Shades of Passion

Move on, Granger, he told himself. Lana and Nina Whitaker were both in his past. He needed to focus on the present and the future, and do his job—keeping people safe from the criminals Nina Whitaker wanted to heal and treat.

He’d just finished the final report on the Callahan incident when he felt an itch between his shoulder blades. When he looked up, he thought he must be hallucinating. First he’d read about her in the paper. Then he’d struggled to keep her from his thoughts.

He needn’t have bothered.

Nina Whitaker stood in front of him.

Shit, he thought, but his curse was mostly in response to the way his body immediately zinged to life. Feigning an annoyance he wasn’t really feeling, he stood and walked up to her.

“What can I do for you?”

She cocked a brow at his curt greeting. “I’m here for an update,” she said mildly.

He pressed his lips together, knowing he should have called and updated her as soon as they’d found the girl. It would have been the professional thing to do. Unfortunately, since she made him feel anything but professional, he’d figured it was better to be safe than sorry. But now that she was here... “You were right. We got to her in time. Rebecca Hyatt. I should have filled you in. I apologize.”

There was none of the relief he’d expected to see in her expression. “I already know that,” she said. “When you failed to call me, I tracked down the information on my own. I found out her name and what hospital she was admitted to. I also know her mother fainted before seeing her and that her father caused quite a scene, too. By all accounts, despite the fact his daughter was found and is going to make a full recovery, he blames me for the delay in getting to her. According to him, if I’d let the police handle the situation, we wouldn’t have wasted time coddling a criminal and you would have gotten to his daughter much sooner. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t file a lawsuit against me.” She paused, but only to suck in enough breath to continue. “Then, of course, there were all the news stories covering the event. Some more favorable to me, some not. So like I said, I already knew what happened. I meant I’m here to give you and your commander an update.”

For some reason, his instinct was to apologize for the behavior of Rebecca’s father, when he’d probably have felt the same way if he’d been in the man’s shoes. Confused, he scowled. “An update on what?”

“On my patient.”

Her patient. Michael Callahan. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What makes you think I give a fuck what the status of your patient is?”

Her expression softened. “Michael didn’t mean to hurt her. Aliens, remember? He thought he was helping her.”

“And I’m sure that’s exactly what his defense attorney is going to argue at trial. Will you be testifying on his behalf?”

“I imagine so. And I imagine that makes you hate me even more, doesn’t it, Detective?”

He paused. It would be easier if she thought he hated her, but for some reason, he didn’t want that. “I don’t hate you,” he said grudgingly.

“Just my job.”

He didn’t bother denying it. “Well, you’ve given me the update. So I guess you can go now. Thank you for your help.”

“If you really want to thank me, have a drink with me.”

He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d suddenly stripped down in front of him. It didn’t matter that he’d sensed she was attracted to him, too. He’d done absolutely nothing to encourage her. And she obviously thought, with good reason, that he was a redneck cop who’d use muscle to get results when reasoning failed. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why? We already established I don’t respect what you do.”

“Is that a requirement for having a drink with me?”

“Not usually. But then again, having a drink is usually a prelude to something else. You offering me that, too?”

He’d simply been trying to goad her, but the way she blushed and looked away had his body hardening. Yeah, she was attracted to him. But was she receptive to doing something about it? He’d never have pegged her as an easy lay, but maybe...

She lifted her chin defiantly. “A prelude to having sex, you mean? I’m afraid that’s not what my invitation is about.”

He shrugged, not surprised that he’d misread her. “So what is it about?”

She imitated his shrug. “You interest me. You seem to be a smart man, yet your bias against the field of mental health treatment seems unreasonable.”

That wasn’t quite how Elaina Scott had put it, but close enough. “So you want to analyze me?” Of course she did. For all he knew, she’d compared notes with Dr. Shepard. He knew that would be illegal, but people broke the law all the time.

“I prefer to think of it as ‘getting to know someone better.’”

“And then what?”

“Does there have to be anything else?”

There did if his body had any say in the matter. He stepped closer, wanting to rattle her and liking the fact he did. Her breath escalated and she inadvertently took a step back. He studied her slowly. From her pale, glossy hair, down to the tidy but curvy length of her body and ending at the shiny black pumps she shifted nervously.

