The Listener

“Let me do my job.”

Maria kept her expression flat in the face of Ryan’s angry glare. “I can’t. Not until I feel confident that you’re recovered from the stress of your wife’s death.” She pulled her calendar toward her. “I have this same time open next Thursday.” She held out an appointment card to him, her hand in the air a full ten seconds before he took the offering.

Rising to his feet, Ryan clenched his fist around the card without looking at it. “You’re making a big mistake.”

Even though he was giving her a hard time, his gaze was so full of pain and grief, a wave of sympathy hit her.

“I’m sorry you see it that way. I believe if we work together, I can help you.”

“And if I don’t want your help?”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Lieutenant.”

He gave her a look that would have made a lesser woman quail. Maria simply stared back. A second later, he stalked out. As he reached the hallway, she heard the sound of paper ripping. The scraps of her card fluttered gently to the carpet.

Dear Reader,

The Listener is the last book in the SWAT team trilogy that I wrote for Harlequin Superromance. It follows The Negotiator and The Commander. Each story has presented a different view of a SWAT team. It’s dangerous, emotional and draining work, the likes of which few “civilians” witness or understand.

This last book tells the story of Maria Worley, a psychotherapist, and Ryan Lukas, the sniper for the SWAT team.

When I started this series I knew I wanted to delve into the emotional life of a sniper. What could be more fascinating than the motivations and conflicts of a man who must take one life to protect another? Then I started to think…. What if that sniper had just suffered a tremendous personal loss? And what if the therapist who was supposed to treat him discovered she was more attracted to him than she should be? How could these people handle that kind of stress? How could they deal with all the possibilities? Just to make the story a little more interesting, I decided Maria should be a single parent, too.

I hope you enjoy reading The Listener, and I hope you find it a satisfying conclusion to THE GUARDIANS series. If you’d like to contact me, please visit my Web site, kaydavid.com, or write to me at [e-mail].

One last thing…don’t forget that May is Get Caught Reading month. Obviously, if you’re reading this, you love to read, so why not share your passion? When you finish The Listener, pass it on to a friend or a relative…or even a stranger! Reading is one of the greatest pleasures we can give ourselves, and encouraging others to “get caught reading” is a gift to them, as well.

Sincerely,

Kay David

The Listener

Kay David

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to all the wonderful listeners

I’ve had the great pleasure of knowing through the years.

While some have been professional,

like Dr. Amelia Kornfeld or Max LeBlanc,

others have listened because that’s what they do best:

my mother, Pauline Cameron; my best friend,

Marilyn Amann; my husband, Pieter Luan.

We all need people to listen to us—

there’s nothing more important—

so my thanks and my love go to the people

who always have time to listen.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“DO YOU ENJOY ruining people’s lives or is it just me you have it in for?”

As he towered over her desk, Ryan Lukas’s wrath was so intense, so powerful, it filled Maria Worley’s office with an almost physical presence. She was accustomed to handling angry men, but his fury was different. Above a clenched jaw and beneath an angry frown, the black ice of his eyes revealed a storm just waiting to be unleashed.

At her.

She spoke quietly, calmly. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

At her question, his expression turned fractionally darker and his mouth, already a violent slash, narrowed into a line of disbelief. He was so tightly wound the changes were subtle, but Maria was an expert at reading faces. It was her job. For the past three years she’d been the chief psychologist for the Emerald Coast SWAT team. Mainly men, the cops who were her clients were officers on the edge, trapped between their own realities and the rest of the world. They were men who didn’t know what to do with themselves or the disasters they’d become. Men who didn’t know where to turn.

Men like Ryan Lukas.

“If you put me on some kind of bogus leave, that’s exactly what you’ll be doing!” He glared at her. “I want to work and I should be working. The team needs me. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“If that’s really the case, then you can return to active duty in record time. Until then, because of the tests I conducted during your routine assessment last week and the talks we’ve had so far, I feel the need for further evaluation of your situation. As soon as I’m comfortable with your progress, I’ll release you.”

“And Lena agrees with this bullsh—”

“Lieutenant McKinney and I have discussed the matter, yes.” Lena McKinney was Ryan Lukas’s boss and commander of the SWAT team. Maria didn’t envy her the job. “Lieutenant McKinney believes, as I do, that you need some time off. That’s why she moved up your yearly evaluation. She was concerned about you and wanted me to assess you before things got out of hand. Taking everything into consideration, Lieutenant Lukas, surely you can understand the conclusion—”

“I understand one thing,” he said icily. “I understand that you’re screwing with me…and I’m going to pay the price. One way or another.”

Maria looked out her window and tried to gather her thoughts. The office faced the Gulf of Mexico, and in the distance, the sparkling water glinted. Generally she didn’t argue with her patients, but Ryan Lukas wasn’t like most of her clients. She turned back to him.

