Doctor's Orders

Now, she was just plain crazy herself. Only a whacko would’ve gone into that alley alone. If he hadn’t been there—

His mind locked on the image of Mandy hospitalized, writhing with a pain he couldn’t control, couldn’t cure, and the hell of it roughened his tone. “The time off wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. I want you out of here, and I’ll see that it happens if I have to load you on a plane to California myself.”

“Why California, so I can hide at my daddy’s place?” Instead of looking angry or defensive, or any of the half-dozen other emotions he’d been trying to provoke, she rolled her eyes. “You’ve always been far too impressed with my father and his reputation. Why is that, I wonder?”

Parker gritted his teeth. “What part of you could be dying right now do you not understand?”

“I understand it just fine. I’m just not letting it chase me off.”

Her words might be defiant, but she paled as she said them, and the pallor brought out the dark smudge of a bruise high on her cheek.

Instead of marring her classic beauty, the injury only enhanced it, reminding Parker that she might be tough enough to stand up to him in the hospital, but she was no physical match for a madman determined to do her harm.

Knowing it, he stood up and leaned over her, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair and crowding her with his body until she leaned back to avoid him. “You’re too smart to be this stupid, Mandy. You saw Irene Dulbecco. Do you really want to end up just like her?”

In the wake of his shout, angry silence vibrated in the room.

Stankowski finally stepped in. “Okay, that’s enough. Parker, sit down and stop being a jerk. And you—” he turned to Mandy “—don’t try to be a hero. Parker and I have this under control, and we’ll have a better chance of finding this guy if he’s not worrying about your safety.”

She snorted, but didn’t contradict him, instead saying, “I know it’s probably no use telling you guys not to worry about me, given the circumstances. But you’re not considering the other option.”

“There is no other option,” Parker said flatly.

“Of course there is,” Mandy countered. “In fact I see two.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “One, you let me help you. I assume you’ve tested the bodies for the most common pain-inducing toxins?”

Parker nodded reluctantly. “Yes, we have. That doesn’t mean we’re looking for an herb, though.”

“Aha!” She stabbed a finger at him. “That means you’ve thought it might be a botanical, or you wouldn’t even mention the possibility. Since I know far more than you do about traditional medicine, I can help, and I’m darned well volunteering whether you like it or not. It’s my job to heal my patients, and if possible prevent them from becoming patients in the first place.”

Parker wanted to argue the point but couldn’t, because that was pretty much what he’d told himself when he’d first started taking time away from his duties at BoGen in order to help Stankowski. That, and it had appealed to his sense of duty. He’d never wanted to be a cop like his mother had been, but somehow he’d wound up in that world accidentally, and had found he liked it. It had filled a void, offering a challenge he hadn’t known he was looking for until it had appeared.

But that was him, not Mandy. She didn’t belong in this world any more than he belonged in hers.

“You said there were two options,” Stankowski said cautiously. “What’s the second?”

“It’s simple,” she said, though Parker noticed that she’d knotted her fingers tightly together in her lap. “You said it yourself, I’m unfinished business. I’ve seen the killer’s face, at least some of it, and he has my purse and keys. You want to catch him, and there’s a pretty good bet he’ll come for me sooner or later. Why not use me—and my apartment—as bait?”

Mandy braced herself for Radcliff to erupt. Instead the very air around him seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature. He gritted his teeth and growled. “Not. An. Option.”

Under any other circumstance, with any other man, she would’ve snapped at the dictatorial tone. As it was, she found herself hesitating.

The Radcliff she remembered hadn’t possessed such chill control. He’d been loud and domineering, but she’d quickly learned that a big chunk of it was a shield, that beneath the prickles and bluster was a man of fiery temper and a rare but wonderful humor. At the time, he’d said that wasn’t the real Parker Radcliff, that she’d brought out something in him that he couldn’t explain. Before things between them had fallen apart, she’d tried to help him believe that the other, warmer man was the real him.

