CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

1

Catherine awakened with a dull headache and a sense of dread. The headache she understood—the recent events would give anyone a headache. The dread was a mystery. James would be released today and she’d planned a simple but intimate dinner and relaxing evening for them.

She ate a quick breakfast of toast, downed a mug of coffee, and looked out the front window to see Deputy Jeff Beal sitting in a patrol car. He saw her in the window and waved before Catherine went into the garage for her car. Marissa’s was already gone, of course, and Catherine knew she was either tracking down a hot lead or looking for one.

To Catherine’s disappointment, the day lay low and gray, as if the sky were pressing downward, closing in for winter. She had hoped for a beautiful mild, sunny day like yesterday. What a shame that day had been wasted on the brunch, she thought, when this was the day she would be bringing James out of the hospital and back into the world.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Aurora Falls Center, Jeff parking a few spaces toward the back and away from Catherine. She assumed Eric had given them instructions to not park at the front of the center or the parking lot because that might give patients a sense that something was wrong. Dr. Hite usually didn’t arrive before 9:30, but Beth’s small car was already parked at the very back of the lot. While Jeff sat in his patrol car, calling in to report that he was “on scene,” Catherine looked at Beth’s car, which bore dents, some rust, nearly bare tires, and about twelve years of bad care.

“All checked in,” Jeff said brightly, jolting her from her study of the car. Either Tom or Jeff had entered the center with Catherine and looked around, said hello to Beth, then had a cup of coffee before they returned to a long day in their patrol car. “You okay there, Dr. Gray?”

“If you don’t stop calling me Dr. Gray, I’m going to break the light on top of your car.”

“Oh. Would that be a no?”

“That would be a please call me Catherine. After all, I call you Jeff. And if I seem a little draggy, it’s because of the absolute blast I had this weekend.”

Jeff started laughing. “Yeah, Tom told me about it. Actually, he said he’d been dreading the assignment—he’s not big on weddings and social stuff—but it turned out sort of hilarious.”

“I’m glad he had a good time,” Catherine said, half seriously, half-laughing. “But I hope to go at least a year—make that ten—without another three-day gala like that one.” They climbed the porch steps and she put her key in the door, which Beth kept locked until opening time at nine o’clock.

Catherine swung open the front door, looking back at Jeff. She took several steps into the waiting room, Jeff close behind, and closed the door. She was still saying something about the wedding to him when she noticed the smell of good coffee didn’t fill the waiting room and Beth wasn’t sitting behind her desk.

Then from beside a tall bookshelf near the door stepped Ian Blakethorne. His face was smooth, handsome, untroubled, and before she realized what was happening he stuck a needle in Jeff’s neck and pushed the plunger.

2

While Catherine stood frozen in shock, Jeff reeled slightly and reached for his gun. Ian’s hand swept at Jeff’s with more strength than Catherine could have imagined. Jeff stumbled and once again reached for the gun. This time Ian’s leg shot out, his ankle crossing Jeff’s and jerking the policeman to the floor. Jeff writhed, still fumbling for his gun, but this time Ian reached down, took the gun, and kicked Jeff in the abdomen. Jeff grunted and curled into a ball, his eyes closed, his legs making rhythmic jerking movements that grew slower and slower.

“My God!” Catherine at last found her voice. “You didn’t inject him with animal tranquilizer!”

“I used something almost as good,” Ian said offhandedly.

“Where’s Beth? What have you done with Beth?”

“I got here a little before Beth did. I was waiting for her—grabbed her on the porch. I’m afraid she’s already asleep.”

“Asleep or dead?”

“I’ll keep you in suspense.”

Catherine felt reality slip away from her for a moment. She thought she might faint. Then she saw Jeff twitch again. The dulled light from the front windows managed to pierce the fading light behind her eyes. She took a deep breath, waiting for Ian to come at her with the hypodermic needle, knowing she had no strength to fight him. Instead, they both stood still, him looking at her acutely, her looking at him with dim horror.

“Catherine, you’re not going to swoon like some damsel in a romance novel, are you?”

“No,” she said faintly. “No. I’m going to stand right here and ask you what’s wrong.”

“That’s it? Nothing more clever? Just, ‘What’s wrong?’”

Catherine stood as straight and still as she could while gathering every bit of strength, of courage, of daring, she could muster.

“Yes.” Her voice was steady, strong. “What did you want, Ian? Screaming? Crying? Begging?”

The controlled look on his face, the near-cocky tone of his voice, vanished. He looked at her in puzzlement and then shook his head before saying in a slow, mystified voice, “No. I thought that’s what I wanted, but I didn’t. If you’d acted that way, you wouldn’t have been Catherine—my dearest Catherine—whom I’ve loved since I was ten.”

“Loved?”

“Yes. Oh, not that way. I never thought of you sexually—I really didn’t. No nasty fantasies. Only romantic ones. That was the kind of love I had for you.” His forehead wrinkled as his eyes grew troubled. “I don’t think she ever believed that, though. That’s why she didn’t like for me to talk about you. She didn’t even want to hear your name.” He looked at Catherine in a kind of wonder. “You’re all that ever came between us.”

“‘Us’?” Catherine asked carefully. “Who is ‘us’?”

“You know.”

She started to deny it, then realized that was the wrong tack. “I want you to tell me. I want you to say it out loud. Who is ‘us’?”

“Me and … Renée.”

Catherine barely registered Ian pulling a gun, pointing it at her, and telling her in a courteous voice that he’d like to go into her office now. She nodded and led the way, trying not to flinch or give a sign he might mistake as an attempt to bolt away from him. She might have been escorting a regular patient in for a session.

God, what a session this would be, she thought as she sat down on her chair, crossing her legs and looking at handsome young Ian standing by her desk.

“So, what would you like to talk about today?” she asked, managing a small smile.

“Is that what you say to all your patients?”

“Yes.”

“You’re treating me like a patient?”

“I’m treating you like someone who acts as if they want to talk. Is that insulting to you?”

Ian appeared to think for a moment. “No, I guess not.”

“You do want to talk to me, don’t you? Otherwise, we wouldn’t have come into my office.”

“Yes, I suppose I want to talk.” He glanced around, never moving the gun aimed at her chest. “I like the way you decorated your office.”

“Thank you, but you helped. You brought me a gift when the redecoration was finished—the beautiful porcelain temple jar. I’ve had so many compliments on it.”

“Who from?”

“Dana Nordine. And she knows art.”

“Dana Nordine,” Ian repeated in an almost whimsical voice. “Well, I guess she would need counseling, considering—”

Surprisingly, someone knocked loudly on the main office door. Please let that be the police, Catherine thought frantically; then reason returned. The police wouldn’t knock on the door.

“That’s my father,” Ian said calmly. “I called him before you got here. I told him to come alone.” Ian’s voice toughened. “He’d better have done what he was told.”

“You told your father to come here?”

“Yes. Is it so unbelievable that someone can order around Lawrence Blakethorne? I suppose it is. But obviously, I’ve done it.” He tilted the gun upward. “Stand up and walk to the door. Move calmly, naturally. I’ve locked the door. Unlock it and let him in. He’ll be firing questions at you, but don’t answer. Just say you needed to see him. Don’t try to give him any secret signals or any of that silliness. He probably wouldn’t notice anyway. After he’s inside, lock the door behind him.”

“And then?”

“And then he will get the shock of his life.”