“Lieutenant Lukas, anyone who went through what you have would need to talk about it. Anyone. If you don’t believe me, look at the problems you’ve experienced lately. Emotions escape any way they can, even if it means more trouble for us. Don’t you think you should deal with these feelings in a more productive fashion?”

“I am dealing with them.” His eyes locked on hers. “My way.”

She waited for him to elaborate but he wasn’t going to—it was his way of taking control. During his initial visit, he’d sat without saying a word for more than half the session. It was the first time she’d had to break a client’s silence. She’d never been outwaited before.

“Well, your way isn’t working. Ignoring your problem is not a good solution.” She paused a moment. “And don’t try to convince me you have no feelings about what happened. That’s impossible.”

At his sides, his hands clamped into fists. She wondered if he was conscious of the movement.

“I never said I had no feelings about what happened.” He stopped for a second, then seemed to gather himself. “I do. But I don’t intend to share them with you or anyone else.”

“Even if it means your job?”

“My wife’s…situation had nothing to do with my job.”

She noted the word he used; he couldn’t even say death. It was time to be blunt.

“That’s a lie, Lieutenant, and you know that as well as I. You’re one of the most important members of the SWAT team. You have to be sharp, on your toes. What happens at home impacts your ability to think and to make decisions. Everyone understands that. Surely you do, too.”

His eyes glittered, two black sapphires, dark and hard. “Do you perform marriage counseling?”

The unexpected question took her by surprise and she answered without thinking. “Of course. That is a primary focus of my practice.”

“Are you married?”

She saw the trap too late. There was nothing to do but answer him. “No,” she admitted reluctantly. “I’m divorced. But my personal situation isn’t pertinent—”

“And neither is mine. I can do my job, just like you can.”

“That’s not a fair comparison. I don’t shoot people for a living.”

He waited a moment to reply, but somehow it felt longer to Maria. When he finally did speak, his voice was deliberate, each word distinct. “And do you have a problem with what I do?”

“You’re a valued member of the team and your job is necessary. How I feel about that is not important. What matters is how you feel about it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not relevant.”

“It is to me.”

“And why is that?”

“I need your approval. You’ve already told Lena I can’t do my job right now. If you have some kind of hang-up with what I do—”

She interrupted him, something else she rarely did with patients, her exasperation getting the upper hand over her professionalism. “Lieutenant Lukas, I assure you my evaluation of your situation will not be influenced by your position on the team. I’m paid to look at you as an individual and that’s exactly what I do. What I think about your career choice simply isn’t germane to this.”

“Then let me do my job.”

“I can’t.” She made her expression flat, her voice unequivocal. “Not until we’ve talked more and I feel confident you’ve recovered from the stress of your wife’s death.” She pulled her calendar toward her and ran a pen down the edge of one side. “I have this same time open on Thursday next week. I’d like to meet with you then, but if that’s not convenient, you can check with my receptionist on the way out for a different time. One way or the other, I want to see you in here this coming week.” She put down her pen then picked up one of her appointment cards and held it out to him, her hand in the air a full ten seconds before he finally took the offering.

Rising to his feet, he clenched the card without looking at it. “You’re making a big mistake.”

Even though he was giving her a hard time, behind his rage, his gaze was so full of pain and grief a wave of sympathy hit her. He was hurting.

“I’m sorry you see it that way,” she said quietly. “But I believe if we work together, I can help you.” She stood and held out her hand. “I really can.”

He ignored her outstretched fingers. “And if I don’t want your help?”

She dropped her hand. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Lieutenant.”

He gave her a look that would have quailed another woman’s resolve. Maria simply stared back. A second later, he pivoted sharply and stalked out. As he reached the outer hallway, she heard the sound of paper ripping. The scraps of her card fluttered gently to the carpet and then he was gone.

MARIA EDGED her five-year-old Toyota into the traffic on Highway 98 and headed west. It was the first week of May, the beginning of tourist season in Destin, and the town was already packed. Families in minivans, college kids in Beetles, retired folks in Cadillacs—everyone was on the road and trying to get somewhere else. Up until the seventies, Destin had been a sleepy little fishing village; then its clear waters and beautiful white beach had been discovsered. Now high-rises lined the shore and restaurants and shops took up the space that was left. Maria appreciated the growth, but every summer she longed for the town she’d come to fifteen years before as a wide-eyed newlywed. It’d been a lot different.

Then again, so had she.

She’d had a simple life with no child to worry about and no career to juggle. It’d been her and Reed and a rosy future…or so she’d thought. Once she’d gotten her degree and started her career, things had changed drastically. Reed didn’t care that she’d worked for years for her Ph.D. He still wanted a wife who made him the focus of her life. She’d started her practice, a practice that took time and energy away from him, and he’d left her. The only good part of their union was Christopher, their fourteen-year-old son. She loved him so much it hurt. But she worried constantly about him and whether or not she was balancing her job and motherhood successfully.

