CHAPTER ONE

WHAT WAS he trying to hide?

Kira leaned back in her chair and watched Detective Donovan roam her office, his hands jammed in his pockets. Nervous energy poured off him as he studied the pictures on her wall, stared out the window, nudged a chair with the toe of his shoe. Finally he picked up the statue of the young girl fishing. He studied it for a moment, then set it back down on the table with too much force.

“This is all bogus, Doc.” He slouched into a chair and focused on the wall behind her head.

“What’s bogus?” she asked calmly.

“All of this.” He waved his hand around the office. “Needing to talk to you. To make sure I’m handling the shooting. You’ve already talked to McDougal and A.J. You know Doak Talbott’s was a righteous shooting.”

“Yes, I’ve talked to Mac and A.J. But they didn’t shoot Talbott, Detective. You did.”

“I did what I was supposed to do.”

Kira watched Jake jiggle his foot. “Shooting a civilian is something the department takes very seriously.” She held up her hand as Donovan tried to interrupt her. “Yes, I know the facts. I know what his alleged crimes were. But you still killed a man.”

“Did they tell you about the ‘alleged’ bruises on his kid? And his wife?” Donovan met her gaze, his eyes blazing. “Did they tell you about the ‘alleged’ gun he was holding to a civilian’s head?”

“I know all the alleged facts of the case, Detective. I need to know how you feel about what you had to do.”

“I feel like I did my job. Period. End of story.” His expression was defiant.

Kira threw her pen on her desk and leaned back. “You know how this works, Detective Donovan. I can’t release you for active duty until I’m certain this shooting hasn’t affected your ability to do your job. You can make it easy and cooperate with me, or you can do it the hard way. It’s up to you.”

Donovan studied her for a long moment. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head, as he relaxed in the chair and gave her his patented sweet-talk-the-pants-off-you smile.

“I choose easy, Doc.”

“Good choice,” Kira said. She nodded, encouraging him.

“Okay, so here’s what happened. You know the story—Doak Talbott was wanted for domestic abuse and the murder of a waitress at the country club. He was afraid his son had seen him burying bloody clothes, so he had to get a hold of the kid. He found out where Jamie was staying…” Jake rubbed his side, the spot where his gun normally rested. “He tried to take Jamie’s aunt hostage and was threatening everybody—his kid, the aunt and A.J. He wouldn’t put down his gun. In my judgment, he was prepared to shoot all of us. I had to kill him.”

“And how did you feel about that?” Kira asked again, patiently.

“It doesn’t matter. I had no choice. If I hadn’t killed him, he would have killed the kid. Or the kid’s aunt. Or A.J. Or Mac. Or me.” Donovan spread his hands and smiled, his sleepy eyes crinkling at the corners. “So you can sign off on me and take it easy for the rest of the hour.”

“Nice try, Detective.” Kira noted the tension behind his smile. “But I have to tell you, you’re not being real original. At least half of the police officers who walk in here tell me the same thing.” Her lips twitched. “The last time I was surrounded by so many selfless people, I was in grade school with the nuns.”

“Very funny, Doc.” Jake scowled. “You’re a real comedian. What do you want me to say?” His gaze drifted to the picture of snow-capped mountains beneath a full moon. “I did my job.”

“That’s the point, Detective. In the course of doing your job, you killed a man.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then shrugged. “I feel good. The bastard didn’t deserve to live.”

Kira closed her eyes and wondered, again, why she’d taken this job. “Detective Donovan,” she said, giving him a level look, “do you want to go back on active duty?”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” she repeated. “I think you’d better get something straight. Unless you want to spend the rest of your career with the Riverton Police Department riding a desk, you’ll respect both me and this process. So can we start over without the smart-ass answers?”

“You don’t like smart-ass?” Instead of the defensiveness she expected, Donovan’s mouth curled up in a wicked grin. “I’m thinking you’re not a lot of fun, Doc.”

