You Can't Hide (24 page)

“On my computer at work. I type up my own notes, print them, and put them in the file. In the-” “In the vault, right. Do you delete these files off your hard drive?”

She hesitated. “Not as often as I should. But the system is password protected.”

“Do you back up your hard drive?”

Again she hesitated. “Every Friday afternoon. I keep the records on my thumb drive.” He lifted a brow in question. “Which I keep on my key ring,” she added, “so it’s always with me.”

Except yesterday,
she thought. She’d left her keys in the office in her purse. In fact, she thought, growing more nauseous with each passing second, anytime she didn’t have her keys in her hand her files were unprotected.

“There’s one other option, Doctor,” Reagan said, watching her intently. “Somebody could have been listening to your sessions.”

Tess’s eyes widened. “You mean… You mean you think my office is bugged? Oh my God. You do think this.” She swung her eyes over to the Seward doorway where Murphy was coming out with Jack Unger. The nod Murphy gave Reagan was barely perceptible. “What?” When Reagan said nothing, Tess grabbed his arm. “Tell me.”

Reagan sighed. “We found cameras in all three apartments. And microphones.”

Tess fell back against the wall, scarcely feeling her head bump. “Cameras?”

He nodded. “Connected to the Internet.”

The lunch she’d barely managed to keep down rose to gag her and she lurched to her feet.

“No. You can’t be right.” He simply stood up, looking at her with sad resignation. “Dear God. Why?” she asked heavily.

“We don’t know yet. We were thinking the cameras were installed to record the suicides themselves. Now, we’re not so sure. On the way over here, we started thinking he could be using cameras to choose his victims, too. If he’s spying on your patients, he could be spying on you. Will you let Jack check your office?”

Tess nodded shakily. “Yes. Yes, of course. Let’s go now.”

“Not now,” he said gently. “Now you go home and clean up. Then we’l go to your office.” He slid his hand along her back, turning her toward the elevator, leaving a trail of warmth everywhere he touched, even through the layers of his coat she still wore. His coat dragged the floor and she should have given it back to him, but she didn’t. He tipped her chin up, once again studying her face. “You’re shaky. Can you handle the elevator, or should we take the stairs?”

She dropped her eyes, embarrassed that he’d met her fear so head-on. “Stupid, huh? A shrink with a common phobia. Physician heal thyself and all that shit.”

His hand tightened on her upper arm and gave her a gentle shake. “It’s not stupid. It makes you human, Tess.”

Her eyes flew up, met his. His blue eyes held only understanding and sympathy. No condescension. No accusation. Unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

He smiled down at her. “You’re welcome. I guess I owed you one.”

She drew a shuddering breath, got hold of herself. “Then we’re even, Detective.”

His smile dimmed a shade. “All right then. There’s a battery of reporters downstairs. Do you want to walk out on your own, or do you need help?”

Tess straightened her spine. “I’l walk out on my own. But let’s take the stairs.”

He was silent as they walked down the stairs, stopping when she needed to rest, which was more often than she’d thought she would. The lobby of the apartment was lined with cops, keeping the reporters at bay. Aidan nodded at one of the uniforms.

“You can let the evacuated residents back into their apartments,” he said. Then he opened the front door. “Don’t make a comment. Don’t say a word.”

90

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

He sounds like Amy,
Tess thought. She suspected neither Reagan nor Amy would have appreciated the comparison. But the thought was lost in the sea of faces and flashing lights as she walked into the throng of media. There were at least thirty people, some with microphones, others wielding cameras on shoulders.

Cameras. The sight of them made her think of the cameras the police had found in all the apartments, capturing her patients’ last moments. Microphones. There might be one in her office.
Dear God.
It was enough to make her sick again, which was all she needed now. To throw up on what was probably live television. So she steeled herself for the gauntlet. A microphone was shoved in her face. “Is Malcolm Seward dead? Were you held at gunpoint?”

With one hand she gripped Reagan’s coat tight around her throat. With the other she pushed the microphone aside and kept walking, Reagan at her side. She looked to the street where Todd Murphy waited with his car.
Just another minute.

“Were you shot?”

“Did you see Gwen Seward die?”

