Chapter 9
Mitch thumped the back of his head against the elevator wall. Damn! What the hell had just happened?
Ambushing Dylan in her office had been intended to shock-and-awe, to completely disarm her so that she’d be more susceptible to his clever prying techniques. He’d wanted to come away from the encounter with more information about her and her practice.
His brilliant plan had backfired. Big time.
He’d wound up waxing poetic about his love for his son, and had recited to her the vengeful pledge he’d made after Angela’s murder. To have wormed that out of him, she must be a better therapist than he’d given her credit for.
She should bill herself as “Dr. Reede, Analyst Extraordinaire.”
Dylan, the female person, was something else entirely. A snake charmer, maybe. Hypnotist, enchantress, siren. Whatever, she had cast some kind of spell over him that had shut down his brain but had thrown another part of his anatomy into overdrive at warp speed.
Those moments when he’d had his thumb against her wrist, he’d been conjuring up fantasies as rapidly as her heart was beating. Her hair, loose and silky, sliding over his chest, his…
Christ! He couldn’t be thinking about that now. He had to banish all thoughts of her. The eyes, the lips, those legs. Red toenails. He’d wait to indulge the erotic fantasies when he could do so leisurely and without distraction.
Now definitely was not that time.
The elevator reached the ground floor, and the door slid open. The lobby remained dark except for security lights at both ends of a long corridor that ran parallel to the building’s facade.
He followed that corridor to a corner where it intersected with another long hallway lined with offices.
Midway down that hall was the door to the outside through which he’d entered.
It was unmarked, but he’d located it when he’d seen Dylan’s patient using it to exit.
The lock had been easy enough to pick, but the door was made of solid metal.
There was no way to see what waited beyond it except to open it.
He pushed it open an inch and put his eye to the crack.
EATS’s neon sign was dark. All the surrounding offices and businesses were also closed for the night.
The city street was vacant except for the car he had spotted as he’d left Gus’s bar.
It had been parked halfway down the block on the other side of the street.
He hadn’t been at all surprised that he was being tailed, but he’d pretended not to notice.
Evidently, he’d been followed to the medical building.
Through the window blinds in Dylan’s office, he’d seen the same car on the street, and it was still there.
Unfortunately it was parked facing this exit door.
He couldn’t go out this way without being seen, and he wanted to take the driver of that car by surprise.
He pulled the door closed and walked along the dim hallway until he reached the entrance to the fire stairs.
He took the treads two at a time up to the third floor landing where there was a window that opened onto an exterior fire escape.
He’d made note of it while studying the building from his booth in the diner.
The lock on the window had been painted over so many times that it wouldn’t budge until he applied his pocketknife to it. It finally gave way, but also cracked the glass pane and splintered the wood frame. He didn’t worry about the damage overmuch. It wouldn’t be that noticeable.
He raised the window only high enough for him to climb through and then conscientiously closed it once he was out.
The fire escape was rusty, creaky, and loosely attached to the building, but he reached the bottom without mishap and made the ten-foot drop to the sidewalk without difficulty.
He then jogged to the corner of the building and peered around.
He was now behind the car.
He started toward it, walking stealthily but quickly in the shadow of the building. As he approached the car, he slowed, slid his pistol from its holster at the small of his back, and held it down at his side as he crept up to the car.
The driver’s window was down. The driver was talking on a cell phone. Mitch heard him say, “No, not a sign of him since he went in.”
Mitch lurched forward, simultaneously pounding on the driver’s door with his left fist, raising the pistol with his right hand, and aiming it through the open window.
The driver nearly jumped out of his skin and whipped his head around.
“Clarence!” Mitch exclaimed. “Jesus!”
Staring bug-eyed into the bore of the pistol, the young patrol officer who’d arrested him on Saturday night was gasping. When able, he said, “Hi, Mitch.”
“‘Hi, Mitch’? Why the fuck are you following me? Who are you talking to?”
“B… Bowie.”
“You gotta be shittin’ me. Give me that.” He reached through the open window with his left hand and snatched the phone from Clarence. He brought it up to his ear and said with exaggerated congeniality, “A pleasant evening to you, John. How’s it hanging?”
“What were you doing in the medical building?”
“I’ve got this fungus on my scrotum.”
“Oh, you’re funny.”