Now, she realized she’d been the one living in a delusion, or maybe he’d made his belief into a reality, because there was no warmth in the man looking at her now. There was no fire, practically no life in his cold, dark eyes.

A huge shiver crawled up the back of her neck, but she kept her voice even. “I’m not leaving. I think you know I can be as stubborn as you. You can either accept my help, or…” She trailed off, then said simply, “Please let me help. I want to do this. I need to do this. I know how it feels not to have answers.”

Though there had been plenty of evidence in her mother’s death, the LAPD had been unable to make an arrest. Eventually they—and her father—had just let it go.

Mandy, however, still saw her mother’s body in her dreams.

Stankowski held up a hand. “Okay, let’s take a time-out here.” He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “It’s nearly midnight and I came on shift early this morning… The crime scene techs will let me know if they get anything from the alley. We’re still waiting on some of the tests from Dulbecco’s body, but so far the info from her hasn’t added anything we didn’t already know.” He exhaled a frustrated breath. “I’m tired, and I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere tonight. I vote we call it a night and sleep on things, then reconvene in the morning and make some decisions about Dr. Sparks.”

“Call me Mandy, please, and that sounds like a plan to me.” Relieved by the prospect of rest, but more determined than ever to be part of the investigation, she said, “I’d like to take a look at the other victims’ medical files tonight, if that’s okay. Maybe I’ll see something that you guys missed.” If she could prove her worth, she thought, maybe Stankowski would overrule Radcliff’s objections to her involvement.

Why are you so determined to put yourself in the middle of this? her insidious voice of reason asked.

Mandy gritted her teeth and told herself that Irene’s husband and kids deserved to know what happened. More importantly, she couldn’t just let other people die if there was some way she could help prevent it—she knew how it felt when a family member was murdered. But those answers rang vaguely false because she knew there was a good chance she’d be endangering her own life in the process, making her wonder exactly why she wasn’t already halfway to Logan Airport.

She glanced at Radcliff’s set profile, and a hard knot gathered in her stomach at the suspicion that she wasn’t doing this despite him, but rather because of him. Because she felt excited and completely, totally alive for the first time in the four years since she’d left Boston.

“What do you think?” Stankowski asked Radcliff now, seeming immune to his steely-eyed glare. Apparently taking the lack of response as an affirmative, he nodded. “Fine. Mandy can take the charts with her, and we’ll meet back here at nine tomorrow to see if she’s come up with something we missed.”

Mandy exhaled a breath of relief mixed with nerves, and started to rise. Then she hesitated. “Oh, heck. Where am I supposed to stay tonight?” She turned to Stankowski. “Can you have some men watch my apartment?”

“Don’t even think of it,” Radcliff growled.

“I already have two men on your place,” the detective said, ignoring him, “but I don’t want you going home, at least not until we have a real plan.” He glanced at Radcliff, and a glint entered his tired eyes when he said, “I’ve got a spare room. You’re welcome to bunk with me for tonight.”

“No.” Radcliff stood. “She’s coming home with me. End of discussion.”

OF COURSE it wasn’t the end of the discussion, because Mandy had to protest that she didn’t need a babysitter, while Stank kept offering his spare room. Parker figured the detective’s insistence was partly designed to annoy him, and partly because, as he’d suspected, Mandy’s California blond good looks were right up Stank’s alley.

Not liking the gleam in the detective’s eyes any more than he liked the idea of Mandy spending the night in her own place, Parker finally snapped, “Either we do it my way or we spend the next hour arguing. Personally I’d rather grab some dinner and hit the sack.”

That pretty much ended the conversation, which should have been a relief. The only problem was that once he’d won the argument, Parker was left with a prize he didn’t want.

Or rather, one he shouldn’t want, but did.

He tried to work it out in his head as they caught a cab and rode to his place in a tense silence broken only by the strains of Mozart coming from the driver’s radio.

It made logical sense for Mandy to come home with him. He had a spare bedroom that was far nicer than the closet-size guest room in Stank’s place, and he’d be nearby if she had any questions on the medical charts or the tests that’d been run on the victims so far.

