At just past nine o’clock that evening, I pulled my beat up 1987 gray Honda into the virtually empty parking lot at Daley & Palmer. I eased into a space in the darkest area of the lot. No sense advertising to anyone who happened to pass by the building that my car was parked here. Or more to the point, that I was here.
I crept along the sidewalk keeping close to the bushes. Even though I hated them because they were so overgrown, and always worried that someone could be hiding in them, tonight I felt grateful for the small measure of cover they afforded.
I was on a mission. A mission that, if discovered, could get me fired. I planned to break into the offices of Daley & Palmer. Whoa, back up. Let me rephrase that. I planned to not-break-and-enter into the offices where I had every right to be.
Because I was an employee. One teeny-tiny problem. I was doing it afterhours when I had no business being there. And I was doing it because of what Anna Blake had told me with such emotion earlier in the day. She had convinced me that I needed to snoop. No, that didn’t sound quite right. I needed to investigate the contents of both Robert O’Malley’s confidential patient file, as well as Anna Blake’s.
And these files were locked in the doctors’ offices. I was privy to the billing files for each patient, but not to the ones that contained the notes of their therapy sessions. Talk about trust issues.
As I neared the main door to the building, I scanned all around me to make sure I was alone. Once I entered the doorway, I was at my most vulnerable. Bright lights shone down on the entranceway, lighting both the door with its security lock and the keypad that required a four-digit number in combination with the key to gain entry. I doubted that Fort Knox had this much security. Luckily, I’d had to help out on a Saturday a month ago and Dr. Dick had been forced to give me the code. I hoped they hadn’t changed it yet. As for the key, I’d had it since my second day on the job. I guess both doctors figured that without the special entry code, the key wouldn’t do me a whole heck of a lot of good.
Confident that I was alone, I raced toward the keypad and punched in the access code. The green light glowed. I twisted the key into the lock and pulled at the door. And met resistance. Had they changed the key or the code? Just my luck. But no, it couldn’t be. I pushed and pulled against the door and twisted the key again. This time I felt the tumblers give. And like that I was in.
My heart triple-timed it like someone on an amphetamine high. I edged over to the nearest wall and leaned up against it, well out of the light from the entryway. Taking a few deep, cleansing breaths, I was rewarded with a slower cardio rate.
Maybe Granddad was right. Maybe I needed to take up some regular form of exercise. No!
That was Lecture 902; Daily Exercise Keeps the Body Regular. Focus, I told myself. Stay focused. Leave Granddad’s lectures alone. No good can come from them. Besides, if he knew what I was doing tonight, I’d end up with Lecture 666; Breaking the Law Meant Going to Hell in a Hand Basket.
Grateful that I’d had the good sense to wear all black from my long-sleeve knit top and jeans to my Reeboks, I scurried through the lobby and turned right down the long corridor to the area Daley & Palmer occupied. The overhead lights were off and the red emergency exit sign glowed eerily at the end of the hall. Despite the plush carpeting, I tiptoed toward Suite 109.
As I neared the office, I flipped my keys to the one I knew would open the suite door. This was it. Technicalities aside, this was wrong. But that OCD thing of mine dropped into full gear. I had to know what was in those confidential files.
It wasn’t called obsessive or compulsive without good reason.
Turning the key, I held my breath and somehow managed to convince myself that all of my senses were sharper due to my intense focus. I entered, plainly hearing the tick-tick of the clock over the doorway.
At least I think that was it. Couldn’t be my heart. That raced far faster than a mere sixty beats a minute. Not risking turning on the lights, I pulled a small Maglite flashlight out of my back pocket and switched it on. It illuminated my path just enough for me to not bump into the furniture. I’d hoped for a wider swath of illumination. How did people manage before electricity was invented? Sure there were candles and gaslight, but nothing beat flipping a switch.
Later, Becca. Ponder these things later, I told myself.
Focus. Stay focused. I made it my mantra as I tippy-toed toward Marcy’s office. Since hers was the closest, I might as well start there.
Unlocking the door to her inner sanctum, a new surge of adrenaline shot through my body. This life of crime wasn’t so bad. I could do this.
Marcy kept her private files under lock and key, but I knew where she kept her spare, which kind of defeated her whole privacy issue. Jerking open her center desk drawer, I fished around in the dark and used what little illumination the Maglite gave me until I found them. Eureka! If this secretary gig didn’t work out…. What was I thinking? I was no lawbreaker. I had a valid reason to be checking into these files. Sort of.
