The Doctor's Little Secret

Any other chief would have backed off, fearful of a lawsuit. Lyons’s conciliatory tone reminded Russ of Dr. Graves’s assurance that the police department was bending over backward to safeguard its reputation.

As for the officer, she looked as if she were considering taking up long-distance marathon running—in the opposite direction. Ross found the prospect of discomfiting her further amusing. Besides, what better way to get acquainted with his adopted hometown?

“I accept,” he announced. “What time?”

“Sorry. I’m off-duty tomorrow and the next two days after that.” Rachel didn’t bother to hide her relief. Ironically, her more relaxed mood revealed an intriguing warmth. Definitely a woman of many layers, Russ thought.

“You have three days off?” He wondered what kind of schedule these cops worked.

“We work five nine-hour days in a row, then three off,” she responded. “Working nine hours lets us overlap patrols so the crooks can’t take advantage of shift change.”

The chief persisted. “Well then, how about a ride-along next week, Doctor?”

Officer Byers’s mouth twisted. Her annoyance nearly spurred Russ to accept, but he had patients scheduled. Also, he was curious about this woman. He’d never met anyone quite like her. “Next Saturday will be soon enough. You are on duty then, aren’t you?”

She squirmed. “I’d rather not have this hanging over my head. I’m sure the Chamber of Commerce can provide you with a tour guide.”

The chief folded his arms. Rachel sighed so profoundly that Russ had to sympathize. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll drive the doctor around tomorrow on my free day, although I’m sure I’ll bore the socks off him.”

The woman’s bluntness tickled him. “Whatever you’d like to show me, I’m sure I’ll find it fascinating.”

“Ten, fifteen minutes and you’ll be either screaming to go home or fast asleep.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Russ supposed he must be nuts to want to view local landmarks with an Amazon who apparently wished he would drop off the face of the earth. Maybe he’d spent too many evenings alone, catching up on medical journals and staring at the sparsely furnished rooms of his house. Except for the old friend who’d encouraged him to move here, he didn’t have anyone to hang out with in Villazon. For whatever reason, the prospect of spending a few hours in Rachel Byers’s company appealed to him.

The chief’s cell rang. He listened with evident satisfaction. “Excellent. I’m sure the parents are more than ready to take her home.”

“She’s okay?” Russ asked when the chief clicked off. Until now he’d been so distracted he hadn’t considered that perhaps the girl really had suffered a misadventure during her lost hours.

“A sore knee where she fell on it, nothing more.” Lyons shook hands with Russ. “Thanks for finding Miss Franco. I can’t tell you how glad we are that she ended up in your hands rather than someone else’s.”

“Me, too.” Russ scribbled his home address on the back of a business card and handed it to Rachel. “What time?”

“Three o’clock.” The words came out clipped.

“Suits me.”

She met his gaze. “You really did look suspicious.”

“Officer Byers!” snapped the chief.

“I’m gone.” She made tracks for her patrol car.

“Quite a character,” Russ observed.

“She’s conscientious. A good cop.” The chief reiterated his regret at the way Russ had been treated.

“I’m glad we worked it out,” he responded.

In no hurry to leave, Russ watched Lyons’s vehicle and a black-and-white depart in tandem. Officer Byers lingered beside her cruiser, absentmindedly rubbing her hip as she scribbled notes on a clipboard.

Being knocked against a pillar must have left a bruise. The fact that his own body ached from the way she’d man-handled him didn’t diminish Russ’s regret at inflicting pain. “Sorry if I hurt you,” he called.

Her face came up. Wide cheekbones, clear hazel eyes. “Oh, hey, I can always use a workout.” With a wave, she slid inside.

Not the type to hold a grudge, he thought. That impressed him.

Left alone in the echoing garage, Russ felt his mood plummet. Maybe he missed the excitement. No, not really. Or was it Rachel’s stubborn frankness? Well, a little.

Halfway home, he recognized the real problem. The encounter with little Nina had intensified a deep-seated longing to meet the daughter he’d given up for adoption five years ago. Consenting to give her up was the greatest regret of his life.

When his girlfriend informed him of her pregnancy, Russ had been exhausted from the stress of his internship and stunned by the news. He’d halfheartedly offered a proposal that Janine had wisely rejected.