The thought brought her full circle to her newest client. Ryan Lukas. When Lena had first called Maria and set up Ryan’s initial meeting, the other woman had told Maria how he’d changed since his wife’s death. Gregarious and friendly, he’d been one of the most popular members of the team before that. The first one to arrive, Lena had said, and the last one to leave, no matter how hard the call. Now he was a loner. He did his job then disappeared.

Even without the description of his changes—even without meeting him—Maria had expected Ryan Lukas would be a difficult client. Despite her earlier denial, she did have some feelings about his position on the team. Anyone who killed people for a living—even bad people—had to be a complicated individual with complex motivations and tangled emotions. The interior life of a countersniper had to be a labyrinth few could understand.

Even taking that into consideration, something about Lukas was still very different from what she’d anticipated. A lot of her male clients hid their real emotions behind the single feeling they felt safe with—anger—but he’d gone a step further. Unable to put her finger on the exact disparity at the moment, Maria knew it’d come to her. She had an innate intuition about people and their emotions. Even as a child, she’d been supersensitive to the imbroglios that had floated through her parents’ home. Lord knew there had been plenty of feelings in the mix. Good and bad.

In the meantime, she had to figure out how to help Ryan Lukas, and she wasn’t looking forward to the job. Uncooperative clients were always a challenge. She’d have to approach him just the right way or they’d never make any progress.

She considered the problem all the way home, but twenty minutes later thoughts of the troubled sniper fled when Maria turned into her driveway. Christopher had—once again—left his expensive bicycle, which his father had purchased, smack in the middle of the approach. She couldn’t even pull into the garage. How many times had she asked Christopher to put his bike away when he got home?

She parked the car in the street, then grabbed her briefcase and started up the sidewalk to the front door. Before the divorce, Christopher had been the perfect kid, but the minute Reed had left, Chris had turned into someone different. His grades had plummeted and the boys he wanted to hang around with weren’t helping matters at all. He was distant and uncommunicative. Maria understood his conflict; he felt abandoned and left behind, and he wanted acceptance somewhere—so he’d looked to those kids. All her efforts to help him, however, had only made matters worse. Trips to the zoo, quiet time just talking, rock concerts he’d selected—she’d done everything she could think of to reconnect with him and nothing had worked. She was running out of ideas—and patience.

She unlocked the door and started yelling, something she’d never done in the past. “Christopher! Are you in here? Come down right this minute….”

Nothing but silence greeted her, the house echoing in an empty way that told her he wasn’t just hiding. She threw her briefcase on the entry table and shook off her high heels as she went into the living room. His backpack was in the middle of the rug, his jacket on the couch, an open bag of chips on the floor by the recliner.

Just like his father, she thought wearily. Reed couldn’t have picked up after himself if his life had depended on it. When he’d come home two years ago and announced he was leaving, she’d almost been relieved…but Christopher had been shattered, and Maria knew then she’d never forgive Reed for the way he’d treated their son.

A father shouldn’t do that to his kid.

She snatched up the sack of chips and then the backpack, but the nylon bag weighed a ton. For one brief second, she juggled both, then lost her grip on the backpack, a confusion of books, papers and CD cases flying from the unzipped compartments, then plummeting to the floor.

Cursing softly, Maria set the bag of chips aside and began to pick up the mess. She retrieved a library book and a battered blue notepad then reached over to get a second book. As she did so, the notebook flipped, the pages fluttering open to dislodge a folded piece of paper. Her fingers stilled when she saw what it was.

Christopher’s progress report.

From two weeks before.

It was covered with the kind of pen and pencil drawings Christopher constantly produced—a fantasy birdlike figure—but her eyes looked past them and went directly to the grades. They were lower than they’d been the last time! And the comments she could hardly believe them.

“…didn’t turn in homework. Grade: 0…”

“…not paying attention in class. Grade: 74.”

“…sloppy work and bad attitude. Grade: 60.”

But that wasn’t even the worst part. When she read the signature at the bottom of the card, she gasped out loud. Dr. Maria Worley. Her name had been scribbled poorly—in fact, it was barely legible—but apparently that was all that was needed. Every one of his teachers had checked the boxes at the bottom of the report indicating they’d seen and accepted the fake signature.

Maria rocked back on her heels, a hodgepodge of anger, shock and disappointment wiping out any other emotions. He must have intercepted the mail and pulled out the report before she’d gotten home. What on earth did he think he was doing? Had her son really believed she’d never find this out?