When he met her gaze again, her eyes were slightly dilated.

“I just like to keep my options open,” he explained. “I don’t like what you do for a living, but you’re damn easy on the eyes. Who knows? Maybe I could do something for you this time around. I’d make damn sure you enjoyed yourself in bed with me.”

“I’m sure you would. But it takes more than the promise of pleasure to get me into bed with someone.”

“And it takes more than someone wanting to get to know me better to get me to go for a drink with a shrink.” Deliberately, Simon stepped back.

She smiled tightly and nodded. “I understand. Then I suppose it really is time to go, Detective Granger. Goodbye.”

She turned to leave, looking as shocked as he felt when he reached out to stop her.

“Wait.”

She stared at his hand for a second and so did he. His grip highlighted the differences between them. Him, big and rough. Her, soft and smooth. Powerful and delicate. Male and female. Suddenly, he longed to press the rest of his flesh against hers, chest to chest, hips to hips—to see how that looked, yes, but more important, to feel it. To feel her.

He whipped his hand away and took a step back.

To her credit, she didn’t smirk or comment on his retreat.

“Michael Callahan is still in the hospital,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, and even though he hadn’t meant to sound critical, she obviously interpreted his words that way.

She pursed her lips then nodded. “He was held on a seventy-two-hour hold for evaluation, but under the law can be kept for an additional fourteen days for treatment.”

“Even though he’s going to prison the second you’re done with him?”

She gave him a chiding look. “He’ll only go to prison if he’s deemed competent. And only then if he’s convicted—”

Simon snorted. “He gave you the information that led us to that little girl. He’ll be going to prison eventually.”

He didn’t say the words if I have anything to do with it but they echoed around them nonetheless.

She sighed. “Maybe prison is where he’ll end up. Maybe not. And whether you or I think he deserves to be imprisoned is irrelevant. It’s up to a jury, one that’s been given all the facts, including those about Michael’s psychotic break at the time he took the little girl.”

“Right. And you’re going to be the one to tell them those facts. Don’t forget to bring your box of Kleenex while you’re at it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Look, I know you’re—”

“Simon, you going to introduce us to your friend?”

Nina’s head whipped around at the sound of Jase Tyler’s voice. The handsome, sandy-haired Texan stood several feet away. Beside him, Carrie Ward, fellow agent and Jase’s girlfriend, struggled to keep her expression serious but her curious gaze bounced between Simon and Nina as if she was watching a tennis match. A very interesting tennis match.

“Dr. Nina Whitaker,” Simon bit out. “Meet Special Agents Jase Tyler and Carrie Ward.”

The trio shook hands.

“Sounds like you and Simon were discussing the pros and cons of rehabilitative therapy. You a shrink, Dr. Whitaker?”

Nina cautiously turned to Carrie. “I’m a psychiatrist, yes. Do you have an interest in rehabilitative therapy, Detective?”

Carrie smiled. “Working with this bunch? I need all the help I can get.”

That startled a laugh out of Nina, and Jase and Simon looked at each other. Despite himself, Simon had to forcibly stop himself from smiling, too.

“Seriously, whether I’m interested in rehabilitative therapy depends,” Carrie said. “Whose rehabilitation are you discussing?”

Nina hesitated, but Simon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk. Granted, Jase and Carrie weren’t as touchy about shrinks and therapy as he was, but as fellow cops they knew how often criminals tried to excuse their actions with claims of mental illness. “She’s treating Michael Callahan.”

“The guy who kidnapped that little girl.” This time it was Jase who made the statement, not Simon, but his tone was clearly critical.

Nina lifted her chin. “I’m here to speak with Commander Stevens. If he decides to fill you in, you can discuss your disdain for my profession then. Outside my presence.”

Jase stared at her, his expression blank, before he tipped his head. Simon saw the gesture for what it was—a small sign of respect. The same respect he felt for Nina. They couldn’t help it. They worked in a male-dominated, often violent world. The fact that Jase and Carrie’s relationship was going so strong was testament to the fact that, despite his previous dalliances with drop-dead gorgeous but fragile women, Jase was instinctively drawn to strong women who kept their soft hearts more under wraps. Just like Simon usually was. And Nina Whitaker was definitely a strong woman. In many ways, however, in ways that related to her patients, Nina’s soft heart was on display for everyone to see, whether they liked it or not.

