Shades of Passion (15 page)

Her gaze rested heavily on him, but he tried to ignore it as he took his own chair. “So, have you done a ride along before?”

She paused, then nodded. “I have. In Charleston. Not over the course of several days, the way I’m going to do here. But I did a day here and there.”

“Did anything interesting happen?”

She shrugged. “Not really. Some traffic stops. Nothing terribly dramatic.”

And had that disappointed her? he wondered. Had she been craving excitement? Adventure? Was that what this was really about? But no, she hadn’t been any more thrilled with this partnership than he’d been. And despite their kiss, or maybe because of it, she probably still wasn’t.

“We’ll head over to SFPD where you can watch some of the intake procedures. We’ll also keep track of specific calls and respond to the most interesting ones. We’ll just be observers. Patrol will handle the action. I know you’ve got a job to do, but so do I. The main thing we’re going to be focused on is your safety. You’re not going to do anything to endanger yourself. Is that clear?”

She raised a brow. “I had no plans to do so, so that’s comforting.”

“I just want to make it clear—this isn’t about you trying to save anyone.”

Now she frowned. “The program I’m advocating is all about preventing harm and saving lives, but I wasn’t planning on diving in front of a bullet for anyone today. Not even you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Then whom, exactly, are you worried about? And what makes you think I’d endanger myself to help a total stranger?”

When he didn’t immediately answer, her gaze flickered down to his desk and the papers there. He knew the instant she figured out what they were—old press coverage of her sister’s suicide—when her face paled. He didn’t like the flash of pain on her expression and immediately wanted to shove the papers into the trash. Away from her view. But he forced himself not to. He had a point to make. An important one. Her past was painful, but it was best he knew about it. Best
she knew
he knew about it.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” he said softly. “About Elizabeth Davenport, too.”

“But?” she asked snappishly.

“But a woman on a crusade is a dangerous thing. That’s why we need to discuss these things now. Before we hit the road.”

She said nothing else. She refused to say anything else. And he refused to give in to his sudden urge to shift guiltily, as if he’d done something wrong. To counter the feeling, he went on the offensive.

“You told me about Elizabeth. Don’t you think you should have told me about your sister, too?”

Her eyes widened. “Why? The only reason I told you about Beth was the threatening note. It was relevant. Rachel’s death...isn’t relevant to anything at all.”

She was lying. He knew it and so did she. Something like that would be relevant to everything she did, but before he could respond, she stood. “Besides, telling you would have been too easy. It would have deprived you of the pleasure of doing your little detective thing, right? I knew you’d look into it anyway and find out yourself.”

But her last words didn’t ring true. She’d been truly blindsided by the fact he’d dug up information on her sister. Or maybe she’d just been blindsided by the fact he was making her talk about it.

“My little detective thing, huh?” he asked softly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s really nothing little about me.” She blushed and he’d bet she had to forcibly stop her gaze from dropping to his crotch. Not so much to admire him, but to put a curse on him. “Besides, sounds like rationalization to me.”

“I’m nothing if not rational. Believe me, your warnings are unnecessary. I don’t have a death wish and I don’t plan on endangering myself to help strangers in some misguided attempt to save my dead sister. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Great. Then how about you tell me something now?”

“What is it?” he asked warily.

“Who in your past endangered herself to help others? Your mother? Your sister? No, your girlfriend.” He stiffened and she nodded. “Was she a psychiatrist? Is that why you hate my profession so much?”

“Yes, she was my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend, but still. And yes, she was a psychiatrist. And while
hate
is too strong a word, I admit I’m leery of those in your profession because she died and she didn’t have to. She was murdered by a serial killer she was trying to help.”

“Let me guess. We’re talking about Gil Archer’s daughter. Lana. The one he said I look like.”