Unlocking the file cabinet, I quickly located Anna Blake’s confidential file. I tried reading it where I stood, but I was afraid the loose papers inside would fall out, and I’d have no idea how to reassemble them. That would be a dead giveaway that someone had been where they didn’t belong. I’d been with these doctors long enough to know that they knew their filing system inside and out.
Making a quick decision, I brought the file over to Dr. Palmer’s desk and laid it out flat.
Taking a seat in her leather high back chair, I got comfortable and proceeded to read the file.
The chick had a sad life.
One loser boyfriend after another.
But then who was I to judge?
Hadn’t I married Jack? It seemed like her addiction was to bad relationships.
I’d guessed alcohol based on her actions at the funeral. My bad.
I quickly worked my way through the pages trying to read the scritchy handwriting and abbreviations that both therapists loved to use – like a secret code that only those with Ph.D. or M.D. after their names could decipher.
Both psychiatrists had told me that they didn’t like to chart too much information in the patients’ files in case they were ever subpoenaed for court. I guess they did try to protect their clients as much as the law would allow.
Disappointed that so far I hadn’t found anything damning in Anna’s file, I was about to go deeper, when the overhead light came on.
Oh. My. God.
The jig was up!
I’d slide under the desk into the kneehole, came my first thought. My second thought (and let’s chalk this up to that OCD thing I have going) was the same. So I did it.
And cowered there like the crook I was.
I knew the lights were controlled in two places. Just inside the suite entrance was a switch that threw all of the overhead lights on, with another just inside each doctor’s office that could override that outside switch and set the lights either on or off for the interior rooms.
Since no one had screamed at me – yet – I was pretty sure the most recent visitor had activated the main overhead switch out in the reception area.
I swallowed hard. And prayed that it was someone with the cleaning crew. If that were the case, I could just stay here until they finished what they needed to do, and then I could wrap it up here and get the hell out of Dodge. Even though the cleaning people weren’t supposed to be working this late, the way Dr. Dick had gone on today about the mess Anna made in the reception area, he may have called them himself and complained.
I pulled my knees up against my chest and tried to make myself as comfortable as possible until they left.
Extinguishing my flashlight - I sure didn’t need it with those overhead lights on - I sat there and forced my mind to go calm. It had to be the cleaning crew. I wouldn’t think about rapists or murderers. I wouldn’t. I really wouldn’t. Me and my dumb ideas. Both doctors routinely left me alone in the office while they made hospital rounds or whatever. I should have done this during normal hours. Suddenly, my grand plan didn’t look so grand after all.
What really bothered me was that I couldn’t hear any noises coming from the reception area. If it were the cleaners, wouldn’t they be vacuuming or dusting or moving around? But I heard nothing. No sounds at all.
To my knowledge, the building’s owners didn’t employ a security guard who checked on the building or grounds.
But then that was before someone had been killed in our office in broad daylight. Damn. I had to stop these thoughts. They were making me more jittery than someone detoxing from Xanax.
“Becca?”
I knew that voice.
“Yeah,” I said in a barely audible voice. Could my humiliation be more complete?
“What are you doing crouched down there?”
“Crouching tiger, hidden assistant?” I offered up.
A strong hand reached for mine, and I unfolded myself and allowed R.J. Ryder to help me to my feet.
I blinked against the strong overhead light.
“Do I want to know what you’re doing here?” He folded his arms across his rather well-defined chest made all too evident by the form-fitting gray T-shirt he wore.
“I dropped an earring and was looking for it.” I continued to stare at his chest unable to meet his gaze.
“You aren’t wearing any earrings.”
Thinking quickly I replied, “No, not tonight I’m not, because I lost it earlier today. I think it was when I was in here helping Marcy.” Proud of myself for lying so well on my feet, I finally glanced directly at Ryder.
What I saw there convinced me my lying was sub-par. He cut me no slack whatsoever.
“And to find this missing earring, it was necessary to review Anna Blake’s file?” Ryder leaned forward tapping the name on the case file.
Damn. I’d forgotten the small detail of an open patient file on the desk, not to mention the even more damning evidence of an open, unlocked file cabinet. I could have tried to lie my way around one of them, but not both. I was sunk.
“I take it your silence is an admission of wrong-doing?” Ryder arched his right eye brow at me.
“It’s no such thing,” I fired back. And then I saw the glint in those incredibly sexy blue eyes.
