Final Words (20 page)

“Yes.” She opened the door, made herself pause and turn to
smile up at him in spite of the panic that still threatened to erupt. “Thanks
for all your help.”

“I’m happy to do it.” Gripping the edge of the door, he
leaned over her shoulder. “Remember, you’re not in this alone. I will do
whatever I have to do to help you get through this.”

For an instant, she wanted to believe that he was nothing
more than a caring, competent psychiatrist. But then something in his
eyes—something flat and empty—shook her again. This time to her core.

“Thank you,” she managed to say before turning to walk away
on feet that wanted to run and keep running.

“Rough session?” Jason asked as Emma got into the Mustang and
closed the door.

“A little, yes.”

She fastened her seat belt and then settled her hands in her
lap. Her fingers, he noted, wound tightly around her purse strap.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

She hesitated before shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”

“I have nice wide shoulders. Perfect for leaning on.”

A weak smile flickered over her face. “I’ve noticed. But I’m
not ready to talk about it yet with anyone but Dr. Sanders.”

“I understand.” He pulled out into the noon traffic,
disappointed that she wouldn’t confide in him but respecting her privacy. “Whatever’s
bothering you, I’m sure he can help.”

Emma glanced at him and he noticed her smile had vanished
again. “Do you know Dr. Sanders?”

“Only by reputation. He’s counseled a few cops, helped ’em
deal with things.” He eased the Mustang through a yellow light. “Too bad he
couldn’t help Ty.”

“Ty?”

Jason tightened his hands on the steering wheel. After
seeing how tense she was, he’d abandoned his plan to question her about Ty’s
case. She probably didn’t know anything anyway, since Edgar Powell had promised
Chief Hosken that he would handle Tyrone’s body personally.

“Tyrone Sharpe was another detective friend of mine. He died
a few months ago.

“He was seeing Dr. Sanders?”

“Tyrone had emotional problems,” he explained. “Sanders
tried to help him with counseling. But before they could make any headway,
Tyron was killed while working an off-duty job.”

“I’m so sorry, Jason. Did you find out who killed him?”

“Not yet.” That failure jabbed his gut like two bony fingers
and he knew that dragging Ty’s body out of the grave wouldn’t make a damn bit
of difference.

Emma leaned toward him. “Jason?”

Glancing over, seeing her concern, he shrugged. “It just
seems that I can solve every case but the ones that are really important to me.
Maybe I should see the good doctor, myself.”

“No!”

Looking over at her sharp response, he saw that she’d gone
pale. “Emma…”

“You don’t need a psychiatrist.” She lightened her voice. “Besides,
you’ve got me to talk to, right?”

“Right.” Stopping at a traffic light, he forced a smile. “Well,
now that we’re both equally depressed, let’s have lunch, okay?”

Emma nodded and some of the color came back into her face. “That
sounds like a good idea.”

* * * * *

Emma hadn’t expected a picnic in the park down the street
from her office. Pizza topped with chicken and Alfredo sauce tasted great when
eaten on a blanket in the shade of an expansive oak tree. It tasted even better
because she was sharing the meal and the surroundings with Jason.

“I can’t believe you made this,” she said after she
swallowed another bite of the scrumptious pizza. The creamy sauce lingered on
the middle of her tongue.

“You continue to doubt my cooking ability?” Sitting
cross-legged beside her, Jason reached for another narrow slice of pizza. “You
want to come back to the house and look at my dirty kitchen? I’ll even let you
scrub the Alfredo sauce out of the pan.”

Emma smiled at a mental image of Jason, shirt-sleeves rolled
back, up to his elbows in a sink full of soapy dishwater.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you can cook,” she said. “I just can’t
believe you put all this together during the hour I was with Dr. Sanders.”

“I’d cooked the chicken last night and had it in the fridge.
Same for the pizza crust. The tricky part was the sauce.” Tilting his head
back, he lowered the point of his slice into his mouth.

“Isn’t it always,” Emma murmured, fascinated by the cords in
the column of his neck. A man’s
sternocleidomastoid
had never looked so
intriguing. Her fingertips tingled as she considered how that muscle would feel
if she were to reach out and touch it now. It would feel tight and yet supple.
His skin would be warm in spite of the shade that shielded them from the summer
sun. Warm skin—hot even—and slightly moist.