“We’re talking about Lana, yes. And as to whether you look like her?” He studied her while she held herself stiffly. “You’re both blonde. Pretty. But different,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah. I’m alive. But apparently I’m paying for her mistakes. You grew to distrust her, so now you distrust me. You distrust all psychiatrists. You probably distrust anyone with a mental health issue. Heck, anyone with anything you perceive as a weakness at all. So how do you handle your own weaknesses? Or do you simply expect yourself to be Superman?”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. I’m a cop and you have a history—”

“A history that’s my business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s your business so long as it doesn’t affect me. That being the case, I just want to make sure we’re clear on what this next week is going to look like. That’s all.” He stood and shrugged into his jacket. “You ready to go?”

“No,” she said quietly. “You’re coming down on me because I withheld my past, or so you think. Don’t do the same thing. My sister’s suicide was a tragedy and sure, it could conceivably impair my judgment. But what do you call your girlfriend’s death? What about the fact you admitted it affects how you think about psychiatrists and I’m betting probably affects how you think about the mentally ill, as well? You want to question me about my past? You can expect the same thing in return.”

Simon’s jaw clenched. “Fine.” He sat back down again and held his arms out. “What do you want to know?”

Her eyes widened slightly before she asked, “How—how long ago did she die?”

“Six months ago. Next question.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“No. But I saw her afterward and I know exactly what he did to her. Given how often I imagine what really happened, I might as well have been. Next question.”

She shook her head. “I—I’m sorry.”

“And like I said, I’m sorry about your sister. We’ve both had to deal with tragedy. I’m just trying to make sure we don’t have to deal with more.”

“Fine.” She stood. “Have I alleviated your concerns?”

Since she obviously wasn’t going to ask any more questions about Lana, he relaxed slightly and stood, as well. “Not by a long shot. But I’m hoping we’ll get there. I—”

“Hey, Simon.”

Simon looked up at the sound of DeMarco’s voice. Nina glanced up, too, and for a second he saw appreciation flicker over her face. Mentally, he scowled. Maybe she went for the tall, dark and Latin-lover kind of guy, and DeMarco was certainly that. He clenched his fists when Nina smiled secretively.

“What’s so funny?” he growled.

She started. Looked up at him guiltily. “Nothing. I was just thinking about something my friend Karen said.”

“Uh-huh.”

DeMarco stepped up to them. He glanced at Nina, then back at Simon with a quick yet not so subtle waggle of his brows.

“Hey, DeMarco. We were just heading out.”

“Whoa. Not so fast. Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Simon sighed. “DeMarco, this is Dr. Nina Whitaker. She’s going to be shadowing me for a few days.”

“Doctor. As in medical doctor or—?”

“Doctor as in a shrink. I mean, psychiatrist,” he said when Nina glared at him. “She’s advocating some further training for the department.”

DeMarco turned a curious gaze on Nina. “Training in what?”

“Expanded training on mental health consumers and de-escalation techniques,” she replied. “But more than just that. Part of the program consists of establishing a Mental Health Intervention Team. Training dispatch to route certain calls to that team rather than patrol.”

“That right? Sounds fascinating. Tell me more.”

“I’m not sure we have time...” She glanced at Simon, and he jerked his chin, indicating she should go ahead. If he was going to give her a fair shot at changing his mind about the merits of the MHIT program, he needed to know more about it. For the first time, he found his curiosity outrunning his skepticism.

“The pilot program I helped launch in Charleston was actually modeled after one formed in Australia. The program has four key aims—reducing the risk of injury to police and mental health consumers during mental health crisis events, improving awareness by frontline police of both the risks involved in dealing with mental health consumers and the strategies to reduce potential injuries, improving collaboration with other government and nongovernment agencies in the response to and management of mental health crisis events, and reducing the time taken by police in the handover of mental health consumers into the health care system.”

DeMarco nodded and hummed. “Sounds ideal. But then again, around here we tend to focus more on reality than the ideal, don’t we?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, we’re short on manpower and funds already.”

She smiled tiredly, as if she’d heard the same argument over and over again. “And that’s justification for failing to implement effective policies? Policies that can improve what you do?”

