You Can't Hide (18 page)

“No, another one I’m working.”

She nodded, subdued. “The little boy whose autopsy report I saw this morning.”

“Yes.” He managed to get the word past what felt like a wad of paste in his throat. Her lips drooped and Aidan clenched his teeth. The woman had lips that just begged a man to find out if they were as soft as they looked. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Will you let me put something on your hand? It’s a nasty cut.” When he hesitated, she forced those ful lips to smile.

“I am a doctor you know.”

He should go. Right now. But his feet wouldn’t move. “I guess you are. I always forget psychiatrists are MDs, too.”

“Most people do.” She went into the kitchen and came back with a first aid kit. “But I went to medical school like all the other doctors. That’s where I met Jonathan Carter, actually, in med school. We’ve been friends a long time.” Her head bent over his hand, her hair forming a dark wavy curtain that hid her face. Her hair was still damp where it parted at her neck, the fragrance of her shampoo drifting up to torment him. It didn’t take supreme detective prowess to assume she’d been in the shower, which meant she’d likely been naked beneath that red robe. He gritted his teeth against the picture of those curves, wet and soapy.

“He’s protective of me,” she went on, then looked up, her hair sweeping back from her face. Her cheeks flashed hot and whatever words she’d been about to say were lost. Abruptly she

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dropped her head and cleared her throat. “Wel …” Her shoulders rose and fell as she drew a deep breath. “At least it’s not dirty. This might sting.”

It did, but the sting was centered somewhere else entirely. “The guy tossed a beer in my face so I had to take a shower once I brought him in. I cleaned it up.”

Her throaty chuckle sent a shudder down his spine and his hand jerked reflexively. She stilled, then continued dabbing his knuckles. “Well, they say beer is good for the complexion.”

She wound some gauze around his knuckles and taped the end. Stepping back, she looked up, her eyes cool. Two days ago he’d mistaken it for no emotion. Now he knew it was her shield. The knowledge that she needed one made him want to do everything he shouldn’t. “Keep it dry,” she murmured. “I think you’l live.”

Aidan held up the envelope in his left hand. “I’l check these letters out. Have you had any more calls?”

“No.”

“Would you be willing to let us tap your line so we can listen in case you do?”

She was quiet a moment. “Yes. Go ahead. I’l sign a release. For my home phone only. Not my office line.”

It was more than he’d expected. “We’l also need a sample of your voice, to compare to the message on Adams’s voicemail.”

“I’l come in tomorrow morning. My first two appointments canceled.”

“I’m sorry.”

She lifted a shoulder. “It was to be expected after that article in the
Bulletin
.”

He’d put off the patient list long enough and with a sigh damned Todd Murphy to hell once again. “This could happen again. You know that.”

Her chin came up but her eyes stayed cool. “I know.”

“We need to be able to anticipate his next move. I have to ask for your patient list.”

She didn’t blink. “You know I can’t do that. Patient confidentiality isn’t just a ‘nice-to-have.’

It’s the law, Detective.”

She didn’t sound angry, he thought. Instead she sounded resigned, as if she’d expected the question all along. “You told us about Adams and Winslow.”

“I’m permitted to disclose when it’s critical for the detection of a crime or when the client is at risk and not able to consent. In both situations I judged the requirements for disclosure were satisfied. Besides, I didn’t tell you much more that you couldn’t get from your own police reports if you dug deep enough.”

“You told me that Cynthia Adams had contracted an STD.”

Something moved in her eyes, elusive and brief. “That was when I thought she was the target and that knowing that would give you a motive. And you would have learned it from the autopsy report anyway.” She drew a breath. “I was visited by the state licensing board today. They did not concur with my judgment.”

Aidan frowned. “How did they know you’d talked to me?”

“The case worker from the health department called them. Don’t apologize, Detective,” she said sharply when he opened his mouth to do just that. “I understood the risks when I disclosed.”

But it had been another blow, he could see that. He wasn’t certain what form any licensing board censure might take. “Did they… do anything?”

“Not this time. My attorney was there and that seemed to diffuse the situation a bit.”