“It was nice meeting you, Detectives,” she said to Jase and Carrie. Then she turned to Simon. “Goodbye, Detective Granger. I’d say it was a pleasure, but we’d both know I’d be lying.”

Jase made a choking sound that obviously communicated his amusement.

As Simon watched Nina stride out of SIG, Carrie elbowed Jase.

“Looks like you made less of an impression on her than even Simon here,” she said.

The other man grinned at her. “I no longer want to make a good impression on women. Just one particular woman.”

Though they immediately separated, walking to their respective desks, Carrie couldn’t hide the pleased blush that colored her cheeks. Knowing how much the two had gone through to be together, the sight pleased Simon, but he couldn’t let them see that. “Jesus, I’d tell you both to get a room, but you’re already living together. Give me a break, would you?”

He threw himself into his chair, trying to convince himself he could actually concentrate on work after seeing Nina Whitaker again.

Jase laughed. “Funny. That’s exactly what Carrie and I were saying to each other before we interrupted you and the doc.”

Simon frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You two were generating more heat than a five-alarm fire. Too bad she’s...well...you know.”

Simon grunted, but Carrie interjected, drowning out the sound.

“Too bad she’s what? Smart? Beautiful? Has a backbone?”

Simon swiveled around to stare at her. “Did you miss the part where I said she’s Michael Callahan’s shrink?”

“Nope. I didn’t. Did you forget that Lana did a lot of good before she was killed?”

Simon’s heart twisted. Stunned silence echoed around them.

“Jesus, Carrie,” Jase said.

But Carrie just continued to look at Simon. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Simon, but you can’t blame every psychiatrist for what happened to Lana. She was good at her job. What happened to her was the work of one man, and one man alone.”

“A man Lana thought was sick.”

Shadows suddenly appeared in Carrie’s eyes, giving her a haunted expression. “Brad Turner was sick. Sick enough to dismember a woman. Sick enough to peel the skin off another—” Her voice rose a notch before she tamped down her emotions.

“Carrie,” Jase said softly, but Carrie shook her head.

“No. I’m okay. Lana isn’t. Because of Brad Turner. But maybe if someone had listened to her, or someone like her, earlier, maybe Brad Turner would’ve gotten help long before he met Lana. Maybe he wouldn’t have killed the women he did. And maybe Lana would be alive today. Have you ever thought about that?”

Simon had no doubt that his face must look as haunted as Carrie’s just had. At least, that’s how he felt. Haunted. And nauseous. He rose and walked toward the door, hoping it didn’t look like he was stumbling.

“Simon, wait.”

Simon froze, but didn’t turn around.

“I—I care about you. We all do. We’re worried and—”

Simon turned toward her. “Don’t be worried. And for God’s sake, don’t care about me. All it’s gotten me so far are weekly appointments talking to a man about how I feel and what I’d do differently if I could. But no more. I’m through with ‘not-really-mandatory-but-essentially-mandatory’ counseling. You can tell both Mac and Commander Stevens that. Worry and caring? No, thanks. I don’t need it, Carrie, and frankly, I don’t want it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“YOU WANT ME TO SHADOW Simon Granger?” Nina asked Commander Stevens in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I’m a psychiatrist, not a cop.”

“And that’s exactly the capacity in which we want you to serve, Dr. Whitaker. I’m not asking you to go into overtly dangerous situations with Detective Granger. He’s not a street cop, but an investigator. His casework is controlled and he’s not an adrenaline junkie. To the contrary, he’s put in for a return to management.”

“And you want me to determine whether he’s fit for that position? Is that why you sent him to see Dr. Shepard in the first place? Because I’m not going to spy on someone and report to you about him without his knowledge.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Stevens said. “Simon is seeing Dr. Shepard for counseling. He’s going through a difficult time...”