He didn’t want her involved in the case, but he had to admit that her knowledge of herbal medicine was far greater than his, and he was certain they weren’t dealing with a garden-variety toxin of the sort typically used for murder, such as warfarin, cyanide or arsenic.

Besides, even if Mandy was safely stashed at Stank’s place, he’d still be worried about her…and that was the problem.

He didn’t want to worry about her, didn’t want to care one way or the other about her, but blind rage had hit him the moment he’d realized what was going down in that alley. Hell, he’d felt the jolt earlier in the day, when he’d gone toe-to-toe with her in the hallway at work. Then again, he’d never been able to control his responses around Mandy. They weren’t good for each other, but they’d been damn good together. Now, with the prospect of spending the night in close quarters, he knew one thing if he knew anything: he was going to have to keep his hands to himself.

With that vow firmly in mind as the taxi driver pulled up to the curb in front of his Beacon Hill town house, he got out and paid the driver.

“Come on.” He scanned their night-quiet surroundings as he gestured for Mandy to precede him up the brick walkway, but there was nothing suspicious about the well-lit area or the passing cars. Still, he didn’t relax until he got the front door unlocked and checked the security system, which was green across the board.

He reset the system and locked the door, expecting to feel a sense of relief that they were home safe. Instead his disquiet only increased as he turned toward Mandy, who stood just inside the door, swaying on her feet as though she was about ready to drop from exhaustion and the stress of the day.

She caught his eye and deliberately looked away, scanning his town house.

He’d had the whole place done over when he bought it a few months after his divorce was finalized, and the result was three levels of late eighteenth century period-correct hardwood floors, exposed beams and horsehair plaster, offset with modern touches of marble, chrome and glass. The decorator he’d hired had gone with greens and blues, and from the entryway the splashes of color were visible both on the second floor, which was level with the front door, and the upper level, which had been partly cut away to form a balcony of sorts surrounding the cathedral ceiling of the sitting room on the second floor.

He’d left the bottom floor untouched and used it as his gym, but the main floors practically screamed “understated opulence,” which was what he’d been going for.

Now, though, he wondered what Mandy saw when she looked around. And, realizing that her response mattered far more than it should, he realized something else.

She was the first woman, other than the decorator and the cleaning lady, that he’d invited into his home.

“Nice.” Mandy hummed a note under her breath. “Very nice.” But there was something guarded in her voice when she said, “Did you bring the files on the other victims?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You can have a look at them, let me know if you see anything we missed.”

But he didn’t hand them over, didn’t move except to draw in a deep breath, one that brought her scent to him, a mix of shampoo and woman he’d told himself he’d forgotten long ago. Now, though, it was inescapable, and it triggered memories he could’ve sworn were gone forever, memories of heat and chaos, and a blond-haired girl who’d—both then and now—stirred him up more than had been comfortable, or wise.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he said. “You and me working together on this…it’s just not a good idea.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because of this.” Before she knew what he intended, hell before he was conscious of making the move, Parker crossed the distance separating them.

And kissed her.

Chapter Four

Mandy froze in shock the moment Radcliff’s lips touched hers.

The first thought that flitted through her mind was a panicked sort of relief that the attraction she’d been feeling with increasing sharpness throughout the day wasn’t one-sided.

Her second thought never materialized; it was lost beneath a wash of heat when his mouth slanted across hers.

She parted her lips and kissed him back, her body responding before her mind had a chance to catch up. Warning buzzers sounded dimly in the back of her brain, but she couldn’t bring herself to care just then. She was awash in sensation, suddenly drowning beneath a wave of need.

The stubble of his faint beard rasped beneath her fingertips when she lifted a hand to touch his jaw, urging him closer. She closed her eyes and tried not to go boneless when his tongue touched hers and every neuron she possessed flared to life simultaneously on a shouted thought: Finally!

Finally he held her close, his touch arrogant and possessive, like the man himself. Finally his body pressed against hers and his scent filled her nostrils—a poignantly familiar blend of hospital soap and the spiciness that was his alone.

