Page 29 of Tough Justice

“Thanks.” She sniffled then took the cards.

“Thank you,” Deck said, taking her hand in his. “You’ve got this, Leslie. Be strong. Okay?” She nodded. “Good. The most important thing you can do is to let people help you. Family. Friends. Don’t shut them out. Let them know exactly what’s been going on with you, and as soon as the rehab center allows you to have visitors, invite them to your sessions. It makes all the difference.”

Tori watched Deck closely, curious about the look on his face—intense and yet…sad was the word that popped into her head. There was something deeply meaningful rooted in the advice he’d given Leslie. Was someone close to him an addict? Did they die? It wasn’t any of her business, but she couldn’t help wondering about his personal life. She didn’t even know if he was married or had a girlfriend or kids of his own. Not that it was any of her business.

Wil rushed into the room. “Turned out that case wasn’t all that urgent. What did I miss?”

“Not much.” Deck shoved the pad and pen back into his pocket. “We’re all done here.”

“Shall we?” Tori extended her arm toward the door, indicating she and Deck should leave. Being the conscientious physician that he was, Wil took his follow-up care very seriously.

Deck followed her from the room. “Thanks for setting that up.”

“You’re welcome.” She continued with him to the ER exit. “Do you think you can get another warrant with that information?”

“I’ll have to do surveillance up in Loveland. But yeah. I do.”

She grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop walking. “I want to go with you.”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not? I accompanied you on the last warrant.”

He began shaking his head. “That was a one-time thing.”

“Then how about making it a two-time thing?”

“Why?” He quickened his pace, forcing her to hurry to keep up with his long stride.

When he beelined for the door, she knew the only way she’d get him to agree was if she did a lot of sweet-talking, and fast. “Because you need me.” Ironically, it was probably more that she needed him, at the moment. To give her the continuing chance to make a difference out there.

“We have agents cross-trained as EMTs, so no offense, but we don’t need you.” He pushed through the ER exit door into the waiting area. “If that’s not enough, paramedics are either on standby or a quick call away.”

She followed him through the door. “Or you could have me right there with you on standby. We already established that there’s no one more qualified, and there’s precedent for it. With the nationwide rise in mental illness, some police departments have started taking psychiatrists with them on mental health calls because they’re better trained to handle those situations.”

“Those are shrinks, Tori.” He turned and kept walking.

Was that the first time he’d called her by her nickname?

“Psychiatrists are physicians, too,” she countered, following him.

He turned so abruptly she nearly slammed into his chest. “Why do you really want to do this?”

Because of Tyler. But she didn’t want to discuss him. His eyes softened as he gazed down at her, eyes so deep brown she could easily see herself getting lost in their warm, chocolaty depths. “Please,” she said, latching onto his forearm and squeezing it. “I have to do this. I have to do something more.”

Chapter Ten

What does a girl wear to a federal warrant?

Tori stared at the blouses hanging in her closet. Last time, she’d been totally unprepared and had to go with what she’d been wearing at the training presentation. Now, she had time to make just the right selection.

She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Six p.m. Deck would be here in an hour to pick her up. Unable to make a decision about a shirt, she dug into her bureau and pulled out a pair of black jeans. Perfect. Deck wore black all the time, so that seemed like the right choice.

Tori put on the jeans then went back to her closet. The shirt shouldn’t matter that much, since he’d make her wear that awful, itchy body armor vest again. So why am I fussing so much about my wardrobe? It was an arrest warrant, not a beauty pageant. Deck couldn’t care less what she was wearing.

Pride. She was a doctor, after all, with a reputation to uphold. Oh, bull. There was that bonky brain of hers again, forcing her to acknowledge the truth. She wanted to look good for him. A stupid, stupid thought, but there it was. Shit, shit, shit! That was the last place she should go.

She grabbed the least sexy, least attractive shirt in the entire closet—a slightly too big, rumpled, short-sleeve, scoop-neck, cerulean-blue shirt that she never wore because it made her look frumpy and screamed boring. The plan had been to donate it to Goodwill. She just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.