“That would be correct, Detective. So why don’t you knock off the lame attempts to make me forget why you’re here? The quicker I can complete my report to the oversight board, the quicker you can get back to active duty. Unless you want to work a desk indefinitely.” She cocked her head, waiting for his answer.

“That’s very sexy, Doc. That no-nonsense, I-like-to-play-hardball attitude.”

Despite the grin, she saw raw discomfort in his eyes. And something that might have been fear.

“Jake, nothing you say here goes beyond these doors,” she said gently. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“What do you want to hear? That I went home and puked my guts out after I shot Talbott? That I rode the porcelain bus all night?”

“Is that what happened?”

He grabbed a stapler from her desk, tossed it from hand to hand. “Of course not. Why would I get so upset about that loser?” He didn’t meet her gaze.

“What did you do that night?”

“I watched the ball game, had a beer or two.” His grin looked shaky. “That would be the White Sox. I’m not one of those yuppie, wine-drinking Cubs fans.”

“Duly noted.” She tilted her head, determined to keep him on track. “How did you sleep that night?”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty personal, Doc. Are you looking for details of my…sleeping habits?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Donovan.” She slapped the desk, her temper slipping.

Glancing at the clock, she said, “Your time is up. Would you like to make an appointment for our next session?”

Donovan frowned. “What do you mean, ‘next’ session?”

“Just what I said. We didn’t make much progress so we’ll try again. When would be convenient for you?”

She opened her appointment book, watching him fume.

“No time would be convenient,” he finally said, scowling again. “Mac has been working overtime for the past week, doing both of our jobs. He needs a break. I need to be back on duty.”

“Then maybe next time you’ll be more cooperative.”

Standing, he stared down at her, anger gathering in his face. Kira kept her gaze fixed on his simmering blue eyes. She watched as he struggled for control, watched as the heat faded.

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” he muttered.

“Fine. Get back to me when you can.”

He slammed the door so hard her desk shook.

Kira pushed away from her desk and rubbed her eyes. Charming, sexy Jake Donovan—legendary in the Riverton Police Department for sweet-talking whatever he wanted from criminals and coworkers alike—was the last thing she needed right now.

Once again, the contract she’d signed with the police department to do psychological assessments came back to haunt her. She stuffed her folders into her briefcase as she glanced at the clock, hoping she wouldn’t be late. Again. She’d do the job she was paid to do. Even if it involved spending several more hours with such a difficult man.

***

JAKE TURNED into the men’s room and gave the water faucet a vicious twist, then splashed cold water on his face until his eyes stopped burning. He yanked paper towels out of the dispenser, pressed them to his forehead.

With a hissed oath, he shoved the wet wad into the trash can, scraping his knuckles on the edge as he drew back his hand.

The rage he’d tried so hard to control burst free in a blur of red and black. He kicked over the can and then ripped the dispenser off its bracket and heaved it at the wall. It bounced off the tile, hit the sink with a whine of metal, then crashed to the floor. Dented on one side, the handle broken off, it slid to a stop beneath the door of a stall.

When he stormed out of the washroom one of the patrol officers was at the door.

“You okay, Donovan?”

“Just peachy,” Jake snarled.

The officer cleared his throat. “I…ah…heard something fall in there. You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” Jake pushed past him and threw himself into his desk chair.

“Hey, Jake,” his partner Mac said, looking up from his work. “Doc McGinnis clear you for takeoff?”

“No.” Jake cursed. “I have to go back.”

Mac came over and propped himself on the edge of the desk. “What happened?” he asked in a low voice.

“Nothing.” Jake grabbed a file and thumbed through it without seeing it. “She was pushing and pushing, trying to make me spill my damn guts to her.”

Jake slammed the file onto his desk. “I don’t do the gut-spilling thing. With anyone. Let alone a psychologist.” He snorted. “She said I wasn’t taking her seriously. How can anyone take that crap seriously?”

“Really? She thought Jake Donovan wasn’t being serious?” Mac’s lips twitched. “Obviously she’s mistaken you for someone else.”