“Is it true Malcolm Seward killed himself?”

The barrage of questions melded together in her mind until a perfectly made up brunette stepped into her path. There was a gleam in her eye, a sharpness in her smile that shot warning bells in Tess’s ears just a moment too late. “Dr. Ciccotelli, I’m Lynne Pope with
ChicagoOn The
Town
. Did the fact that Malcolm Seward was hiding a homosexual lifestyle lead to this tragedy today?”

Shocked gasps rippled through the crowd followed by murmurs of disbelief. It was only Aidan Reagan’s hand on her arm that propelled her forward as her body seemed to freeze where she stood. Recovering, Tess schooled her face into an impassive mask, but she feared she’d shown her own shock long enough to whet Pope’s appetite for salacious gossip. “I have no comment at this time.”

Lynne Pope followed, her smile strained. “But Malcolm Seward was gay,” she insisted. “You yourself confirmed this fact, just this afternoon, Doctor.”

The impassive mask melted from her face as every drop of blood seemed to rush away from her brain. “Excuse me?”

Murphy opened the car door. “Just get in, Tess.”

Pope blocked her path. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, Doctor,” the reporter muttered through smiling teeth, “but I won’t stand for your bait and switch. If you think you can summon me here promising me the story of the year, then give me a ‘No comment,’

you’d better think again. By eight o’clock tonight my story will air, complete with a recording of you telling me that Malcolm Seward had become a violent and dangerous threat due to his rejection of his own homosexuality.”

Tess went still as a new set of implications exploded in her head.
The media.
The bastard had revealed her patient’s secrets to the media. Her other patients would hear and wonder if their secrets were next.

Dr. Fenwick and the board would not be pleased.
My license will be revoked. My career is over.
Which now appeared to be the prime motive.

Pictures of her dead patients flashed across her mind. Mutilated bodies, sightless eyes. Would more patients die?
Are they finished now? Is the destruction of my career enough or will
they keep going?
Who would be next?

Pope was watching her face careful y, one brow lifted sardonically. “Surprised, Doctor? Don’t be. I record all incoming calls. For my own records of course.”

This had to stop. Now.
Her patients needed to be warned, regardless of any consequences to herself. Tess lifted her chin. “No, you do not have a recording of me, Miss Pope. What you have is a clever deception.”

“Doctor,” Reagan warned under his breath. “No comment.”

91

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

Tess shot him a look from the corner of her eye. “I can’t let this allegation slide, Detective.”

He nodded once in acceptance before she looked back at Pope who, to her credit, now looked more interested by the turn of events than angered. “Miss Pope, I have no comment other than to categorically deny ever having contacted you in the past on any topic. I am a therapist. It would make no sense for me to contact you in the manner you describe. I’m afraid you have been duped.”

Pope’s eyes glittered, pleased to have provoked a response. “By whom, Doctor?”

“I don’t know.” Narrowing her eyes, Tess looked directly into the camera. “But I intend to find out.”

Chapter 10

Tuesday, March 14, 5:10 P.M.

Aidan slipped his cell phone back in his pocket. “Patrick’s getting a court order to block Pope from using that recording on the air tonight.”

Murphy glanced over, then returned his gaze to the road. “He’l get the tape?”

“Yep. Now Burkhardt will have even more to compare.”

“What do you mean, more to compare?” The question came from the backseat where Tess had been sitting silently for the ten minutes it had taken them to move two blocks. Traffic was gridlocked, courtesy of what seemed to be every news van in the city. Aidan turned around to see her better. She was pale and trembling, her hair still matted, one hand clutching his overcoat around her throat. Her lips were bloodless except for the red marks her teeth had left behind. But her eyes were clear. She’d held herself together with an inner strength he wouldn’t have predicted before Sunday afternoon and he found he could now understand how she’d retained such loyalty in the few that seemed to know her best.

“Cynthia Adams made a tape,” he said.

She swallowed hard. “Of me?”

“No. It was hard to hear, but it sounded like a little girl’s voice.”

Tess closed her eyes and looked away. “Torturing her.”

“Yes. We gave the tape to Burkhardt so he could compare it to the voice mail.”