“But they’l be back tomorrow. Once they’ve seen the news about Winslow.”

“Probably. As will the reporters that were camped around the door of my apartment building when I got home tonight.” Her voice softened marginally. “Don’t worry about me, Detective Reagan. I can take care of myself.”

He wondered if she could. Wondered how she would take the news that her patients’

suicides had been recorded, perhaps for profit. Remembered the look in her eyes as she’d stared at Winslow’s body and wished she wouldn’t have to find out about the cameras, but knew that

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sooner or later she would. But it didn’t have to be tonight. “Then I’l let you go to sleep, Dr. Ciccotel i.” He lifted his bandaged hand. “Thank you.”

She smiled, sadly. “Thank you for not hauling my ass downtown again.” She winced. “Sorry. When I’m tired my vocabulary deteriorates.”

There were a lot of other, better places he’d like to haul her ass. He turned away before his straining libido made any of them a reality, and found himself once more looking at the pen-andink sketches he’d studied earlier to keep his mind off the fact she’d been changing her clothes in her bedroom. “‘T. Ciccotelli,’” he read in the bottom corner of each one. “You did these?”

“No, my brother Tino did.”

Surprised, he turned to look at her. “You have a brother named Tino? Really?”

This time her smile showed actual amusement. “I have four older brothers-Tino, Gino, Dino, and Vito. And no, none of them are Sopranos, so don’t ask.”

Four older-and more than likely very protective-brothers. It was nearly a deflating thought. Nearly. The red robe was still too close to the front of his mind. “Any of them live around here?”

Her smile went sad again. “No, they’re all back home.”

“Philadelphia.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you-? You checked up on me.”

He nodded, levelly. “Which is why your ass is in your posh apartment, and not sitting in a hard chair downtown.”

She stared at him for a second, then surprised him with a laugh that seemed to fill every corner of the room and sent his pulse scrambling once again. “Touchй, Detective. And good night.”

He let himself smile back. “Good night, Doctor.”

He waited until he heard the deadbolt fall, then turned for the elevator. He’d go home and get some sleep himself. But first he’d need another shower. And this time a very cold one.
Chapter 8

Monday, March 13, 11:55 P.M.

Tess let her body fall back against her front door and pressed the heel of her hand to her heart. Unsmiling and angry, Aidan Reagan was the most potent man she thought she’d ever met. But smiling… he was quite simply beautiful. And the last distraction she needed right now. Or maybe not. It had been quite some time since her heart had beaten so fast, since her skin felt like every square inch had fallen asleep and was now just waking up. Since she’d been so aroused. She’d been starting to fear she never would again.

“Go ahead and say it, Chick,” she murmured aloud.
You need to get back on that bike. You need
to get laid.
But she couldn’t say it. She had trouble even thinking it. Phillip’s betrayal had scarred her deeper than any con with a chain ever could. She’d told herself she’d get over him, that his cheating was no reflection on her. What a joke. Of course it had been a reflection on her. She picked a man incapable of keeping his promises. At least that she’d come by honestly. Like mother, like daughter.

And at least she’d had the pride to throw her cheater out on his ass. Unlike her mother. But pride was a poor substitute for the human touch she craved in the night. There had been men who’d tried to catch her eye since Phillip. Unfortunately, her eye hadn’t been interested. Until now. Her eye was interested, along with the rest of her. He was interested, too. And if she was any judge of character, he didn’t want to be any more than she did. But what kind of character judge could she be? She’d picked Phillip after all. Cheerful thought. Perhaps Amy was right.
I should call her now. Kiss and make up and al that
shit.
She had promised Jon, a fact that Reagan seemed to think important. Score one for the good

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guys. She pushed away from the door, then jumped a foot when her doorbell rang. A look through her peephole had her hissing an oath. Little Miss Carmichael stood outside her door, holding a pizza box.

“I know you’re in there,” Carmichael said loudly. “I just saw the cop leave.”

“Go away, Miss Carmichael. I have no comment for you.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Tess opened her door a crack. “Your propositions require Vaseline, Miss Carmichael. Now please go away before I call the police.”

