already shredded composure and stared back at him in defiance. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Did you know Deana Dell, the model?” he went on, ignoring her question, his face mere inches from hers. “She was one of Dr. Harrison’s patients, too. Maybe you saw her at the funeral.”
The blond. She knew instantly. In the red dress. A model. Living large and fast. Elizabeth remembered her. She’d read about her and her trouble with drugs, last year maybe. She’d instantly wondered if the model had been covering up for someone else, too. But at the funeral Elizabeth hadn’t gotten a good look at her face. Hadn’t recalled who she was then.
And now it no longer mattered.
She was dead
Homicide.
That meant murder.
Dear God.
Her stomach rolled over.
“That’s the second one of Harrison’s patients to die since the funeral,” he said pointedly. “Don’t you find that strangely ironic?”
The room tilted and then started to spin. Nausea boiled up in her throat. She was going to be sick.
Mac moved back a step as Elizabeth pushed away from him and ran from the room. Restraining the need to go after her, he took a moment to calm the crazy mixture of emotions raging inside him. But he couldn’t take any chances that she might make a run for it. There was a window—no fire escape, though. In four steps he’d crossed the room and entered the small hall. As he reached the closed bathroom door, his concerns were allayed by the sound of her violent retching.
Guilt stabbed him right in the gut as he leaned against the wall next to the door. He’d forced that on her, had pushed her to the edge. Damn. Sympathy wasn’t supposed to enter into this. Where was his usual detachment? Why the hell couldn’t he maintain a proper distance?
He released a weary breath and refused to consider the answer to either of those questions.
Eventually he heard the toilet flush and the water running in the basin, then a minute or so later she opened the door. “I’d like you to leave now,” she announced with a good deal more strength than she looked capable of managing.
“I need some answers first.”
She ripped off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then glared at him. “Don’t you ever give up? I’m telling you I don’t know anything!”
He stepped nearer to her. Didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Yes, you do. And I’ll keep coming back until you tell me everything.”
She pushed her glasses back into place and shoved her hair from her face with unsteady hands. “You’re wasting your time, Agent MacBride.”
Another thought poked its way through the jumble of theories attempting to coalesce in his brain. “How did your ex-fiancé take your affair with Dr. Harrison?”
She blinked, taken aback by the question. What was he fishing for now? Didn’t the man get it? She didn’t know anything relevant to his case. “Brian and I broke up months ago.”
MacBride shrugged, the move casual, but his expression was anything but casual. “That may be, but he had to be pissed off when he learned he’d been replaced by a hotshot shrink. Wasn’t Harrison a friend of his?”
A frown worried her lips. She’d seen Ned at some of the parties she and Brian had attended. She’d even seen Brian talk to Ned from time to time, but then, he talked to everyone. Not once in their nine-month relationship had she heard Brian mention Ned. Ned certainly never mentioned Brian other than in the context of how her breakup with him added to the stress that brought on her panic attacks.
“I don’t... think so,” she admitted in all honesty. “I suppose you could call them casual acquaintances.”
MacBride was watching her so closely that she could almost feel his eyes on her. She tugged the lapels of her robe tighter around her, but it wasn’t her body that held his attention. He was studying her face, analyzing her responses, looking for signs of deception.
“It’s late, Agent MacBride,” she
“Did you know Deana Dell, the model?” he went on, ignoring her question, his face mere inches from hers. “She was one of Dr. Harrison’s patients, too. Maybe you saw her at the funeral.”
The blond. She knew instantly. In the red dress. A model. Living large and fast. Elizabeth remembered her. She’d read about her and her trouble with drugs, last year maybe. She’d instantly wondered if the model had been covering up for someone else, too. But at the funeral Elizabeth hadn’t gotten a good look at her face. Hadn’t recalled who she was then.
And now it no longer mattered.
She was dead
Homicide.
That meant murder.
Dear God.
Her stomach rolled over.
“That’s the second one of Harrison’s patients to die since the funeral,” he said pointedly. “Don’t you find that strangely ironic?”
The room tilted and then started to spin. Nausea boiled up in her throat. She was going to be sick.
Mac moved back a step as Elizabeth pushed away from him and ran from the room. Restraining the need to go after her, he took a moment to calm the crazy mixture of emotions raging inside him. But he couldn’t take any chances that she might make a run for it. There was a window—no fire escape, though. In four steps he’d crossed the room and entered the small hall. As he reached the closed bathroom door, his concerns were allayed by the sound of her violent retching.
Guilt stabbed him right in the gut as he leaned against the wall next to the door. He’d forced that on her, had pushed her to the edge. Damn. Sympathy wasn’t supposed to enter into this. Where was his usual detachment? Why the hell couldn’t he maintain a proper distance?
He released a weary breath and refused to consider the answer to either of those questions.
Eventually he heard the toilet flush and the water running in the basin, then a minute or so later she opened the door. “I’d like you to leave now,” she announced with a good deal more strength than she looked capable of managing.
“I need some answers first.”
She ripped off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then glared at him. “Don’t you ever give up? I’m telling you I don’t know anything!”
He stepped nearer to her. Didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Yes, you do. And I’ll keep coming back until you tell me everything.”
She pushed her glasses back into place and shoved her hair from her face with unsteady hands. “You’re wasting your time, Agent MacBride.”
Another thought poked its way through the jumble of theories attempting to coalesce in his brain. “How did your ex-fiancé take your affair with Dr. Harrison?”
She blinked, taken aback by the question. What was he fishing for now? Didn’t the man get it? She didn’t know anything relevant to his case. “Brian and I broke up months ago.”
MacBride shrugged, the move casual, but his expression was anything but casual. “That may be, but he had to be pissed off when he learned he’d been replaced by a hotshot shrink. Wasn’t Harrison a friend of his?”
A frown worried her lips. She’d seen Ned at some of the parties she and Brian had attended. She’d even seen Brian talk to Ned from time to time, but then, he talked to everyone. Not once in their nine-month relationship had she heard Brian mention Ned. Ned certainly never mentioned Brian other than in the context of how her breakup with him added to the stress that brought on her panic attacks.
“I don’t... think so,” she admitted in all honesty. “I suppose you could call them casual acquaintances.”
MacBride was watching her so closely that she could almost feel his eyes on her. She tugged the lapels of her robe tighter around her, but it wasn’t her body that held his attention. He was studying her face, analyzing her responses, looking for signs of deception.
“It’s late, Agent MacBride,” she
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