“Okay, I had a session with Dr. Reede. Isn’t that what you dictated?”
“Your next appointment wasn’t until Thursday.”
“What, you’re my personal assistant now? You keep my day planner?”
“Don’t turn this around on me, Mitch. If you were in some kind of emergency situation and needed—”
“No emergency. Relax. I just needed to talk through some things with the doc.”
“What things?”
“Private things.”
“She agreed to see you after office hours even though it wasn’t an emergency?”
“Well, she didn’t kick me out.” It didn’t count that she had tried. “But we’re getting off the subject here. I could’ve fired a bullet into Clarence’s ear canal, and he never would have seen it coming. Why’d you send him to follow me?”
“I was worried about you.”
“I’m touched. Truly, truly touched.”
“That’s great. Your sarcasm is always so helpful.” John paused, sighed, then, “Mitch, you left here mad as hell. I was afraid you’d go on another bender, or do something even crazier.”
“Like what?”
“Like take out your anger on Dylan Reede.”
Mitch lowered the phone so he could glare at it. When he put it back to his ear, he said, “Did I hear you right? The possibility that I would harm her—any woman—actually crossed your mind?” He rolled his lips inward, mentally counted to ten, then said, “You know what? Fuck you.”
“Look, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
Mitch didn’t accept the apology. Speaking tightly, he said, “First of all, don’t flatter yourself into thinking that I would ever become that unhinged over a squabble with you.”
“I said I was sorry.”
Clarence couldn’t help but overhear this conversation through the telephone and wasn’t even trying to conceal his avid interest. He was listening so hard, he was barely breathing.
Mitch decided it had gone far enough. “You wasted your worry on me, John. I’m stone cold sober.
I’m sure Clarence reported to you that I went to Gus’s.
I did. For coffee, and Gus will vouch for that.
When I left Dylan Reede, she was sound of body and mind.
” A little disheveled and flushed, but otherwise…
“What she and I talk about during our sessions, which you insisted on, is private. From here, I plan to go straight home. If you don’t trust me, you can have Clarence follow me and see that I’m tucked in. He can even read me a bedtime story.”
“You’re still pissed.”
“Damn straight. I have every right to be.”
John cursed under his breath. “See you tomorrow.”
Mitch disconnected and handed the phone back to Clarence, who gave him a shaky smile. “I think y’all can patch things up in the morning.”
Mitch huffed a dismissal of that prospect.
“Clarence, a few tips on the art of tailing somebody? I spied you the second I came out of Gus’s.
An innocuous, unmarked vehicle without school decals, a soccer mom license plate, or tacky bumper stickers is always suspicious and as good as advertising that a cop is inside.
“Also, when on a stakeout, it’s best not to park under a streetlight. And, most importantly, constantly check your side mirrors. You had no idea anyone was around. You could easily be on your way to the morgue.”
The young cop swallowed noisily, nodded, and said, “Thanks, Mitch. I’ll remember. And I’m sorry about my part in this. Bowie—”
“No need to apologize. You were only following orders. My car is parked around the corner. Drive safely.”
With that, he replaced his pistol in its holster and struck off toward the corner he’d indicated. When he reached his truck, he climbed in and started it. For good measure, he gave Clarence a toodle-oo wave as the young cop drove past.
The first thing Dylan did when she got home was pour a glass of wine and take it with her into the bathroom. She sipped at it while she watched the tub fill.
Neither the Chardonnay nor soaking in a warm bath was going to help her think clearly, but that was the point of indulging in both. She didn’t want to think clearly. She wanted thoughts of what had taken place in her office to fog until they were totally obscured.
She didn’t want to think about Mitch, or how intimate it had felt when he’d pressed the pad of his thumb against her pulse. The whispered line about her red nail polish hadn’t been explicitly sexual, but its suggestiveness had been alarmingly effective.
By the time the tub was full, her wineglass was empty. She considered returning to the kitchen for a refill but thought better of it and, instead, half reclined in the bath.
Whether she wanted to or not, she must review what had passed between her and Mitch Haskell, her patient, and determine what she was going to do about it.
Before arriving at a solution to this dilemma, she first must acknowledge its cause. Pure and simple, there was no getting around that she was attracted to him. He was cute, clever, funny, charismatic, charming, and flat-out sexy.