In The Enemy's Arms

Gradually her weeping slowed and she regained control of her emotions. Blindly she grabbed the box of tissues on her desk and blotted her face. When she cried, her nose always got red and her skin turned blotchy. Her eyes probably looked as though she’d been on a three-day bender, so she would have to hide out here for a little while longer.

Someone knocked on the door. Before she could speak, it opened and Bryce leaned in. “You okay?”

“Get out,” she snapped.

Instead of complying, he shocked her by coming in and shutting the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

Was he blind or just indifferent?

Mari reached for her phone. “I’m calling security,” she warned as she lifted the receiver.

Dr. Bingham’s threat didn’t stop Bryce, who had faced down worse than an unarmed woman holding a wad of damp tissues. It was the sight of her hazel eyes, awash with tears, that froze him in his tracks like a gun trained on his heart.

Were the tears a ruse by a lawbreaker desperate for time? Or was her devastated expression that of a compassionate healer? So many of the people he had interviewed insisted the latter was true.

“Please, Mari.” He extended his hand. “Don’t call anyone, okay?”

He wasn’t sure if it was his words or his tone that stopped her, but he had no intention of giving her time to reconsider. Nor did he intend to offer comfort, but an impulse he couldn’t control propelled him forward, arms open. Wrapping them around her, he pulled her close.

Prepared for a struggle, he tucked her head under his chin. As he inhaled the scent of her lemon shampoo, a flood of images flashed through his mind. Caught off guard, he did his best to ignore the unwanted memories, as well as his own spontaneous reaction.

Her slight body stiffened, palms braced against his chest. Barely breathing, he waited for her to jerk away, but instead she sighed, going limp. Before she could sink to the floor, he scooped her up into his arms.

He was shocked at how little she weighed. Had the investigation and his pursuit done this to her?

She slipped her arms around his neck, distracting him, and clung like a child as she cried softly against his chest. The feel of her softly rounded breasts sent awareness pumping through him like a drug. For a moment, he shut his eyes and cuddled her close, wanting to absorb everything about her like a giant sponge.

He struggled to keep his head clear, to keep his lungs working. What the hell was he thinking? Where had his objectivity gone? She was a suspect and he was here to question her, not to hold her in his arms while he mooned over her like a teenager.

His silent lecture wasn’t taking hold.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, ignoring his own tap-dancing pulse. “It’s okay.”

The sound of his voice jerked her head up. Her dark lashes were clumped together. Her eyes were reddened and wet, the skin beneath them blotchy and waxen.

When her lips parted on a tiny sound of protest, his mouth went dry and a giant fist squeezed the breath from his lungs. As they continued to stare at each other, his entire being hummed with awareness.

Neither of them moved, neither blinked. He tried to reason out why kissing her would be a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

“I think you’d better put me down now.” Her voice cracked the silence. Heat of a different type filled his cheeks, but the rest of him went cold at the thought of what he’d nearly done.

“Of course.” Gently, he stood her on her feet while he scrambled to regain control of the interview—and his own professionalism.

Her chin went up as she circled the cluttered desk. After putting the unmistakable barrier between them, she sat down with her hands neatly folded.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” she asked coolly, as though nothing earthshaking had nearly happened.

Bryce was angry at his own weakness, as well as with Mari’s ability to manipulate him. Years of professional experience told him she was more likely to slip up and reveal the truth while she was tired and emotionally drained. He couldn’t give her the chance to lock her defenses back into place.

“You’ll have to come down to the station with me,” he replied, deliberately hardening his heart against the sight of her tear-streaked face and dark, wounded eyes. “There are some questions I need to ask you about the drugs being stolen from your clinic.”

Chapter Two

It took Mari a moment to process what Bryce had just said. A moment ago, she had thought he might attempt to kiss her.

“You want me to what?” she asked, shocked by his statement. Thank God she was already sitting down or she would have fallen.

“Listen, Mari—” he began.

“Dr. Bingham,” she corrected coldly, cutting him off. “What do you expect me to do about my patients, Detective? I have appointments and responsibilities. I can’t just walk out of here because you snap your fingers.”