Disputing her decision to grant custody of Lauren to Janine’s parents hadn’t even occurred to him. He couldn’t have raised an infant alone, especially not while facing a mountain of medical school bills. So he’d signed the relinquishment papers at a lawyer’s office without requesting to see his newborn daughter.

The grandparents no doubt took good care of the child, and Russ understood why they refused to let him visit. But he missed the daughter he’d never even held.

Now that he was settling in a small town and, thanks to an inheritance, no longer owed money, he hoped for another chance at raising a family. He’d like to find the right woman—a gentle, caring person eager to have kids. He imagined them sharing an orderly, well-run home like his parents’.

In the meantime, he looked forward to tomorrow’s tour with the crusty Officer Byers. It ought to prove diverting.

RACHEL COULDN’T DECIDE what to wear.

She hated the whole business of picking out clothes. One of the major appeals of being a police officer was the uniform.

Usually on free days she threw on a pair of slacks and a sweater, which was pretty much all she owned. But today she had to represent the department, in a sense. Plus, after she dropped the doctor off, she planned to swing by Hale Crandall’s party.

Peering in the mirror, Rachel ruffled her two-toned hair, which she’d observed Russ regarding in horrified fascination. She’d be willing to bet his taste in dates ran to sleek and sophisticated.

Hot ladies probably sought his phone number everywhere he went. In addition to that alluring M.D. hooked to his name, the guy had broad shoulders and tight buns. Nice mouth, too. Doubtful he’d consider her romance material. Also, the only thing worse than being treated as one of the guys would be landing in some hotshot’s bed as his latest conquest. Just in case he did go for tall women with bicolored thatch on the roof, maybe she ought to wear the uniform.

Rachel, who usually had no trouble making up her mind, couldn’t choose. She didn’t dare call Elise, who disdained the idea of dressing to please a guy. Marta was almost as fashion-challenged as Rachel, which left a single choice: Marta’s cousin Connie.

Connie Lawson Simmons, ex-wife of traffic Sgt. Joel Simmons, was the girliest girl she knew. Heck, Connie was probably the girliest girl anybody knew. She decorated her house with enough crystal, china and gewgaws to open a gift store, which was exactly what she’d done. She now owned three such shops, including the concession at the hospital.

In high school, where Connie had been a cheerleader, she used to sniff whenever Rachel walked by as if picking up a bad odor. Rachel had considered Connie a case of lint between the ears.

They’d been nineteen-year-old sophomores at Cal State Fullerton on the day a speeding car plowed through a red light and caved in the passenger side of Connie’s sedan, where Marta was riding. Waiting at the curb en route to a police-science class, Rachel had pulled Marta to safety moments before the engine caught fire.

Although Connie had escaped unharmed, the accident left her cousin with head injuries and multiple fractures. She’d survived to face years of rehab.

Rachel and Connie had grown close as they sat at Marta’s bedside and later assisted with her exercises. Despite dissimilar personalities, the three had remained friends through eleven years of ups and downs, and all volunteered at Villa Corazon, a volunteer tutoring center Marta had helped establish. Villa Corazon. That meant City of Heart, a play on the town’s name.

Feeling like an idiot, Rachel called her friend and explained the situation. “What do you suggest?”

“Is there time for us to go shopping?” She could picture Connie, blond hair caressing her shoulders and lips parted in a manner that drove men crazy. “Because I’m sure you don’t have anything in your closet.”

Rachel didn’t take offense. Not only was this true, it scarcely counted as an insult compared to the words that used to pour from Connie’s lipsticked mouth whenever she lost her temper with her ex-husband. Or her next-door neighbor, Hale Crandall, on those frequent occasions when he ran afoul of her.

“It’s too late.” Less than an hour remained. After finishing work at midnight and playing an on-line video game until 3 a.m., Rachel had slept till noon. “I’m not trying to date the guy. I just prefer to avoid looking like a dork.”

Connie didn’t hesitate. “Dig around and see if you have a skirt. Also a green blouse.”

“Why green?”

A disbelieving snort. “To match your eyes!”

“My eyes are hazel.” On that point, Rachel felt certain.

“They’re mostly green.” A beat later, Connie added, “Bad idea about a skirt. You’d probably put it on backward.”

“I hate skirts anyway.” Rachel had never realized she had a best color. “Green, huh?”

