Sacred Sins (34 page)

“Lois is completely opposed to the clinic. I'm sorry, Dr. Court, and I do appreciate your concern, but I have to back her on this.”

Anger surged, barely controlled. Couldn't he see it was the boy he had to back up? That they both had to back up? “I understand that you feel you should show Joey a united front. But, Mr. Monroe, I can't stress enough how vital it is for Joey to continue to receive consistent professional help.”

“And, Dr. Court, there's also the risk of overanalyzing. Joey isn't drinking, he isn't hanging around with the same crowd he was when he was drinking. He hasn't even mentioned his father in two weeks.”

The last statement had alarm bells ringing in her head. “The fact that he hasn't mentioned his father only means he's repressing his feelings. His emotional state at this point is very tenuous. Can you understand, when there is little self-esteem, suicide becomes almost easy? I'm afraid—no, I'm terrified of what he might do.”

“Dr. Court, I can't help but think you're overreacting.” “I promise you, I'm not. Mr. Monroe, I don't want to see Joey become a statistic. What I want, more than anything, is for his therapy to stop, when he's ready. It's both my professional opinion and my gut instinct that he's not.”

“I'll see if I can convince Lois to bring him back for another session.” But even as he said it, Tess recognized the dismissal. Some other boy might slash his wrists or swallow a bottle of pills, but not Joey.

“Mr. Monroe, has anyone asked Joey if he wants to continue seeing me?”

“Dr. Court, I can only promise to look into this.” Impatience came through now, with a trace of annoyance. “I'll use whatever influence I have to see that Joey comes back for at least one more session. I think you'll see for yourself how much better he is. You've been very helpful, Doctor, but if we feel Joey is well, then the sessions should be stopped.”

“Please, before you do anything, would you get a second opinion? Perhaps you're right not to take my word for it. I can recommend several excellent psychiatrists in the area.”

“I'll talk to Lois. We'll consider it. Thank you, Dr. Court, I know you've helped Joey a great deal.”

Not enough, she thought as the connection broke. Not nearly enough.

“Dr. Court. Mr. Grossman is here.”

“All right, Kate. Send him in.” She took Joey's file, but didn't put it away. Instead she set it aside on her desk, within easy reach.

I
T
was nearly five when the last patient left for the day. Kate stuck her head in the door. “Dr. Court, Mr. Scott didn't schedule his next appointment.”

“He doesn't need one.”

“Really?” Kate relaxed against the door. “You did good work there, Dr. Court.”

“I like to think so. You can take his file out of current patients.”

“It's a pleasure.”

“Do it tomorrow, Kate. If you hurry you can get out of here exactly one minute early.”

“Watch me. Good night, Dr. Court.”

“Good night, Kate.” When the phone rang she
reached for it herself. “I've got it. Go on home, Kate.” With her hand on the receiver, she took a long breath. “Dr. Court.”

“Hi, Doc.”

“Ben.” A layer of tension dissolved. She heard background noises of phones, voices, and typewriters. “Still at work?”

“Yeah. I wanted you to know I'd be a while yet.”

“You sound tired. Did something happen?”

He thought of the day he'd put in and the stench he wasn't sure would ever wash off his skin. “It's been a long one. Look, why don't I pick up some pizza or something? Things should be wrapped up here in another hour or so.”

“Okay. Ben, I'm a good listener.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Go straight home and lock the door.”

“Yes, sir.”

“See you later, smartass.”

It wasn't until she hung up that Tess realized how quiet the office was. Normally she would have appreciated an hour in the evening to herself. Her desk could be put in order, paperwork could be finished up. Now the quiet seemed too close and too thick. Calling herself a fool, she picked up the Scott file to close it out. Success was satisfying.

She took the files and tapes from her late-afternoon patients and locked them away. Joey Higgins's file remained on her desk. Knowing she was spinning her wheels, Tess put it in her briefcase to take home.

Three times she caught herself looking toward her door with her pulse throbbing.