His frown deepened and a muscle twitched along his jaw. “I’m sorry, but I’ve already been here for too damn long.” He stabbed his finger at her. “You’ve got two choices, Doctor. Have someone else cover for you or reschedule your patients, but I’ve been waiting long enough. Either way, you’re coming with me.”

As though he had cinched a noose around her neck, his statement made the muscles in her throat tighten. She could barely speak.

“Am I under arrest?” she croaked. She should have seen this day coming and consulted with an attorney to find out about her rights.

How could Bryce shift so easily from acting like a human to being a robocop? Why had he bothered to comfort her if his intention was to drag her through the clinic in handcuffs?

His eyebrows rose, as though her question had surprised him. “No, I’m not going to arrest you. There are just too many interruptions here for an interview.”

As though to prove his point, the phone on Mari’s desk chose that moment to ring. It made her flinch. Out of habit she reached for the receiver, but then she snatched back her hand.

“My voice mail will take a message,” she said, and then she bit her lip. What did he care? “Interrogating me would be a big waste of time,” she argued forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “As I told you before, I don’t know anything about the missing drugs. Why can’t you believe me?”

“You may know more than you think.” His expression was impossible to read, but then he had always been good at hiding his feelings from her.

What information could she possibly give him that he didn’t already have? And how could she convince him, once and for all, of her innocence?

A chill went through her. What if he was lying about not arresting her?

“Should I call my attorney?” she asked, shoving her trembling hands onto her lap so they were hidden by her desk.

He leaned over her, his gray eyes chilling in their intensity. How could she have ever thought his gaze was warm? He was probably searching for some sign of her guilt. “Do you need a lawyer?”

Feeling trapped, Mari opened her bottom drawer and took out her purse. She glanced down at the phone as she weighed her options. If she said yes, would that make her look guilty?

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Of course not.” His face remained unreadable.

“I need to call and make arrangements from here for someone to cover me.” Milla had been supportive, and Mari could count on her to be discreet.

He nodded. “Just say that we need you to come down and give us some background information on Orcadol.”

Once again he had managed to surprise her, suggesting a way to lessen her humiliation. She was about to thank him when she recalled that his suspicion was the very reason she needed a cover story.

Wordlessly she had Milla paged, resisting the urge to drum her fingers on the desktop while she waited for the midwife to respond.

“How are Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins doing?” Mari asked when Milla finally came on the line.

“The hospital chaplain is with them now,” she replied. “He’ll help with the arrangements.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” Quickly, Mari outlined what she needed, her gaze on Bryce the whole time. If her scrutiny made him uncomfortable, he didn’t let it show.

“Is this because of your friendship with Dr. Phillipe?” Milla asked when Mari was done. “Can’t they test him if they don’t believe that he’s drug-free?”

Ricardo Phillipe was a friend of Mari’s who had been connected with early Orcadol development. He was also involved in planning the experimental research facility.

After a car accident in which Ricardo had been critically injured, his wife and small daughter both killed, he had developed a drug problem that led to him losing his license to practice medicine.

Mari swiveled her chair so she was facing the wall. “I’m sure that’s not an issue.” She lowered her voice even further. “I really can’t discuss it now.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry,” Milla replied. “Is there anything else I can do? Can I call someone for you?”

“No, but thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” Mari knew that Milla was fiercely loyal, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest of the staff, not anymore.

And what would her patients think when the news got out that she’d actually been taken downtown for questioning? What about the investors who hadn’t already pulled out of the research facility project? Would this ruin any chance she had left of securing the financing to build it?

Lillian Cunningham was the Public Relations director from New York who Mari had recently hired to improve the clinic’s reputation. Lily would have a fit when she heard about this! Just because she happened to be in love with Mari’s father didn’t mean she would cut Mari any slack, either. Lily was one of the best in the business, but she wasn’t a miracle worker.

After Mari told Milla goodbye and replaced the receiver, she grabbed her purse and scooted back in her chair, praying her shaky legs would support her.

“I’m ready,” she told Bryce. What on earth did he think he had on her? His flinty expression told her nothing.

