Alone in the Dark (11 page)

up. "But I can look into it for you."

For a moment Patience was tempted, but it felt too much like spying.

Or stalking.

This was a bad idea. Brady needed to tell her about his background himself, not have her

find the information out by going behind his back. "Never mind. Thanks anyway."

"Hey, it's no trouble. I know someone in Human Resources—"

Patience laughed. It was no secret that Rayne had gotten around when she was younger.

That included periodically running away. Half the force knew her on sight because they

were always bringing her back to Uncle Andrew. "You know someone everywhere, Rayne.

No, I shouldn't be prying."

"Okay." Rayne had always been a strong believer in privacy. But she was also a strong

believer in satisfying curiosity. "Offer's open if you change your mind."

"Thanks, I'll remember that."

Rayne disconnected the call. Patience let the receiver drop back into its cradle. If she

was going to find things out about Brady, it was going to be the old-fashioned way—by

having him tell her.

She had the feeling that he'd almost told her something last night, then backed off, as if

the subject wasn't to be handled. Had he been beaten as a child? Humiliated? Abused?

Had he seen his own mother abused? She doubted if there was anything he could tell her

that she couldn't relate to from her own past. But she wanted him to feel like he could

talk to her. And that, she knew, was going to take time.

There were no flowers.

Each day, Patience held her breath, waiting. First one day passed and then another, and no

roses were left on her doorstep, no poems showed up in her mailbox, the way they had the

last time Walter Payne had set his sights on her.

Each day she felt a little more confident.

She was beginning to think she was in the clear. Maybe whatever had prompted Walter to

act had faded, an emotional blip he'd ridden out.

She said as much to Brady when he called the afternoon of the third day to check on her.

"All's clear on the western front," she kidded in response to his inquiry about the

recurrence of any flowers or other signs of unwanted attention. "I think this was a

momentary flare-up and he's thought better of it." For lack of a suspect, she'd decided to

agree with Brady that the sender was most likely Walter.

"We'll see."

She heard the skepticism in his voice. Maybe it was childish, but she wanted him to say

something reassuring, to tell her that it was over. "You're supposed to be more

encouraging than that."

"I don't deal in encouragement." He sounded annoyed. "I deal in reality."

"Right." And the reality, she knew, was that she wasn't completely out of the woods yet.

But she chose to think that she was. She wanted to celebrate. And to thank Brady for

being there for her. She could have turned to Josh if she'd wanted to avoid her family,

but somehow Brady made her feel safer. "Does dinner sound real enough for you?"

"Come again?"

"I thought you and King might want to stop by for dinner—unless you have other plans."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. So long that she thought maybe he'd

hung up. And then she heard him.

"No."

Again she waited, but there was no follow-up. Conversation with this man was definitely a

challenge. "No, you can't come or no, you don't have other plans?"

"The latter."

She bit back a laugh. She didn't want him thinking she was laughing at him. "Good, then

stop by.Tacomais going through King withdrawals. She keeps looking at me when I close up

the clinic at night, as if she's asking me why isn't King here."

"So this is about King."

Was that humor in his voice? Maybe the connection was fading. "Yeah, but you can come,

too, Coltrane. We're friends, remember?"

"I thought we decided to downgrade that."

No, that was definitely humor there. My God, the man was human. "Don't remember any

such decision being made. Look, I made a huge lasagna and I can't eat it by myself. I

thought we might give King a new taste treat."

And then he thought better of it. It was best to stay out of temptation's way. "I'll take a

rain check," he finally told her.

"Up to you. The lasagna'll be there if you change your mind."

After hanging up, she exited the closet-like room humming. Things were definitely looking

up.

As she entered the reception area, she saw the back of Shirley's head. Lunch was

obviously over.

"First patient is in room one," Shirley announced, handing her the file as she walked by her desk.

Patience nodded. Opening the file as she opened the door, Patience stopped dead in the

doorway.

There was a cockatiel in a brightly polished bronze cage on the examination table. A

slight, balding man stood beside it, his face a wreath of agony.

Walter Payne.

"Help me," he implored.

«^»

Her mind whirled. What was Walter Payne doing in here?

As if in tune to her thoughts, the cockatiel fluffed up her wings. The bird was obviously

ill. Walter must have called in for an appointment. Shirley wasn't aware that Walter had

once been guilty of subjecting Patience to unwanted attention. Unwilling to endure the

barrage of questions Shirley always asked, she'd put off telling the receptionist to refer

Walter to another veterinarian.

Walter's thin features were all but distorted with worry. "Mitzi's sick. She's really sick."

He gestured toward the cage helplessly. "Her feathers have been ruffled up like this for

over a day and I can't get her to eat anything. I didn't know what to do." His eyes pleaded

with her. "Please. You helped her before."

Patience hadn't taken a single step into the room. Had Walter made the bird ill on purpose

so he would have an excuse to see her again? It could have been as simple a matter as

leaving the cockatiel exposed in a draft. Birds caught colds very easily, often with fatal

results. If that was the case, then Patience had a great deal to worry about. She knew

Walter really loved the bird. If he put Mitzi's life in jeopardy, then he had really gone

over the edge.

The folder tucked under her arm, Patience shoved her hands deep into her pockets. Her

gaze never wavered from Walter's drawn face. "I can give you the name of a veterinarian

who specializes in birds."

He shook his head at her offer. "Whoever it is won't know her like you do," Walter

pointed out. "Please. I know you probably don't want me to be here." She'd made that

rather clear the last time he'd been here. "And I wouldn't be, but she's sick." His small brown eyes misted behind the rimless glasses. "Mitzi's all I have."