A patrol officer led a man dressed in an expensive suit into the room. His hands were cuffed behind him, and Jake turned away to tune out the perp’s loud protestations of innocence.

“Screw you, McDougal.”

“Come on, Jake. She’s not Barb.”

Jake glared at his partner. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Barb.”

“No?”

“Why would it? Barb is ancient history.”

“Jake. Your ex-wife, who just happens to be a psychologist, tap-danced on your head. And you’re telling me you’re not thinking about Barb when you’re supposed to talk to another psychologist?”

“You’re a shrink now?” Jake asked, his voice dripping with scorn. “You take a mail order course? Or is A.J. giving you lessons?” He picked up an empty paper coffee cup and slammed it into the wastebasket. “If I was engaged to a woman like A.J., I’d sure as hell have better things to do with her.”

“You’re a bright guy, Donovan,” Mac said. “You know what the doc needs to hear. Fill in the blanks for her.”

“I suppose you liked her poking around in your head?”

“Hell, no. But she made it as painless as possible.” Mac returned to his chair. “Just get it over with. Maybe if you’re straight with her next time, she’ll cut you loose.”

“Not likely,” Jake muttered. “She’s the type that won’t let go. That woman has major control issues.” His mouth twisted. “As she would say.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to have a control issue myself pretty soon if you don’t get back to work. The cases are stacking up like flights into O’Hare. What have you been doing with your time, anyway?”

“I’ve met with my high-school group a few times.”

“Troublemakers Anonymous?”

“Knock it off, Mac. They’re just kids. Some of them don’t have fathers around. They need guy time.”

“You can give them all the guy time you want when you’re off the clock. Between nine and five, you’re supposed to be covering my rear end.”

“I’m trying to make sure this group isn’t the Future Criminals of America Club. Think of it as rear-end-covering in advance.”

Mac raised his eyebrows. “You’re not a babysitter, Jake. You’re a police officer. A detective. Have you forgotten that?”

“Of course not.” Jake frowned as Mac’s words found a target, deep in his heart. “I’m just saying those kids are important. That’s all.”

“Yeah, they are. But this is your job.” He gestured at the police officers milling around the room. “So stop screwing around and get yourself cleared. I need some help.”

Jake swiveled and stared at the smear of dirty hand-prints on the wall. “What if she says I’m not ‘psychologically fit’ to be a cop? Or not ‘temperamentally suited’ to be a detective?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Understanding lit Mac’s eyes. “For God’s sake, Donovan. You’re one of the best detectives on the force. You’ve cleared more cases than just about anyone. You were born for this job.”

Jake heard his father telling him the exact same thing and tried to ignore the memory. “McGinnis doesn’t care about that.”

“As I said, Kira McGinnis isn’t Barb, Jake. She’s not going to mess with you.”

She already had. And if he gave her half a chance, she’d force his doubts and fears to the surface, make him confront them.

No way would he allow that.

How could anyone who looked like Kira McGinnis be so dangerous? An image of the sexy doctor lingered in his head, her sable hair pulled back into a smooth coil, her whiskey-colored eyes darkening as she struggled with her temper.

He wondered what she’d look like when she wasn’t sitting on the other side of a desk.

He didn’t care, he told himself. He’d learned his lesson about psychologists and relationships. He didn’t need a refresher course.

***

GOING MUCH too fast, Kira turned onto the quiet suburban street. She was late. Again.

She stepped on the brake, slowing her car to just above the speed limit. Houses crept past her window too slowly, and she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Finding a parking spot, she pulled in and dashed up the sidewalk to the bright-red front door and knocked.

“Hi, Kira,” said Shelley. “Come on in.”

Kira stepped into a child’s paradise. The simple living-room furniture was all child-friendly. And the brightly colored bookshelves were stacked with books, toys, blocks and games.

“Mommy!”