“You know you could lose your job over something like this, don’t you?”
I hung my head and nodded.
Ryder lifted my chin up with his index finger. “That’s a bad habit you have, tucking your chin like that. Don’t do it.” His voice was soft and low and ever so seductive.
I swear his touch burned my body in places I didn’t want to even think about. This man was liquid sex. More dangerous to me than either Marcy Palmer or Dick Daley discovering me here where I had no right to be.
“Becca, you’re not speaking?”
Well, how did he expect me to do that while he continued to touch me? How?
Ryder must know his effect on the female sex. He was too sharp not to.
He reached past me to Anna Blake’s file. Somehow I felt proprietary towards it. It was one thing for me to read it. It was something entirely different for Ryder. But he surprised me. He closed the file and returned it to the cabinet, locking it and placing the keys back in Dr. Palmer’s center desk drawer.
She needed a better hiding place if even Ryder knew where they belonged.
“Come on, Becca. I think you’ve done enough detective work for one night. Let’s get you out of here before we’re both caught doing something we shouldn’t be.”
And strange as it may seem, the break-in wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind. I shook my head as if to dislodge the thought of Ryder and me naked and ….
“Becca, come on. We can talk in my office.”
Ryder turned out the lights and pulled the door to Daley & Palmer’s suite closed. I followed him across the hall. He unlocked the door to his office and held the door open for me.
The line from the nursery rhyme “come in said the spider to the fly” flitted through my mind.
I’d only been in Ryder’s offices once before, when we had received some of his mail in error. In daylight, it hadn’t looked nearly so intimidating. So late at night it appeared shadowy and mysterious, kind of like the man himself.
I had expected an accountant’s office to be filled with boring furniture, calculators, computers, spreadsheets and ledgers. Instead, Ryder’s place contained tasteful dark blue leather upholstered furniture, much like you might find in someone’s great room or den.
There was no desk in the reception area, just a table under a mirror up against the far wall. No need for a receptionist like me. Ryder clearly worked alone. And no equipment around either. No faxes, no copiers, and no computers that I could see.
“Becca, are you going to stand there all night or would you like to come in and have a seat?”
While I had been taking in my new surroundings and comparing them to Daley & Palmer’s set-up, Ryder had moved to the doorway to what I guessed was his private office. He stood there waiting for me. I don’t know why I hesitated. For some strange reason I trusted him. I mean, he could have easily ratted me out to my bosses for what I had done, or attempted to do. But instead, he acted protective towards me. Maybe he watched over small children, puppies and psychiatrist’s helpers on a self-destruct course.
Ryder held out a cold soft drink and popped the top on one for himself. Now where in the heck did he come up with refrigerated beverages? I looked around the office. Nothing. I saw nothing. “How…”
He smiled at me, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Can’t give away all my secrets. Have a seat.”
I took the chair in front of his desk. What was he talking about, giving away secrets? The man gave nothing away. Well, except a free soft drink.
“Salud.” He held the can up and like a trained seal I held mine up too.
“So, want to tell me what all of this is about?” he asked.
“Not really.” Two could play at this game of secrets.
“I’d hate to tell Marcy you were ….”
I jumped up so fast, soda spilled from my can all over Ryder’s desk. “You wouldn’t!”
Ryder rushed to move his pen set out of the path of the pool of soda, as well as some tattered old ball thing that had seen better days, and a black blotter.
“Sheesh, I didn’t spill that bad. You’re acting like I drenched your desk in soda.” I held the can up again, and I swear Ryder almost flinched. What is it with guys and sticky goo?
“Put the soda down, Becca. I’ve seen what you can do when you aren’t even trying. I’d hate to find out what havoc you could wreak if you set your mind to it.” He dabbed at the spots on his precious desk paraphernalia. No wonder he and my granddad had hit it off on their very first meeting. If Ryder hauled out a Dust Buster, I was leaving.
I set the soda can down.
Okay, so I admit that I talk with my hands and tend to fling things about because of it, but Ryder was overreacting.
“Seriously, you wouldn’t tell Dr. Palmer on me would you?” He had me more than a little bit worried. He’d called Marcy by her first name. Just how well did they know each other? And why did the idea of the two of them together bother me so much?
“Depends. What were you doing?” His expression warned me that I’d better confess.
“Anna Blake was Robert O’Malley’s girlfriend.” When he looked confused, I added, “Robert, the dead guy.”