Ridiculous. Determined not to be a fool, she checked the next day's appointments. There were two policemen outside, she reminded herself, and one in the lobby. She was perfectly safe.

But each time she heard the elevator hum in the hall outside, she felt a jolt.

If she went home now, the apartment would be empty. She didn't want to face solitude there now, not now that she was sharing the apartment with Ben.

What was she getting into? Sighing, she began to gather the rest of her things. She was over her head with Ben Paris. Just how did the eminent Dr. Court deal with falling in love? Very poorly, she decided as she went to the closet for her coat.

If it were spring, she'd have an excuse for daydreaming and smiling at nothing in particular. Smart people fell in love in spring, she thought, when everything was fresh and seemed as though it would stay that way.

She stopped at the window. The trees that marched along the street in front of the buildings were dark and naked. What patches of grass could be seen were already yellowed and tired. People huddled inside their coats, heads bowed against the wind. It wasn't spring, she thought, feeling foolish. And everyone's hurrying home.

Then she saw him. He stood very still in his black coat, just in back of a group of young trees. Her breath caught. Her knees trembled. Watching—he was waiting and watching. Instinctively, she swung around for the phone, grabbing it from her desk. She'd call downstairs, she thought as she began to punch buttons. She'd call and tell the police that he was outside, watching. Then she'd go down too. She'd go because she'd promised herself that much.

But when she turned back to look, he was gone.

She stood there a moment, the phone in her hand, the number half dialed. He was gone.

Just someone on his way home, Tess told herself. A doctor or lawyer or bank executive walking home to keep fit. She forced herself to walk back to her desk and
calmly replace the phone. She was jumping at shadows. Because her legs were still unsteady, she sat on the edge of the desk. Layer by layer she rebuilt control.

Diagnosis, acute paranoia.

Prescription, hot bath and quiet evening with Ben Paris.

Feeling better, she drew on her cashmere coat, hefted her briefcase, and tossed her purse strap over her shoulder. After locking her office, she turned and saw the knob on the reception-area door turn.

The keys in her hand slipped out of nerveless fingers. She took a step back into the door she'd just locked. The door opened an inch. The scream backed up in her throat, bubbling hot. Frozen, she stared as the door opened a bit more. There was no maze to run through, no place to go. She took a deep breath, knowing she was on her own.

“Anybody home?”

“Oh, Jesus, Frank.” Her knees felt like butter as she braced herself against her office door. “What are you doing sneaking around the halls?”

“I was walking down to the elevator and saw the light under your door.” He smiled, delighted to find her alone. “Don't tell me you're taking work home again, Tess.” He stepped inside, strategically closing the outer door at his back.

“No, I keep my laundry in here.” She bent to retrieve her keys, furious enough with herself to let him feel the backlash. “Look, Frank, I've had a long day. I'm not in the mood for your fumbling attempts at seduction.”

“Why, Tess.” His eyes widened, and so did his smile. “I had no idea you could be so … so aggressive.”

“If you don't get out of my way, you're going to get a close-up view of the nap of this carpet.”

“How about a drink?”

“Oh, for God's sake.” She pushed past him, took
hold of the freshly pressed sleeve of his jacket, and yanked him into the hall.

“Dinner at my place?”

Setting her teeth, Tess switched off the light, closed the door, and locked it. “Frank, why don't you take your sexual delusions and write a book? It might keep you out of trouble.” She whipped past him and punched the button for the elevator.

“You could be chapter one.”

She took a long breath, counted backward from ten, and discovered, to her amazement, that it did nothing to calm her. When the doors slid open she stepped inside, turned, and blocked the opening. “If you like the shape of your nose, Frank, don't try to get on this elevator with me.”

“How about dinner and a hot tub?” he said as the doors started to close. “I know a great place for Chicken Kiev.”

“Stuff it,” she muttered, then leaned against the back wall.

She was nearly home before she started to laugh. It was possible, if she put her mind to it, to forget about the police car behind her, to block out the fact that on the third floor of her building cops were drinking coffee and watching the early news. A two-car accident on Twenty-third held her up an extra fifteen minutes but didn't spoil the mood she was building.