“Not a justification. Just an explanation. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Really? Thanks for pointing that out to me,” Nina said lightly. “But seriously, many of the police officers in Charleston were skeptical, too. At first. But afterward, the results are unassailable. Self report data has evidenced a reduction in the number of times that medical attention has been required for a member of the public as a result of officers being MHIT trained. Also, MHIT training has increased police officers’ confidence when dealing with a mental health problem or a drug-induced psychosis. Qualitative data from Charleston Health staff working specifically in mental health has—”

She stopped speaking abruptly. Simon, who’d been fascinated by what she’d been saying, blinked and glanced at DeMarco. The other man was smiling, as if he, too, found Nina fascinating. And attractive.

Simon felt an immediate sense of possessiveness and had to bite back a warning for the other man to back off.

Nina shook her head. “Sorry about that. As you can probably tell, give me an opening and I’ll run with it. I’ve talked to so many people about supporting the program, including donating to the cause, that I’ve pretty much memorized the spiel.”

“It’s a great spiel.”

“She already persuaded Gil Archer to donate a chunk of change,” Simon said.

DeMarco whistled with admiration. “I’m ready to reach for my checkbook right now. Maybe when we have more time you can tell me more.”

Nina just smiled politely while Simon bit back a growl.

DeMarco laughed, then turned to Simon. “We haven’t hung out in a while. You wanna get a drink sometime this week?”

Simon’s shoulders relaxed. Why was he getting upset over DeMarco’s flirtation with Nina? Like Jase, the guy pretty much flirted with anything that moved. “Sure. Let’s touch base in a few days.”

DeMarco nodded. “Will do.” He held out his hand for Nina to shake. “It was nice meeting you, Dr. Whitaker.”

“Likewise.”

Humming softly, DeMarco settled in at his desk. Simon shook his head when he recognized the melody, “Me and My Shadow.”

As Simon and Nina walked to his car, Simon abruptly asked, “So what was it that your friend told you? And why did it make you smile when you met DeMarco?”

She stumbled slightly, which just piqued his curiosity more. She didn’t answer until they were inside the car and he turned toward her, obviously waiting for an answer. “She—um—commented that she thought your team was particularly blessed in the good looks department.”

“Right,” he snorted and started the car engine. “And DeMarco confirmed that in your eyes?”

“Sure. He’s a good-looking guy. Nice, too.”

Simon pulled out of the SIG parking lot. It required a key card to enter, so Nina’s wreck of a car was probably a few blocks away on the curb or in a public parking lot. “He is nice. And he seemed to like you.”

“What’s not to like?” she said mildly. “Except in your case, my career, of course.”

“Look, I’m trying to be open-minded, I promise. I listened to your spiel, as you called it, back there, didn’t I?”

“And?”

“And I can’t argue with your good intentions,” he acknowledged. “That’s not what this is about. Like DeMarco said, it’s more about practicality. Reality. That’s all.”

“Why don’t we just agree to disagree on what’s practical or realistic?”

“Fair enough.”

After several minutes of silence, Simon tapped his palm on the steering wheel. “We’ll be together for the next few days, but I want you to know, if you ever need anything and I’m not around, you can always contact anyone on my team. Commander Stevens. Our lead detective, Mac, is away on a case, but there’s Jase or Carrie, who you met the other day. Or even...DeMarco.”

She seemed surprised by his non sequitur, but nodded. “Thank you. Does that include a date to the fundraising gala Gil Archer was talking about? Because if DeMarco’s free...”

He shot her an exaggerated scowl.

Nina snorted. “I’m joking. Sheesh.”

“Please, don’t joke about the gala. I’m not exactly looking forward it. At least if you were there, that would be a step in the right direction.”

Her eyes rounded at that before she glanced away, trying not to look pleased. “Oh. Well...good. So...does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I never said I hated you. I said I didn’t like you. And you were right when you corrected me. It’s your career—or more accurately, certain aspects of your training—I don’t like, not you.”

When she remained quiet, he said, “I might as well keep my reputation as a straight shooter, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That would be good.”