She blinked, blushing when she realized he’d caught her
staring.

“Emma, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to get
hungry for something more than pizza.”

The huskiness in his voice revealed that he was already
feeling that other hunger. The same hunger that stirred inside her when she
locked her eyes with his.

Emma lowered what was left of her own slice onto the plate
in front of her. Resting her hands on her knees, she continued to hold his
gaze. “A few nights ago—the night we saw Alan and that woman in the bar—I was
ready to tell you that I wasn’t interested in you.”

His eyes darkened. “And now?”

“After that kiss on the beach and again at the party the
other night…” She took a cleansing breath but it didn’t smooth out the jumble
of nerves that had replaced her stomach. “I’ve still got some things to work
through but… I think I—”

The ringing of his cell phone cut her off. Scowling, Jason
pulled the offending phone off his belt and looked at the caller ID. “Damn it.
I’ve got to take this.”

As he flipped open the phone, Emma took another deep breath.
But it didn’t slow her racing heart. What had she been about to say? She wasn’t
sure even now what words would have come out of her mouth or where they would
have led her.

“Yeah, Charlie, I’ll be right there.” He closed his phone
and looked at Emma. Regret darkened his eyes. “I’ve got to go. Robbery in
progress. Charlie’s already on the scene. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. It’s the nature of both our jobs. We’d better
learn to deal with it.” Disappointment and relief tangled inside her. “I’ll
pack all this up and carry it back to the office with me.”

“You’re sure?”

“It’s only a couple of blocks up the road. A short walk.”

Jason rose to his knees, reached out and hooked one hand
behind her neck. Emma’s heart tripped as he leaned close enough for her to feel
the heat rising off his skin.

“I want to hear what you were going to say,” he said. “I’m
coming back to your office as soon as Charlie and I are done.”

Emma nodded. She wanted to hear what she’d been going to say
too. “All right.”

Jason’s gaze shifted down to her lips. Slowly, he leaned
closer. His mouth covered hers for just an instant, just a taste, before he
pulled back with a shuddering breath. “I’d better not start something I don’t
have time to finish. And I do mean to finish, Emma.”

His voice was low and rough and it sent a thrill shooting up
her spine.

“We’ll talk later,” he said and then, releasing her, he
stood up and backed away.

Emma sat still, watching him until he reached his Mustang
and got in it. That thrill was still tingling her spine as his tires slung
gravel and he drove away. She knew she’d feel this sensation for the rest of
the day.

Jason glanced in his rearview mirror as he pulled out of the
park. She still sat on that blanket, staring after him. He wondered if she
could still taste him the way he tasted her.

He tucked in his lower lip and ran his tongue over it. Yeah,
she’d tasted like his pizza but spicier. And yet, at the same time, sweeter.
That was a contradiction he meant to explore.

Tonight, if she’d let him. And tomorrow night and the night
after that…

Damn it, what had she been about to say when his phone had
interrupted her?

* * * * *

Weary from long hours in the lab, Emma returned to her
office late that evening. Her head hurt from the tug-of-war that had been going
on in her mind since her lunch with Jason. Studying Graham Jones’ blood work
had her wondering if Paul might have killed anyone else. When she should have
been focusing on the epithelial samples of a burn victim, she remembered the
heat of Jason’s hand against the back of her neck.

Dropping into her chair, she closed her eyes. Torn between
remembering that chilling look in Paul’s eyes that morning and the sexy look in
Jason’s eyes that afternoon, she tried to force her thoughts along the more pleasant
of the two paths. It wasn’t difficult.

Jason.

His mouth, his eyes, his body. His heart.

Emma sighed and relaxed into her chair. She might not have
known what she’d been about to say to him that afternoon but she was getting a
pretty good idea now. Her thoughts were running along the line of commitment to
a man her friends had warned her was no different from her ex-husband. A man
who appeared to feel deeply and to form bonds so strong that even death couldn’t
sever them. His sister, his friends…

“Tyrone was one of Paul’s patients,” she murmured. Opening
her eyes, she sat forward and switched on her computer.