Lexie threw herself into Kira’s arms, and she hugged her daughter tightly as she pressed a kiss to her sweet-smelling, baby-fine hair. “Hi, sweetie. I missed you. How was your day?”

“I wrote my name!” The girl bounced out of Kira’s arms. “Want to see?”

“Of course I do.”

L-E-X-I-E. The letters were misshapen and took up the whole sheet of paper, but it was her daughter’s name.

“Wow, honey,” Kira said, pulling her daughter close as she studied the crooked letters, her throat swelling with emotion. “That’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you.” The realization that she’d missed another of her daughter’s firsts pinched her heart.

“I did it all by myself,” Lexie said proudly. “Shelley hardly helped me at all.”

“We need to take this home and put it on the refrigerator,” Kira said. “Why don’t you get your bag and we’ll go find a place for it?”

“Okay.”

Lexie scampered off and Kira rose to her feet. “Thanks, Shelley,” she said to her friend, shaking her head. “Another milestone. One step closer to kindergarten. I guess she’s ready.”

Shelley smiled. “She’s growing up fast, isn’t she?”

After they said goodbye, Lexie chattered all the way home. Kira gradually relaxed as she listened. For these few minutes, she could pretend she had nothing to worry about, nothing to do but listen to her daughter talk about the castle she’d built with blocks that day and the game she’d played with the other kids in Shelley’s backyard. For these few minutes, nothing existed but Lexie.

As they turned onto a street lined with bungalows and tidy two-story houses, she scanned the cars parked at the curb, looking for Brian’s old junker. Her heart sank when she realized it wasn’t there.

But there was a basketball sitting in the middle of the driveway, and Kira’s spirits lifted. If Brian was shooting baskets, maybe he was going to start working out with the team. She fervently hoped so. He needed physical activity and a focus for his restless energy.

She stopped and picked up the basketball, tossing it through the hoop with one hand, then carried it to the garage. As she opened the door to the house, the dogs barked wildly and launched themselves at her. Lexie dropped her bag and wrapped her arms around the larger dog’s neck. “I missed you, Henry,” she said, and Kira’s heart pinched a little more.

“You, too, Scooter,” Lexie added, giving the small dog a pat on the head. “I wrote my name today. Want to see?”

She pulled the paper out of her bag and held it in front of the smaller dog’s nose.

“See, Henry?” she said, showing it to the other one. Henry sniffed at it, then tried to take a bite.

“All right, guys, into the yard,” Kira said, opening the back door and shoving the dogs out.

“Uncle Brian!” Lexie called. “I wrote my name.”

Kira knew Brian wouldn’t answer. Where was he?

Suddenly, she smelled burning food and heard the hiss of water hitting a hot surface.

Kira ran to the kitchen, leaped for the stove and turned off the burners. Water boiled out of one pot and sizzled into steam as it hit the burner. Bottled spaghetti sauce simmered in the other, burned into a black mass on the bottom of the saucepan.

A white note had fluttered to the kitchen floor when she’d dropped her briefcase on the table. Picking it up, she read, Hey, Kira. I went to a friend’s house. I started dinner.

She closed her eyes and tried to rein in her temper. Brian had thought he was doing her a favor. But she wanted to shake him. Didn’t he know better than to leave the house with food cooking on the stove? What was he thinking?

He wasn’t thinking at all. One of the results of his head injury was that her stepbrother didn’t think before he acted. The trouble he’d gotten into recently was vivid proof of that.

For the hundredth time, she examined her actions over the past six years. Had she coddled him too much since the accident? Had she made too many excuses for him?

Had she kept him from growing up because she wanted to protect him from any more pain?

She sank into a chair and rubbed her temples. She needed to gear up for another battle with Brian about seeing a therapist.

It would be ironic if it wasn’t so painful. She, a clinical psychologist, couldn’t convince her own brother he needed help.

As Lexie pounded down the stairs, calling her name, Kira forced a smile. She wouldn’t let worry interfere with her time with her daughter.

She had far too little of it as it was.