Try as she might to bank it down, Patience could feel sympathy stirring within her. Each

and every member of her family would tell her to have the man removed, and from their

point of view, they'd be right. But Walter looked so pathetic, pleading with her to save his

pet, to ease the bird's suffering. And shewasa veterinarian. She was bound by her oath,

not to mention her honor, to help the bird in any way that she could.

Patience stifled a sigh. "All right, I'll see what I can do." She saw hope enter the man's eyes. "First I need to run some tests." He took a step forward. She stopped him in his

tracks. "But I want you to go into the waiting room and stay there until I come out to talk

to you." Even if he were harmless, the last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, yes." Walter's head bobbed up and down, much the way Mitzi's did when she

reacted to the vibrations of a song. "Thank you." His voice cracked. Before leaving the

room, he paused by the cage. "The doctor's going to take good care of you, Mitzi. She'll

make you well. I promise."

Patience deliberately moved out of the way before he could pass her, then shut the door

the second he'd crossed the threshold.

She blew out a slow, shaky breath. This had to stop. She couldn't allow herself to get

unsettled like this. What was the matter with her? The man had never even attempted to

touch her. But what had touched her were newspaper stories about other women in her

situation. Semi-formed scenarios and half-realized fears preyed on her mind. She had to

stop doing that to herself.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the unhappy cockatiel. "Okay, let's have a look

and see what's wrong with you, Mitzi."

When she walked into the reception area forty-five minutes later, several people were

waiting with their pets. Walter seemed oblivious to all of them. The second she entered,

he popped to his feet like an old-fashioned jack-in-the-box. His small eyes nearly bulged

out of his head with anticipation.

"How is she?" Crossing to her, Walter grasped her wrist, then realized what he'd

unconsciously done and released her.

"Mitzi has a cold," Patience said. "I gave her some antibiotics." She took a small container of pills out of her pocket, gingerly offering it to Walter. "See that she gets these every

six hours, chopped up in her food." She knew how fussy some birds could be. "Mix them in with her fruits and grains, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference. If there's a

problem, the medicine also comes in liquid form. Call Shirley if you need them and she'll

have some for you at the front desk. You can use an eye dropper to get them down Mitzi's

throat. Keep her warm and be sure she stays out of any cross ventilation."

Because there was no other way around it, Patience turned on her heel and led the way to

the examination room. Mitzi was in her cage, waiting for her owner.

All the while, as he'd been taking in the information, Walter's head continued to bob up

and down. "But she'll be all right?" he asked eagerly as he followed her to collect his pet.

Once on the other side of the examination table, Patience turned to face him. "If you're

faithful with her medication, she should be."

Walter made a few cooing noises at the cockatiel, who seemed to listen to them

disdainfully. "Do you want to see her for a recheck?"

Ordinarily, Patience would have said yes. She liked to keep tabs on her patients. But in

this case, the less she and the bird's owner interacted, the better off she knew her

nerves would be. "That shouldn't be necessary."

He beamed at Mitzi, very obviously relieved. "She looks better already. Must be your

healing touch."

"It was the antibiotic I gave her," Patience informed him crisply. She nodded at the

empty box that had contained the syringe she'd used. "If you forget the instructions, look

at the paper that Shirley is going to give you when you go out front again."

Inserting his finger into the cage, something she would have strongly advised against,

Walter ran it along the bird's feathers. Ill, the bird still accepted it as her due.

"I don't know how to thank you. I have nothing else in my life besides my work and Mitzi."

On her guard, Patience could have sworn she saw longing in the man's eyes. "You know,if

things had turned out differently between us—"

"Therewasnothing between us to turn out, Mr. Payne. There was never even an 'us.' Now

please, I saw you out of consideration for Mitzi's health, but I'd rather you found another

doctor for her."

"There isn't anyone like you."

She was in no mood for flattery, she just wanted him on his way. "Be that as it may,

you're going to have to find someone else." She kept her voice as cool and detached as

possible. It was against her nature to be hard, but there was no other way. If she left

even the smallest of openings, Walter would find a way to wiggle through it.

The man looked as if he wanted to say something else, something in protest, but then he

clamped down his mouth. The next moment he picked up the cage, then exited without

uttering another word.

Patience was at the door in two strides. She closed it hard, shutting her eyes and trying

to pull herself together before the next patient.

After a beat she stepped away from the door. Damn, she wished she were tougher. All

those years of putting up a brave front had almost managed to erode her strength. Right

now, it felt as if she were walking along a hairy edge, about to plummet over the side.

Nice way for a doctor to behave, she upbraided herself.

The door behind her opened again, and she immediately thought of Walter. Had he

fabricated some excuse to return? Not waiting to find out, she grabbed a heavy stone

bookend and swung around.

"If you don't go home right now, I'm going to call the police."

Brady stared at her. "Iamthe police. Hey, careful," he cautioned as the bookend slipped

from her hands. He reached for it a second too late. "You could lose a toe like that." And then he looked at her ashen face. "What happened?"

Instead of trusting her voice not to break, Patience threw herself into his arms, catching

him completely off guard.

She was tired of being brave. She wanted someone else to be brave for her for a change,

if only for a second. "Just hold me."

"Okay." He did as she asked. Awkwardly at first and then his arms closed around her more comfortably. The scent of the shampoo she used tripped lightly along his senses, arousing

rather than sedating him. He moved the sensation to the rear of his consciousness.

"Patience, what just happened here?"