Because of his violent death, Tyrone Sharpe’s body would
have passed through the ME’s office. She should find the results of his post
mortem on the shared system drive. Emma hadn’t questioned Jason about his
friend’s death this afternoon because he was obviously still upset by it. But
maybe she could learn something about Paul from Detective Sharpe’s case without
involving Jason.

She searched the records from the past year and quickly
found what she was looking for. To her surprise, Tyrone Sharpe had died on the
day of her hit-and-run. The report read, “Cause of death was a single gunshot
wound to the heart.” Emma scanned downward. “Ballistics—thirty-eight caliber.
Lab—cocaine.”

After reading the drug levels, she sat back and wondered if
Jason knew about his friend’s drug problem. He’d said that Tyrone had emotional
problems. But according to the autopsy report, he had a serious drug problem as
well. The night he’d died, Tyrone had inhaled enough cocaine to keep him flying
for hours if he had survived the gunshot wound. A man who took hits like that
couldn’t have kept it a secret from anyone close to him.

Hearing the scuff of a shoe against the floor, Emma looked
up. A woman slouched in the doorway. Cobalt blue eyes gleamed above an oily
smile as she watched Emma, one finger toying with a lock of lustrous black hair
that hung to the tips of her impressive breasts. Emma recognized her as the
woman who’d been hanging on Jason in the Marquis Restaurant.

“So you’re the lady coroner,” the woman said.

Emma stood up. “I’m Emma St. Clair. Can I help you?”

“I’m Layne Simmons. A friend of Jason’s.”

Emma nodded. “You’re a police detective from Houston. Yes,
Jason mentioned you were in town.”

“I’m surprised he would mention me to you. Jason usually
gets a bit preoccupied when he’s busy with a lady.” Her gaze raked Emma’s body
again, the blue eyes sharp with dislike. “He doesn’t usually talk about old
lovers with his new ones.”

Emma understood why Jason wasn’t interested in the woman.
She had a mean personality. “Can I do something for you, Detective Simmons?”

“I hear you can do things for Jason.”

Emma straightened her spine. “I beg your pardon?”

“I drove by his place the other morning and saw the two of
you leaving. Looks like you spent the night. And today you had a cozy little
picnic in the park.” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “Good thing I got shipped
off to this backwater town or I’d never have found out about you two.”

A chill tickled Emma’s back. “You’ve been following us?”

Layne laughed. “That would be stalking now, wouldn’t it?”

The odor of liquor drifted from Layne’s direction, bringing
a deeper frown to Emma’s face. “Is there something specific you want to say to
me, Detective?”

“I just wanted to wish you luck. Apparently he prefers his
women lean and cold-natured nowadays. That’s okay.” Layne ran one hand down her
hip. “I’ve got more interesting men on my line, anyway.”

Emma’s temper bristled but she kept it in check. She had no
desire to engage in a verbal battle with a jealous woman who’d obviously spent
her lunch hour drinking. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m rather busy.”

“No problem. See you around.” Layne turned away, weaving
slightly as she walked down the hall.

Hugging her arms against a sudden chill, Emma stepped to her
office door, closed it and turned the lock.

* * * * *

Jason eased into the chair beside his partner’s desk. The
burglary suspect had been processed and this was the first time he’d had a chance
to sit since lunch. “You remember that shrink Tyrone was seeing? Paul Sanders?”

Charlie looked up from the list of used car dealers he’d
been studying. “I remember.”

“You heard anything about him? Good, bad or indifferent?”

Charlie lifted one shoulder. “Not that I recall. Why?”

“Emma’s been seeing him.”

Grinning, Charlie put down his list. “She is confiding in
you now? Didn’t I say she was the woman for you?”

“Yeah, yeah, get over yourself.” Jason managed to suppress
the smile that tickled one corner of his own mouth. “You know any other cops
who’ve had sessions with Sanders?”

Charlie sobered. “Lots of cops see counselors. Especially
homicide cops. But they usually don’t spread the news around.”

“Ty didn’t seem to get anything out of his sessions.”

“Tyrone was a difficult case.”

“I know.” Jason pushed a hand through his hair and wondered
how difficult a case Emma might be. Not that it really mattered. He’d meant
what he’d said that afternoon. If she was willing to give him a shot—and he
thought that was where their conversation had been heading—then he was willing
to give her a shot.