She opened her eyes at that. “Did you mean what you told Malcolm? That you can prove it isn’t me on that tape?”

Aidan glanced at Murphy. She’d seen the glance and sighed. “You just told him that so that he’d let me go.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a wry little smile that squeezed at his heart.

“Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m just disappointed.”

“It wasn’t a lie,” Murphy said, looking in the rearview mirror at her.

“Just not the whole truth,” Aidan added. “Burkhardt saw what might be differences, but said he’d need more voice samples to be certain.”

“He planned for you to find my voice on Cynthia’s voice mail,” she murmured. “He wanted to point you in my direction, identify my fingerprints. Make you suspect me.”

And it might have worked, Aidan thought grimly, if she hadn’t had such stalwart supporters like Kristen and Murphy behind her.

“I wonder if he knows Cynthia and Lynne Pope made tapes,” she went on.

“I would imagine not.” Murphy cleared his throat. “Tess, Aidan told you about the cameras.”

She flinched. “Yes. I told him to sweep my office.”

Aidan knew where Murphy was going with this. “We should probably sweep your apartment as well,” he said, as gently as he could.

She froze, her mouth open, her eyes wide and he could see the thought hadn’t yet occurred to her. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

92

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

“It’s… it’s all right.” But it wasn’t all right. He could see the way she struggled for composure. She was rocking unconsciously, her knuckles white as she tightened her grip on his coat until he thought she’d strangle herself. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Tess.” Aidan barked it out and she looked up, still stunned. “We’re almost at your apartment. More media will be there.”

She nodded and before his eyes pul ed herself together once more. Visibly she relaxed and her pale face became expressionless, her dark eyes cool. “I understand. Perhaps I could gather a few things and go to a hotel. I need to…” Her lips trembled for a moment before she firmed them resolutely. “I need to take a shower somewhere. I can still smell the blood in my hair.”

“You stay with her,” Murphy said to Aidan in a low voice. “Get Jack and Rick to search her place after she’s gone. Then drive her car to the impound garage and have Rick go over it, too.”

Aidan nodded as Murphy pul ed up to the curb in front of Tess’s building where a smaller, but persistent crowd of reporters waited. “Where are you going?”

“Spinnelli ran the address on that actress, Nicole Rivera, while I was requesting a sniper. I’l check her out.” Murphy brought the car to a stop. “Don’t let her out of your sight. Whoever is behind this has just taken this up a ful notch.”

“What do you mean?” Tess asked.

Murphy twisted so that he could see her face. “I mean that every reporter on the street heard Pope say you spilled the beans.”

“But I didn’t.” She blew out a breath. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to have some angry patients.”

Aidan frowned. “Dangerous?”

“Some. Nobody likes to have their deepest secrets revealed on live TV. Everyone likes to think there are some things they can hide, some places where they’re truly alone.” She straightened her back and opened the car door. “I used to.”

Aidan climbed out after her, catching up as she pushed the first microphone aside. He moved ahead of her, clearing a path through the shouting reporters to the apartment entrance where an anxious doorman waited. Aidan recognized him from last Sunday. Apparently the doorman’s memory was quite good as well, because his face filled with a truly formidable scowl as soon as Aidan pushed into the small lobby. The older man rushed forward, then stopped short, his scowl gone, a look of fatherly worry in its place. “Dr. Chick, just tell me you’re all right.”

She smiled up at him. “I’m fine, Mr. Hughes. It’s been quite a day, but I’m fine.”

“I wouldn’t let them in,” he said with an angry look at the media outside. He turned the angry look on Aidan. “I wouldn’t let him in, either, if I didn’t have to.”

She surprised him with a chuckle. “Oh, Mr. Hughes, I’m so glad to see you.”

“Ethel says I should tel you she believes none of it, not a single word.”

“Tell Ethel I appreciate all the good press I can get. But I don’t think you have to worry about the detective.” Her expression softened. “He saved my life this afternoon.”

Hughes looked Aidan over, then gave him a grudging nod. “All right then. I did let your friends up, Dr. Chick. Dr. Carter and Miss Miller. They’re waiting for you upstairs. I’m to call Dr. Carter’s cell phone the moment you arrive.”