Carmichael eyed her through the crack in the door. “I want an exclusive.”

Tess laughed at the sheer absurdity of the statement. “You’re out of your frickin’ mind. And, trust me, I know of what I speak.”

“I’l write an article with or without your help, Doctor. If you give me an exclusive, the words will be yours.”

Tess shook her head. “Like I can believe anything you say. How the hell did you get up here anyway?”

“Told your doorman I was delivering a pizza to your neighbor. Your building security sucks, by the way.”

She was right about that. “Good to know. Go away.” Tess shut the door with a snap and flipped the bolt, then aimed her parting shot through the door. “If you’re still there in five seconds I’m calling the cops and you can do your story from a holding cell. Five, four, three-”

Joanna stepped back with a grin. She hadn’t expected Ciccotelli to agree to an exclusive, but hadn’t expected such an acerbic tongue, either. When Ciccotelli finally gave in, the copy would be exceptional. For now, she’d go back to her apartment and eat the pizza herself. She had a lot of work to do before morning. Her mamma always said you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar. Her father had always insisted that flypaper was the smartest way to go. As much as she hated to admit it, this time Daddy was right. She’d just have to see how many flies Ciccotelli could stand to see writhing on the flypaper before admitting defeat. It wouldn’t be pretty and Ciccotelli wouldn’t cooperate quietly. But cooperate she would.
And when the dust clears, the byline will be mine and Cy Bremin will
just be an annoying little buzz in my ear.

Happily munching a slice of pizza, she went down the elevator and waved at the sucky doorman on the way out.

Tuesday, March 14, 12:35 A.M.

Aidan was back in control by the time he pul ed into his driveway, which was a good thing because cold showers hurt and weren’t particularly effective anyway. He hoped Dol y hadn’t made a mess in the living room. She was a good dog, well-trained, but he’d left her for a long time today. He had an arrangement with the twelve-year-old next door who let Dol y out when he was gone for long periods, but Aidan had forgotten to call the kid. He went in through the kitchen and was greeted by ninety-six pounds of body-wagging rottweiler. Aidan dropped to one knee to scratch behind her ears and laughed when Dol y’s tongue bathed his face. “You’re a tart, Dol -face.” Giving her side an affectionate slap, he stood up and grabbed the leash from its peg on the wall. It was late, but Dol y liked to walk and Aidan still had a lot of residual stress to work off.

“I walked her already.”

Startled, Aidan spun toward the sleepy sound, weapon in hand before recognition kicked in. He smacked the wall switch, flooding the room with light.

His sister Rachel stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with groggy terror, one hand splayed against her chest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on me? I might have shot you.”

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“I’m…” She blew out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

Aidan shoved his gun back in his holster. “Damn right you didn’t think.” But she was pale and shaking so he walked over and put his arms around her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded against his chest. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.” She stepped back and slumped against the wall, her dark brows bunched in a frown. Like Aidan, Rachel had their father’s hair and eyes, but her delicate size was purely their mother’s. As was the imperious expression on her face. “You’re late.”

“You’re AWOL,” he snapped back. “Why aren’t you home in bed? Mom and Dad’l be worried sick if they wake up and find you gone.”

“No, they won’t. They think I’m at Marie’s.”

Aidan stared down at her. “You lied to them? Rachel.”

“I didn’t lie. I was at Marie’s. She had a party that I decided… not to attend.”

Still glaring, Aidan grabbed a jug of milk from the refrigerator. “You want some?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck.”

“You need milk, kid. You’l get osteoporosis, then you’l be sorry.” He mimicked their mother to make her smile, but her mouth stayed firmly pressed in a hard line. “So why did you decide against the party? Besides the fact it’s a school night,” he added, then narrowed his eyes. “Mom and Dad let you out on a school night? They never let us go out on a school night.”

She shrugged. “We were going to study for a history test.”

“But you’re not.”

“I thought we were there to study, Aidan,” she said quietly. “I really did. Then Marie’s boyfriend showed up and… things got out of hand.”