As soon as she had the thought, her anger turned inward. Of course, he’d assumed he could do it and get away with it. She did everything she could to stay on top of Christopher’s life, but it’d been crazy at work lately, and she’d been too involved with her own problems. She should have known it was time for his progress report and been on the lookout for it. She should have been keeping better track of the time.

She considered calling Reed then dismissed the idea immediately. He wouldn’t help. He couldn’t even admit he was part of the problem. She stood up slowly and was replacing the rest of the items in the backpack when the front door flew open and slammed into the opposite wall. Christopher’s startled eyes met hers before they dropped to the bag she still held.

“What are you doing with my stuff?” he demanded rudely.

She resisted the urge to correct his tone and tried instead to focus on staying calm. “I’m picking it up—something you should have done when you got home instead of leaving it here.”

Kicking the front door shut, he walked into the entry with the kind of bravado only a guilty kid could affect. “I was in a hurry. The guys called right after I got home and I left. I’m sorry,” he added in an offhand manner.

“I’m sure you are.” She paused. “And you’re going to be even more sorry when I ask you about this.” She held out his report.

For just a second, his brown eyes flickered with uncertainty and he was a little kid, a scared little kid. “Wh-what’s that?”

“It’s your progress report. From two weeks ago. It has a signature on it that’s supposed to be mine, but it isn’t. What do you know about this?”

It took him only a moment. “You were busy,” he said defensively. “I thought I’d help—”

“Don’t even try that, Christopher,” she said abruptly. “You should have given this to me and you know it. I can’t believe you forged my signature. What were you thinking?”

He stared at her defiantly and said nothing.

“Why did you do this? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“You’re never at home,” he snapped without warning. “You’re always working so I just did it. If you hadn’t been snooping through my bag—”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was picking up and even if I had been snooping, that’s my right. I’m your mother, Christopher, and I have the responsibility to know what’s going on with you.”

“You didn’t even know it was time for the cards. You don’t care what happens to me!”

“That’s not true! I love you and you know that! If I didn’t, why would I care what kind of grades you make?”

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand—except for a single phrase. “If Daddy was here…”

She stood stock-still. “Do you think your father would approve of this?”

He scuffed the carpet with one dirty sneaker, then looked up. “It wouldn’t have happened if he was here! He always checked my cards…and my homework, too.”

She actually opened her mouth to contradict him—Reed had never shown the slightest interest in Chris’s homework—she’d always been the one who helped him. Every night, until last year, she’d sat down with him right after dinner and gone over all of his work. When he’d announced he was too old for that, she’d hesitated, then acquiesced.

She snapped her mouth shut instead of pointing all that out. She’d made a vow when Reed left that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t criticize him in front of Christopher. She’d seen too many kids in her office, confused and upset, to visit the same grief on her son. When one parent disparaged the other, it sent a single message. “Your father is a bad person. Therefore you are, too….”

She counted to three silently and forced herself to calm down. “Well, then…checking your homework is something we’ll start doing again, you and I. Every night. All of it. Just like we did before.”

He mumbled another answer she couldn’t understand, then he tried to grab the bag from her hands. She held on to it and for just a moment, they were connected by the nylon straps. It made her think of all the ways they’d been joined before. In the womb, by holding hands, by the hugs he used to give her. Now this—a link of anger and lies.

The realization made her feel awful and her pique fled, like air suddenly released from a balloon. If she wanted to be upset with someone, it shouldn’t be Chris, it should be herself and Reed. This was all their fault. When he’d left his son behind like a old pair of shoes he no longer wanted, she should have taken up the slack. Checking out his friends, keeping track of where he went, watching over him as closely as she could…it wasn’t enough. Christopher was hurting inside and handling it like any normal fourteen-year-old boy would. With anger. The weight of responsibility she constantly carried on her shoulders got a little heavier.

She relinquished the bag with a sigh. “Christopher, this is important, okay? I understand that things aren’t the way you want them to be right now, but you can’t come up with solutions like this. It’s not acceptable.”

He opened his mouth to argue but she held up her hand and stopped him. “Tomorrow we’ll sit down and discuss this some more and I’ll decide how I’m going to handle it. I’m going to visit with your teachers, too. At the very least, you’re grounded until further notice.”

He was protesting before she even finished speaking. “That’s so not right—”

“No!” She spoke louder than she intended and he fell silent. She shook the report in her hand. “Forging my signature like this is what’s not right, and you’re going to suffer the consequences. Now go to your room and start your homework.”

His backpack bouncing behind him, he ran out of the living room and pounded up the stairs. Maria dropped to the couch and covered her face with her hands.

THE PHONE RANG shortly after eight. Maria pulled off her reading glasses and reached across her desk to answer it. She’d been going over Ryan Lukas’s report one more time, but she wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t really paying attention; she was thinking instead about Christopher and wondering where she’d gone so wrong. What kind of psychologist was she if she couldn’t even control her own kid?