mitch didn’t accept the apology. Speaking tightly, he said, “First of all, don’t flatter yourself into thinking that I would ever become that unhinged over a squabble withyou.”
“I said I was sorry.”
Clarence couldn’t help but overhear this conversation through the telephone and wasn’t even trying to conceal his avid interest. He was listening so hard, he was barely breathing.
Mitch decided it had gone far enough. “You wasted your worry on me, John. I’m stone cold sober. I’m sure Clarence reported to you that I went to Gus’s. I did. For coffee, and Gus will vouch for that. When I left Dylan Reede, she was sound of body and mind.” A little disheveled and flushed, but otherwise…
“What she and I talk about during our sessions, which youinsisted on, is private. From here, I plan to go straight home. If you don’t trust me, you can have Clarence follow me and see that I’m tucked in. He can even read me a bedtime story.”
“You’re still pissed.”
“Damn straight. I have every right to be.”
John cursed under his breath. “See you tomorrow.”
Mitch disconnected and handed the phone back to Clarence, who gave him a shaky smile. “I think y’all can patch things up in the morning.”
Mitch huffed a dismissal of that prospect. “Clarence, a few tips on the art of tailing somebody? I spied you the second I came out of Gus’s. An innocuous, unmarked vehicle without school decals, a soccer mom license plate, or tacky bumper stickers is always suspicious and as good as advertising that a cop is inside.
“Also, when on a stakeout, it’s best not to park under a streetlight. And, most importantly, constantly check your side mirrors. You had no idea anyone was around. You could easily be on your way to the morgue.”
The young cop swallowed noisily, nodded, and said, “Thanks, Mitch. I’ll remember. And I’m sorry about my part in this. Bowie—”
“No need to apologize. You were only following orders. My car is parked around the corner. Drive safely.”
With that, he replaced his pistol in its holster and struck off toward the corner he’d indicated. When he reached his truck, he climbed in and started it. For good measure, he gave Clarence a toodle-oo wave as the young cop drove past.
The first thing Dylan did when she got home was pour a glass of wine and take it with her into the bathroom. She sipped at it while she watched the tub fill.
Neither the Chardonnay nor soaking in a warm bath was going to help her think clearly, but that was the point of indulging in both. She didn’t want to think clearly. She wanted thoughts of what had taken place in her office to fog until they were totally obscured.
She didn’t want to think about Mitch, or how intimate it had felt when he’d pressed the pad of his thumb against her pulse. The whispered line about her red nail polish hadn’t been explicitly sexual, but its suggestiveness had been alarmingly effective.
By the time the tub was full, her wineglass was empty. She considered returning to the kitchen for a refill but thought better of it and, instead, half reclined in the bath.
Whether she wanted to or not, she must review what had passed between her and Mitch Haskell, herpatient, and determine what she was going to do about it.
Before arriving at a solution to this dilemma, she first must acknowledge its cause. Pure and simple, there was no getting around that she was attracted to him. He was cute, clever, funny, charismatic, charming, and flat-out sexy.
There was also no getting around that he was a deeply troubled man. He had admitted to being hell-bent on getting lethal vengeance for what he believed was the murder of his wife.
During her interview with Bowie, he’d told her there’d been no evidence that Angela’s death was a homicide. But in the two years since, Mitch had refused to accept that she had chosen death over the life she shared with him and Andrew.
As a clinician, Dylan knew that he must come to terms with it, or the prospect of a happy future for him and his young sonwas improbable. Healing from a loved one’s suicide was an arduous, complex struggle that, in addition to mourning, involved self-blame and even anger over the selfishness of the individual. That struggle would be doubly hard for Mitch because he didn’t acknowledge either the suicide or that he was in need of healing.
But Dylan was confident she could help him. Which was why she must stay focused on hisstruggle, and resistant to his appeal. She wouldn’t be struck by lightning for anything that had transpired tonight, but she had definitely entered a danger zone.