“I might own a top that would fit you.” That was a huge concession, considering how particular Connie was with her stuff.

“May not be necessary. Hold on.” Cell phone in hand, Rachel poked through her closet. Brown, blue, maroon. At last, in the depths, she discovered an emerald turtleneck that she vaguely recalled receiving from her sister one Christmas. “I found a green sweater.”

“How about black pants?”

“Right here.” Rachel lifted a pair off the hanger. “Wait. They could be navy blue.”

Connie groaned. “Carry them into the daylight!” Then, “On second thought, you’ll need makeup. I can be there in ten minutes.”

She’d bring mascara and green eye shadow, Rachel thought. Scary prospect. “I’ll handle it. Honest. I’ll duck over from Hale’s party and show you.”

“Hale’s throwing a party?”

Uh-oh. That idiot detective should have warned his neighbor. It might at least take the edge off her temper when the party reached full swing.

Connie had never forgiven Hale for encouraging Joel’s drinking and party-going behavior, which had been a major factor in their split. Now she was stuck living next door to Crandall, with the result that practically any transgression on his part sent her into a rage. It seemed to Rachel that Connie resented Hale almost as much as her ex.

“It’s a barbecue,” she admitted. “Starts at five.”

“If those creeps are too loud, I’ll call 911 on ’em. Imagine what having his own men busted would do to Chief Lyons and his image campaign!”

“How about waiting till I leave? Better yet, give us a break.” Rachel would hate to land in trouble two days running, or to see her buddies in a jam. “Maybe I can keep a lid on things.”

“I might drop in to see you and the good doctor. You are bringing him, right?”

“No way!” Rachel couldn’t imagine him mixing with her pals. And his presence might give others the idea she had a boyfriend.

That wouldn’t be bad if it were true. She kept wishing she’d feel sparks for some nice solid Joe, the kind who invited her to Dodgers games or classic car rallies.

As a teenager, Rachel had ruined several friendships and one budding romance by nearly smothering the other person. Maturity had enabled her to recognize the displaced child’s lingering neediness and overcome it, maybe a bit too thoroughly.

Then along came a guy like Dr. Power Suit who stirred a few embers of the old longing. She might as well enjoy the glow, because given their fundamental differences, it wouldn’t last.

After hanging up, Rachel carried the pants to the window as Connie had suggested. They were black, but she chose gray slacks instead. Less formal.

A glance outside showed a couple of workmen scrambling over the slope behind her condo, taking measurements. Probably from a geology firm the condo association had hired to assess the landslide danger.

Rachel squinted at the cloudy sky. Today’s forecast didn’t call for rain, thank goodness. She’d hate for one of California’s frequent mudslides to wipe out this condo. Mostly because it represented a huge investment on her modest salary, but also because she might lose her cherished collection of sentimental items, including a floppy stuffed dog her adoptive parents had presented her on her first Christmas with them.

Another treasure was the psychology report her handicapped sister, Kathy, had laboriously researched and typed. Inside the cover, a professor had marked a large red A and the comment, “You show great insight.” Rachel had been thrilled when Kathy gave it to her.

Despite cerebral palsy and birth parents who’d left her to the mercies of the social welfare system, Kathy had a shining spirit and a sharp mind. At twenty-two, she was close to earning a college degree. Rachel cheered her every step of the way.

She’d hate to lose any of this stuff. But in the end, what mattered were people, not things.

On the way to pick up Russ, she stopped to rent some DVDs about off-road biking and motorcycle racing—lots of noise and action, without the confusion of a plot. Or any half-naked women, either.

She tossed them into the back and headed for Russ’s address. It lay on the west side of town in a development called Amber View because of the surrounding brown hills. Or at least, that was their usual color. Due to recent rains, they were verdant with lush growth.

At the end of a cul-de-sac, the house resembled a traditional cottage right down to the white picket fence and cozy front porch. Kind of homey for a bachelor pad, Rachel mused. She’d assumed from the lack of a ring and the guy’s eagerness for a tour that he wasn’t married, but she might be wrong.

Rachel’s spirits sank at the possibility of encountering a Mrs. McKenzie. How ridiculous—as if she and that arrogant doctor had anything in common! But he wasn’t exactly arrogant, she conceded. Merely strong-willed and outraged at being falsely accused of a heinous act. His wife was probably beautiful and well educated.