Nina held up her hand. “Please don’t say anything more. It’s not appropriate for you to disclose Detective Granger’s personal business to me without him knowing it.”

Stevens hesitated then said, “Fine. But you’re wrong. I’m not asking you to shadow Detective Granger so you can evaluate him. At least, not any more than you’ll be evaluating any other cop that works for the city.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’ve discussed your desire to establish a Mental Health Intervention Team within San Francisco P.D.”

“Discussed is one way of putting it. I’ve asked for your assistance in having that program implemented. Given the information I got from Michael Callahan and the favorable press it’s brought to the department, I was hoping you’d see the benefits of what I’m proposing.”

“I’m open to hearing more about it, of course.”

“But?”

“But you’re assuming this program will benefit us based largely on public outrage at the way certain matters have been handled. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to recommend changes based on incidents you’re learning about third-hand or by subjective sources. The program you started up in Charleston was based on extensive research, third-party observations and case studies.”

“That’s right. But that was when the program was in its infancy, before it had any kind of track record. It took years to accumulate that data. Now we have concrete statistics showing that the MHIT program has benefited the Charleston Police Department and—”

“But those stats are based on where the Charleston Police Department started out. And based on the initial data you collected, which indicated the program was warranted in the first place. I’m asking for that same foundation. That you not judge the compassion or competency of our men when you haven’t even witnessed it yourself.”

Taking a deep breath, Nina leaned back in her chair. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

“Simon has several open cases, including one concerning a murdered homeless man, but they’re all inactive right now. Barring additional activity in those cases, he’s ready for a new assignment. However, that can wait a week. In the meantime, you can work together. He’ll monitor dispatch and accompany you to calls that will be handled by a patrol officer. He’ll assist and you’ll observe SIG and the SFPD in action.”

“But why Detective Granger?” she asked, perturbed. “Won’t he object to babysitting me?”

“That’s irrelevant. Simon’s been working one tough case after another. He’s due a lighter assignment. Plus, he’s applying for a promotion to management. Better he get used to the idea of politics and suffering for the cause now. Finally, I consider your MHIT proposal fairly critical. At least, that’s what you’re arguing, isn’t it? That we absolutely need to give some thought to broad prevention instead of simply focusing on what’s already in front of us?”

Hoisted by her own petard, she thought. You had to give Stevens points for persuasiveness. “Yes, that’s what I’m advocating.”

“Then this is my offer. You’ll get the chance to evaluate how San Francisco law enforcement personnel interact with those experiencing mental illness. Complete a detailed report with your findings, and I’ll set up meetings with the appropriate people so you can make your recommendations.”

What Stevens was offering was both insanely difficult and far too easy. It made Nina wonder what he was really after. She narrowed her eyes as a thought occurred to her. “And what if my findings aren’t favorable to the police? What if certain departments want them suppressed? Or if they make it even more difficult for me to attain police cooperation?”

“Part of the benefit of being with the Department of Justice is that we oversee every law enforcement agency in the state. I’m not out to hide anything. However, despite what you and your colleagues think, I have faith in our officers and believe they handle confrontations with all suspects well and to the best of their ability. I’m not saying you’ll be able to convince me otherwise, but I will give you a fair shot. Who knows? Maybe we can compromise on training that’s amenable to both of us.”

“I won’t skew my results to make you look good,” she warned.

“I’m not asking you to. But I must also warn you that this type of arrangement is highly unusual. You’ll be signing waivers of liability forms all night. You have to go into this with your eyes wide open. If anything were to occur, Simon will protect you with his life. I have no doubt about that. But you are still a civilian putting yourself into potentially dangerous situations. If you’re not willing to take this kind of risk for the program you’re advocating, then—”

Commander Stevens’s phone rang. “Excuse me a moment,” he said before answering. His facial features relaxed slightly at the caller’s greeting and his expression reminded Nina of how different—how wonderful—Simon looked when he allowed himself to relax, too.

“I have a few more things to wrap up,” Stevens said to the person on the phone, “but I’ll be ready to tee off at six as planned. Yes, I’m looking forward to the gala, too. Four officers will be in attendance, including one from SIG. Yes. Yes. I’m actually just finishing up a meeting here. It’s with the doctor I told you about. The one that...” Stevens glanced at Nina and held up a finger, indicating he’d only be another minute.