She was humming when she unlocked the door to her apartment. After wishing briefly that she'd thought to pick up fresh flowers, she went straight to the bedroom and stripped. She chose the silk kimono again, then dumped a double shot of bubble bath under the stream of water pulsing into the tub. She took the time to put an album on the stereo. Phil Collins bounced out, happy to be alive and in love.

So was she, Tess thought as she lowered herself into
the steaming water. And tonight she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

When Ben used his key to get in, he felt he was home. The furniture wasn't his, and he hadn't picked out the paintings, but he was home. The cardboard box was warm on the bottom, where he held it. He set it on the dining room table, on top of the linen placement he imagined had taken some little French nun the better part of a week to embroider, and wished he could crawl into bed and sleep around the clock.

He put the paper bag he carried next to the pizza before he stripped out of his coat and let it fall over the back of a chair. Peeling off his shoulder holster, he dropped it on the seat.

He could smell her. Even here, barely three steps inside the door, he could smell her. Soft, subtle, elegant. Drawing her in, he found fatigue warring against a need he'd yet to find a way to curb.

“Tess?”

“Back here. I'm in the tub. I'll be out in a minute.”

He followed her scent and the sound of water. “Hi.” When she glanced up at him, he believed he saw her color rise a bit. Funny lady, he thought as he moved over to sit on the edge of the tub. She could make a man pant in bed, but she blushed when he caught her in a bubble bath.

“I didn't know how long you'd be.” She stopped herself from sinking farther under the cover of bubbles.

“Just had to tie up a few things.”

Embarrassment faded as quickly as it had come. “It was a rough one, wasn't it? You look exhausted.”

“Let's just say it was one of the less pleasant days on the job.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He thought of the blood. Even in his business you didn't often see that much. “No, not now.”

She sat up to reach over and touch his face. “There's room in here for two, if you're friendly. Why don't you take Dr. Court's reliable prescription for overwork?”

“The pizza'll get cold.”

“I love cold pizza.” She began to unbutton his shirt. “You know, I had a rather strange day myself, ending with an invitation for Chicken Kiev and a hot tub.”

“Oh?” He rose to unsnap his pants. The feeling that went through him was ugly, and unrecognizable to a man who'd never experienced basic jealousy before. “Doesn't seem too smart to turn that down for cold pizza and bubbles.”

“More fool me for refusing an evening with the handsome, successful, and excruciatingly boring Dr. Fuller.”

“More your type,” Ben muttered, sitting on the john to pull off his shoes.

“Boring's more my type?” Tess lifted a brow as she leaned back. “Thank you very much.”

“I mean the doctor, the three-piece suits, the Gold American Express Card.”

“I see.” Amused, she began to soap her leg. “You don't have a gold card?”

“I'm lucky Sears still lets me charge my underwear.”

“Well, in that case, I don't know if I should invite you into my tub.”

He stood, naked but for the jeans riding low at his hips. “I'm serious, Tess.”

“I can see that.” She took a handful of bubbles and studied them. “I guess that means you see me as a shallow, materialistic, status-minded woman who's willing to slum it occasionally for good sex.”

“I don't mean anything like that.” Frustrated, he sat on the lip of the tub again. “Look, I've got a job that means I deal with slime almost on a daily basis.”

Her hand was wet and very gentle when she set it on his. “It was a filthy day, wasn't it?”

“That has nothing to do with it.” He took her hand in his a moment, studying it. It was rather small and narrow, delicate at the wrist. “My father sold used cars in a dealership that was barely on the right side of the tracks in the suburbs. He owned three sport coats and drove a DeSoto. My mother baked cookies. If a cookie could be baked, she did it. Their idea of a night on the town was the Knights of Columbus hall. I punched my way through high school, crammed my way through college for a couple of years then the Academy, and I've spent the rest of my life looking at dead bodies.”