She’d wince at the sight of Rachel’s hair. Jeez, maybe she ought to follow Connie’s advice and risk another potentially disastrous color job. Or, as Marta had humorously suggested, get a buzz cut and hope the hair grew back curly.

Bracing for an awkward situation, Rachel rang the bell. From the interior she heard masculine footsteps and then the door opened.

Daylight gave depth to the guy’s slate-blue eyes and highlighted the strong bones of his face. “Hey,” Rachel said.

“Office Byers.” He scanned her approvingly. “Nice outfit.”

“You, too,” she responded. A dark-blue jacket over an open-collared shirt—sexy as heck with designer jeans.

Behind him, a big-screen TV and a wall of audiovisual equipment dominated the living room. A lounge chair in the middle of the carpet and a black leather couch along one wall constituted the only other furnishings. The decor screamed bachelor. Besides, had a Mrs. McKenzie existed, she’d have stuck her nose out by now.

Surprised by how relieved she felt, Rachel confined her next comment to, “We’d better get going.”

“A lot to cover before dark?” An eyebrow lifted skeptically.

“Be a shame to cut our tour short if I have to assist at an emergency.”

“Does that happen often?”

Rarely in this town, but the Villazon PD had a mutual-aid pact with surrounding cities. “Once in a while.”

The doctor emerged smelling of sophisticated after-shave, a welcome change from the hairy-male scents Rachel’s colleagues wore. If this were a date, she might feel tingly at the prospect of snuggling beside him in her car.

Okay, she did feel tingly.

“Anything in particular that interests you?” she asked as they climbed into the sporty two-seater. “On the tour, I mean.”

“I’d be happy with an overview and a bit of history.” Russ bent stiffly, perhaps as a result of being pushed against his car yesterday. The encounter had left Rachel with a crescent-shaped contusion on one hip. She considered any duty-related bruise a badge of honor.

Wrenching her mind away from body parts, she focused on matters of historical interest. There weren’t many in a town that blended into its neighbors. “Some legendary stuff used to go on at the high school, like the time the football team hoisted the principal’s car on top of the gym for Homecoming. That was my junior year.”

The quarterback’s father owned a construction company, where the son had learned to operate a crane. Rachel took pride in the fact that no one had ratted on him.

“I was thinking more in terms of pioneers.” Russ smiled. “But I like your version.”

As she started the ignition, Rachel realized she hadn’t carried a male passenger since she’d bought the car last year. Russ’s legs were so long her hand grazed his thigh when she reached for the gearshift, and as they rounded a corner, their shoulders bumped.

“Kind of friendly in here,” she muttered.

“‘Friendly’?” he teased. “I like the way you talk.”

“What way I talk?” She didn’t have an accent. She spoke standard Californian, spiced with the occasional Spanish phrase such as “hasta la vista, baby.”

“You talk like a cop,” Russ responded.

“That’s what I am.” At a stop sign, Rachel waited while two skate-boarders shot from behind a parked car and skittered across the street. “There’s a couple of accidents waiting to happen.”

“I didn’t see them coming.” Her passenger frowned. “Usually I’m on the alert for kids.”

“Hope we don’t end up peeling them off the pavement.”

He chuckled.

“What?” She didn’t see anything funny about her remark.

“I like that you don’t make the usual small talk about jobs and, oh, whatever,” Russ explained. “It bores me, maybe because I’m not good at it.”

That surprised her. He struck Rachel as the glib type.

“I don’t care for small talk, either,” she admitted. “Girl talk is okay, though.”

“Why?” he asked.

“’Cause I need my friends’ advice.”

“On what?” The guy actually appeared interested.

She recalled her earlier line of thought. “These days, they try to tell me how to fix my hair. You may have noticed the dye turned me into a refugee from Bozo the Clown school.” After a moment she added, “I don’t guess women ever offer you advice about what to do with your hair.” More likely, they tried to run their fingers through it.

“Rarely.” He glanced out the window as they exited the development. “Do you have any idea what those gnarly trees are? Or what kind of fruit they’re bearing?”

“That’s an avocado grove.”

“Really? I didn’t realize they grew around here.”