She melted against him, curled herself around him and hung on for a kiss that began at the point where their mouths fused, but then spiraled outward, becoming far more than itself.

What started as taste and touch quickly became heat and need. Desire had her sliding her hands down his neck to his upper arms, where she dug her fingers into the heavy leather of his jacket until she felt the tight muscles beneath. Lust coiled, hard and demanding, warning her that she’d been lying to herself for the past month, and maybe for the four years before that.

She’d told herself she’d gotten over him, but she’d been wrong. Otherwise, it would’ve taken more than a kiss before she was right back in the same place she’d been before, half-blind with desire, and ready to give up anything to be with him.

This time when the warning buzzers shrilled, she heard them loud and clear.

She froze in his arms, then pulled her lips from his. They were twined together in an intimate embrace, with her back against the entryway wall, one of his thighs wedged between hers, and her fingers digging into his arms as though he was the only thing keeping her on her feet. “Wait,” she said, her voice coming out thin and breathy.

In the hallway light he’d flicked on when they’d come in, she could see his pulse pounding at the side of his neck. A dark, indefinable emotion gleamed in his eyes momentarily, one that looked very much like anger and had nerves fisting in her stomach. Then his expression blanked and he stepped away from her, leaving her to lean against the wall for support.

“Like I said, this is a bad idea.” His voice was thick, rasping with desire. “I can’t work with you.”

His words cut deep, but still the memories crowded her, brought by the taste and feel of him, and by the lure of the illicit, the sense that they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing. Unfortunately she was enough of a grown-up now to admit that the forbidden aspects had always been part of the lure.

You’re better than that, she told herself, and meant it. You’re stronger and smarter than you were before. Believe it.

Because she believed it, she lifted her chin and met his dark-eyed stare. “Why won’t it work, because we’re attracted to each other? Please. That didn’t stop you from kicking me to the curb four years ago. I’d like to think I can return the favor now by not letting it get personal if we’re forced to work in close quarters for the next few days.”

“I hardly call what we just did ‘not getting personal,’” Radcliff said without an ounce of humor. “Personally I call it a hell of a distraction, and I’m not in a position to be distracted right now.”

Mandy was far from feeling casual, but managed to interject a hint of boredom into her tone. “So control yourself. You kissed me, not the other way around. It’s not like I took two steps inside your door and started stripping.”

She had once before, though, in a different time and place. They’d slept together one time, and he’d tried to end it, saying he wasn’t in a good place, that she deserved better. Thinking him overly noble, she’d invited herself over and seduced him. The memory of it crept into her brain, bringing a warm flush to the skin of her face and arms.

From the glint in his eyes, she wasn’t the only one taking a little trip down memory lane. That guess was confirmed when he said, “No, but you weren’t exactly complaining just now.”

“I can enjoy locking lips without letting it mess with my head these days.” She raised an eyebrow. “I should probably thank you for that.”

“Don’t.” He turned away from her suddenly, and yanked off his jacket in a surge of motion that was at odds with his usual rigid control. He looped the jacket onto a rack of hooks near the door and held out a hand for her parka. “Let’s go sit down. I think we need to talk this through.”

She handed over the coat, but stood her ground. “Let’s not. We kissed and we enjoyed it—that’s no surprise. Sex was never the problem between us, was it?” She shook her head, answering her own question. “No, our problems were partly the gap in our ages and experiences, and partly a difference in expectations, so let’s deal with both of those things right up-front. One—” she ticked off the point on a finger “—there’s no more experience gap. I’ve learned what I needed to know—and then some—over the past four years. And because of that experience, I don’t expect anything from you except a fair shake when it comes time for you to write my recommendation letter.”

He hung up her parka, movements deliberate, as though he was buying himself a moment. When he turned back to her, she read nothing more than faint impatience on his face, making her wonder if she’d imagined the darker, stronger emotions there before, whether she’d once again been projecting her own feelings onto him.