She nodded and averted her gaze, only half listening as Stevens described how Nina had assisted with Michael Callahan. She was sure his flattery was deliberately timed.

As he’d probably intended, Nina thought again of the other people—citizens and police officers alike—who might be better off if the city implemented advanced mental health training and increased practical assistance for law enforcement. She thought of Beth and Rachel. Rebecca Hyatt and Michael Callahan. She even thought of Mrs. Horowitz, who’d passed away two nights before and how, in spite of being prepared for the end, Nina had cried anyway.

She’d known this would happen. She’d become personally invested. She’d risked the peaceful life she’d made for herself in exchange for the challenging task of helping and saving others, and she knew exactly why she had. Because she truly believed the MHIT program could help people. And because her peaceful life had ceased to be enough for her.

Coincidentally or not, her restless feelings and lack of fulfillment had started the day she’d met Simon Granger.

She just wished she hadn’t asked out the man she was about to trail. He probably thought she’d lied about where she’d gotten the triple-X movie she’d dropped from her purse and would be expecting her to come on to him at every turn. Well, she could control her baser instincts. And obviously he didn’t want to have anything to do with her romantically.

The problem was he wasn’t going to want anything to do with her professionally, either.

It was going to make things uncomfortable for both of them.

But Nina wasn’t going to take the easy way out again. Not this time.

“I’m willing to take the risk,” she said quietly. “When does this assignment start?”

* * *

SIMON STARED AT COMMANDER Stevens until the normally unshakable man’s left eye twitched. He didn’t make the mistake of viewing it as weakness. Fact was, Stevens didn’t enjoy playing the heavy, especially when it came to his own men. The twitch evidenced that. But it didn’t change the fact that Stevens would play the heavy if it was necessary.

Simon just wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to spend any more time than I already have with that woman.” He refrained from childishly saying, “And you can’t make me,” but just barely. “I have a job to do, and babysitting a shrink isn’t in my job description.”

“You’ve always been good at your job and that’s why I need you to do this. You already know the local police are under fire because of repeated confrontations with mentally ill subjects. And despite Rita Taylor’s recent backtracking, there’s still plenty of talk on the street that someone saw a uniformed police officer fleeing the scene of Mr. Cann’s murder. Now, Michael Callahan’s family is making allegations of police brutality.”

“What?” First Rebecca Hyatt’s father blamed Nina for how she’d handled the situation; now Callahan’s family was blaming the police? On what basis? But then Simon recalled Nina’s comments about bruises and Officer Rieger’s claim that Callahan had resisted arrest. Simon cursed.

“DOJ has been asked to step in as an objective party,” Stevens continued. “To determine whether local law enforcement can benefit from the type of training Nina Whitaker is proposing. Between you and me, this is a formality. The mayor’s ready to cave. Training will be ordered. It’s just a matter of how much of it we’ll have to suffer. It’s going to depend on whether we can convince Dr. Whitaker that we’re not the brutalizing apes the press has made us out to be.”

Simon shifted restlessly. A brutalizing ape was probably exactly what Nina Whitaker thought he was. “So assign her to some patrol officer at SFPD. Or if DOJ needs to be involved, an intern. Hell, I don’t care who you assign her to, so long as it’s not me. Unless—” His frown darkened. “Are you still concerned I’m unfit to do my job because of what happened with Lana?”

“I never accused you of being unfit, Simon. Just...troubled. I think you’re internalizing a lot and that you can benefit from talking to someone about it.” Stevens held up his hand. “I know. You’ve made it quite clear that you’re not going to see Dr. Shepard again. Ultimately, that’s your choice. But if you’re as well adjusted as you say you are, if you don’t really have the biases against the mentally ill that Elaina Scott accused you of, then you should have no problem with this assignment. That’s particularly true since you want to be in management. The city is suffering a public relations nightmare right now. Think how grateful the higher-ups will be if you facilitate a partnership with Dr. Whitaker in a way that benefits both sides. So that no one comes out looking like a bad guy, especially us.”