“Used to be a lot of them.” Rachel was pleased to discover she’d absorbed more details about her community than she’d realized. “They’re Hass avocados, the kind with warty black skin. Absolutely the best-tasting. You fix guacamole with any other variety, you have to stir in salsa for flavor, but these suckers are perfect mashed with a dash of garlic salt. Every Hass avocado in the world is descended from a single tree in La Habra Heights. That’s not far from Villazon.”

“Is the tree on the tour?” he asked with a hopeful air.

“It died a few years ago. There’s a plaque where it used to stand,” she offered.

“Only a plaque? I’ll pass.”

She drove past In a Pickle. As she explained its origins, he said he might return later to buy a souvenir jar of pickles but didn’t want to risk having the lid come off in her car.

Rachel appreciated his consideration. “Marta and I rescued a dog once and it threw up all over my old car,” she said. “I never completely cleared the smell out. There’s nothing worse than beagle barf.”

“Is that so?” Russ chuckled again. Rachel didn’t see what was funny about an upchucking dog.

“Even vinegar didn’t kill the odor. It just made the car stink worse.” They were traversing Arches Avenue. “You’ve seen the civic center, since you work across the street. The only other historic site is Alessandro’s Italian Deli.”

“A deli is a historic site?” Russ inquired.

“Well, not the actual deli,” she conceded. “On that site used to stand the First Bank of Villazon. There’s a rumor that Richard Nixon opened an account there when he had a law office in La Habra.”

“Was that anywhere near the avocado tree?”

“No. La Habra Heights is a separate community north of La Habra. His office isn’t there anymore, by the way. They tore it down. Broke the preservationists’ hearts.” Rachel had no illusions as to how Villazon and environs stacked up against L.A. People traveled long distances to see the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the Page Museum with its skeletons of mastodons and sabertooth tigers. “I realize a deli isn’t exactly the La Brea Tar Pits.”

“On the other hand, I’ll bet the deli sells better prosciutto,” Russ hazarded.

“You’re making me hungry.” She glanced at the dashboard clock. Nearly five. “I’d better drive you home.” Indicating the rear of the car, she explained, “I have to take those DVDs to Hale Crandall’s house. He’s one of our detectives.”

When Russ twisted for a glimpse, his knee bumped her wrist. Rachel felt a little giddy. She’d been experiencing a pleasant buzz from the guy all afternoon.

“Are they evidence?” he inquired.

“They’re motorcycle movies. For a party.”

Swinging back, Russ brushed her again. More buzz than a swarm of bees. “I don’t know a lot of people in this town,” he said. “I’d love to go to the party. Any chance I can tag along?”

Rachel was so taken aback she could only stutter, “Uh…uh, I guess. But it’s a cop gathering,” she protested belatedly. Blabbing to Connie should have taught her to keep her mouth shut. “Backyard barbecue with a hefty serving of testosterone.” She hoped that last bit discouraged him. Chief Lyons wouldn’t like her dragging Dr. McKenzie over there to watch the guys guzzle beer.

“Great,” the doc responded. “I love barbecues.”

Rachel couldn’t uninvite him without being rude. That would tick off the chief worse.

The other cops would needle her later about bringing a date. And if Connie got an eyeful of this guy, she’d have plenty to say. Like, Tell me again why you aren’t jumping his bones.

Glumly, Rachel headed for Hale’s house. She had a feeling the main dish grilling over the coals was going to be her goose.

Chapter Three

In actual fact, Russ didn’t relish the prospect of attending a party with a bunch of sweaty macho guys. He’d rather spend the evening cruising around with Rachel, listening to her loopy presentation and trying to figure out when she was kidding and when she was in earnest, but he was enjoying her company too much to quit now. So he would put up with whatever this party involved rather than go home alone.

He’d never met anyone like her. His parents, a professional couple who claimed to be advocates of social equality, might bend over backward to raise money for the oppressed but showed a subtle snobbery toward those from a blue-collar background.

One of the reasons he’d moved to Villazon was to escape their narrow social circle, which had drawn him in while he lived and worked so close to them. His old friend, a child psychologist named Mike Federov who served on staff at Mesa View Med Center, had praised the town’s friendliness and its healthy mixture of economic and ethnic groups.

Russ preferred to accept people as individuals. And Rachel Byers was unquestionably an individual. Maybe her co-workers would turn out to be interesting, as well.