Not again, she told herself. Four years earlier she’d vowed to never again get herself caught in that sort of trap. Since then, she’d spelled out the terms of each relationship ahead of time, so there would be no surprises, no disappointments.

The system had worked before. It would work this time, as well.

“I know you don’t want me involved with you and Detective Stankowski on this case,” she said. “And I can’t say I blame you…but I’m also not willing to step aside. You said it yourself—this guy has my ID and my keys, and the likelihood is that he’s not just going to walk away and forget about me. That makes it my best interest to help you catch him.”

This time, she let the silence draw out between them.

Radcliff broke first, shaking his head and turning away. “We both know that’s circular logic, but I’m not going to waste energy trying to talk you out of it. Come on into the kitchen. I’ll fix us something while you go over the files. That way I’m in shouting distance if you have any questions.”

Without another word, he grabbed his soft-sided briefcase off the table where he’d dumped it when they’d first come in, and strode into the main living space of the town house.

Mandy stood in the entryway, rattled by his change in tactics. And that, she realized quickly, had been the point. He wanted her off balance and guessing, because if she wasn’t in control of the conversation, then that meant he was, and if there was one thing that hadn’t changed about Radcliff over the years, it was that he liked to be in control of the things—and the people—around him.

Muttering under her breath, she followed him to the kitchen.

The town house was a narrow structure that was three levels tall and only one room wide, with the rooms on each floor arranged in a line, shotgun-style. She passed through the first room of the middle floor, where tall ceilings, cream-colored walls and polished wooden beams gave the impression of lightness even though it was dark outside and few lamps were lit. To her left, one staircase descended below street level and another climbed to a third story, the spaces overlapping so the treads of the upper staircase soared above the lower stairs, all in warm, burnished wood that spoke of age and permanence. The load-bearing walls had been turned into arches and pillars, so two of the three rooms that had originally made up the main floor had become one large sitting area.

There, reproduction couches and chairs gave the look of antiques with modern lounge-about comfort, and were nearly buried beneath cushions and boldly colored blankets. A fireplace flanked one side of the room, a wide plasma TV hung on the opposite wall. Startling color and vibrance came from a profusion of green plants that hung in pots, sat on shelves and grew from wide clay buckets on the floor, all looking green and healthy, some even with blossoms—delicate pink and fire-engine red—though it was January.

Mandy automatically cataloged the plants, noting that many were varieties that needed daily care.

The thought of Parker Radcliff puttering around checking soil pH and moisture was so jarring she immediately knew he had to have a plant service, and probably rode them as hard as he did his staff. There was no way he took care of the greenery himself. Frankly she was surprised he’d bothered to install them in the first place. No doubt the plants were the decorator’s doing, Mandy thought, feeling a hint of amusement at the contrast between his place and her inexpensive apartment.

Most of her possessions were still in boxes, and her decorating efforts had been limited to hanging a few framed art posters. His place, on the other hand, was practically a showpiece.

When she reached the kitchen, she saw that the hardwood floors gave way to blue-green tilework, which added a splash of color to the cream paint and warm wood cabinets. The expensive fittings and appliances were brushed steel and the counters black marble, but additional touches of blue and green made the room feel warm rather than cold.

The man inside the kitchen, though, looked anything but warm. Frustration had deepened the hard lines beside his mouth and tightened the skin between his brows, making his expression thunderous and forbidding.

Any sane woman with an ounce of self-preservation in her soul would’ve backed away.

Mandy stepped forward, crossing the wide kitchen until she stood just opposite him near the sink. She lifted her chin and forced her eyes to match him chill for chill. “You left before I was finished with the ground rules.”

“I know.” He turned and crossed to a granite-topped island, and busied himself with the cold cuts he’d laid out, assembling sandwiches with precisely controlled motions. “We don’t need rules here because there’s nothing to legislate. I’m keeping an eye on you for the next day or so, that’s all. If you can give us something new from those—” he nodded to the medical files he’d laid out on a small table in the corner “—all the better. If not, we’ll figure out something longer term for your protection.”