He nodded once in understanding. “Anna was in today and some of the stuff she told me raised a lot of questions. Before I could get any more out of her, Marcy arrived and….” I trailed off with a shrug.
“So you thought you’d come back tonight and go through the files.”
He did understand.
“Yes. And I was just getting to the good stuff, I’m sure of it, when you came in.”
“Becca, I know you work for the docs, but they keep those files under lock and key for a reason. They’re confidential. You can’t access them and use the information for your own idiotic reasons.”
Idiotic? Idiotic!
Anger swept through me. “Now wait a minute. I found the dead guy. If I’d been on time, it could have been me there with him. Did you think of that? My life could be in danger. There’s a cold-blooded killer on the loose. This wasn’t a random killing. The murderer had to walk all the way down the corridor, open the door to the office and stab someone. All that while people were coming and going in the building. That takes nerve. Or preplanning. Or the person was insane. I’m supposed to feel good sitting there in the same room where a person was done in and not do anything about it? I don’t think so.” I was on my feet again and my voice had reached that hysterical high-pitched zone that I’d bet neighboring dogs could hear.
Next thing I knew Ryder had his arms around me. Not in a romantic way so much as in a “comforting the crazy woman” way. “If you promise never to do something this stupid ever again, I won’t tell on you,” he whispered in my ear.
I buried my head in his chest, his very strong chest that exuded a clean, fresh scent that made me want to stay there longer than I should. “Blhheytyz.”
“Was that a yes, you won’t do it again?” He rubbed small circles on my back and my insides turned molten.
I moved away from him and his distracting hands. “Yes, I promise. But first, I have to—”
He cut me off. “You don’t have to do anything. The police are investigating. Tom Donovan is a top-notch detective. Leave the sleuthing to the professionals.”
The mental picture that came to my mind wasn’t of Tom Donovan cracking the case and hauling the guilty party off to the pokey. No, a visual of the desk sergeant helping Detective Donovan to his feet after my little paper problem at headquarters came to mind, instead. It did nothing to make me feel safe or confident in the police department’s ability to solve the murder.
“They aren’t even looking for a murderer any more. They arrested Edna.”
Not up to speed on the case – and why should he be – Ryder shrugged.
“Edna is Robert’s wife. My granddad’s friend from church. He doesn’t think she did it.”
“And you, what about you?”
If he’d asked me that before I’d spoken to Anna, I could have answered him without a problem. Now I wasn’t so sure. I needed more information.
“If you think she’s innocent and you have information, information you’ve obtained legally, then talk to the police or her attorney.” Ryder had put some distance between us. A good thing, too, since now I could think and breathe better. But how to tell him that I didn’t trust his friend to do a solid job of uncovering the murderer? Or worse, to admit that Edna’s attorney was my slimy ex-husband?
“Let’s just say that I’d rather check into things on my own.” There that should satisfy him. I hadn’t said anything negative about anybody.
He stunned me by slamming his rather large fist down on his desk. Objects jumped and then fell back into place. I guess my not saying something negative hadn’t helped. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? You’re a secretary. Not a detective. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. Leave this to the professionals. Let them do their jobs.” Gone were the soft crinkly lines I liked around his eyes. Instead, his baby blues had narrowed to dangerous slits. I might have a touch of OCD and PTSD or STD as my grandfather called it, but Ryder was acting NTPB. Nuttier Than Peanut Butter. And he was pissing me off. Who was he to tell me what to do?
“I’m not a secretary.” I stormed to the door.
“Jesus, Joseph and Mary. I’m warning you about dangerous criminals, and trying my best to save your pretty rear end and you’re correcting me about your job title?”
I blinked. He thought my butt was nice. I spared a glance over my shoulder at the part of my anatomy under discussion. I hadn’t even noticed him checking me out. That proved how much stress I must be under. Usually I can pick up on a guy doing that real quick.
“Becca, I know you’re not stupid. So don’t act like it. And if I find you digging into places that don’t concern you, I will tell both Marcy and Dick.”
“You wouldn’t! I need that job. I’ve got less than three weeks to go on my probationary period.” Oops, I hadn’t intended to admit that. And damn if Ryder wasn’t back to eye crinkling.
Definitely a rapidly recycling manic-depressive if ever I saw one. And I had five months of experience with the psychiatrists to back up my diagnosis.
Without a backward glance, I left his office and ran for my car. I’d had enough danger for one night. And I wasn’t thinking about the break-in.