Bryce didn’t bother with chitchat on the way to the station that was housed in the Merlyn County Courthouse complex. The fairly new tan building in downtown Binghamton contained all the county’s administrative offices.

As soon as he parked in an official space, Mari got out of his sedan without a glance in his direction and marched up the front steps. His legs were longer than hers, so he was able to catch up with her in time to pull open the heavy glass front door.

“Come with me,” he said once they were inside. The departments were clearly marked, but he wanted her to lift her head and make eye contact with him.

When she did, she looked as though someone had drained the fight out of her. It was no surprise, after what she’d already been through. She also seemed nervous, again, no big surprise, and—if he was any judge of character—shell-shocked.

Because he knew her to be strong-willed and smart, the last observance startled him. Anyone who managed to successfully complete medical school, an internship and a residency had to be both.

After the conversations he’d had with her over the last few weeks, including their confrontation at the hospital picnic, she must have been prepared for today, unless she wore blinders and went around with her fingers stuck in both ears.

The girl he’d once known very, very well was a lot more savvy than that. Maybe she was merely attempting to play on his sympathies.

There had been a time he would have cut off his hand to spare her the slightest hurt. He had outgrown that kind of foolishness when she ran a spike through his heart and walked away without a backward glance.

He was still plenty attracted to the total package that made up Mari Bingham, even in her loose-fitting scrubs. His reaction to her pissed him off royally. It wasn’t his heart he was risking this time around, but his entire law-enforcement career. He’d better get himself focused or he’d wind up back behind the wheel of a patrol car on graveyard shift. Or working as a nighttime security guard for a local warehouse.

Lightly he cupped Mari’s elbow. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. Maybe she was more scared than she let on. Most people were nervous the first time they ended up in this kind of situation and the level of their anxiety had nothing to do with their guilt or innocence.

Wordlessly, he led the way into his home-away-from-home.

“Detective, I’ve got your messages here,” said the civilian receptionist as he approached the counter.

Christine had been hired straight out of high school with an admitted “thing” for cops and their guns. Her jaw worked her ever present wad of gum as she smiled widely and waved several pink slips in the air.

He nodded without breaking stride. She was barely eighteen, but she had already managed to corner him in the break room after shift one evening! Every time he thought about what could have happened if anyone else had come in when he was peeling her off him, he broke into a sweat.

Another phone rang, the new watercooler belched like a scuba diver’s tank and the stereo system pumped out classic country. All conversation in the room shut down abruptly the minute its occupants noticed Mari. Just as they had everywhere else in the county, whispers and rumors connecting her with the Orchid black market had been circulating through the department.

Escorting her through the open squad room, Bryce ignored the detective seated at a desk covered with crumbs and candy wrappers, the two uniforms standing by the coffee machine and the one on the phone. In the far corner, a female officer and a teenage girl in camouflage and combat boots had stopped arguing to gawk. As he hustled Mari past Sheriff Remington’s office and the storage closet-slash-break room, conversations started up again.

A long-haired creep wearing cuffs leaned against the wall. He skimmed his slimy gaze over Mari, but his knowing smirk vanished when he saw Bryce’s glare.

Bryce itched to throw a coat over her, right after he buried his fist in the little prick’s ratlike face. Before Bryce could take her into one of the rooms they used for interviews, Hank Butler waved his phone receiver in the air.

“Collins! Got a second?” he called out.

Bryce waved his free hand in response as he pushed open the first door. Whatever Hank wanted could wait.

Except for the requisite scarred table and beat-up chairs brought over from the old building and the two-way mirror on one wall, the interrogation room was as sparse as a cell. No point in making anyone who was brought here feel comfortable.

Mari glanced around. “Charming.”

“I wasn’t on the decorating committee,” Bryce drawled, dragging back one of the chairs. “Have a seat. Want anything? Coffee?”

“I’ve heard about cop coffee. I’ll pass, thank you.” She might be nervous, but she held her head high. His father used to say her nose was in the air.

“What, no lie detector?” she asked, turning her head. “No rubber hoses, no holding cell?”

“Someone’s already in it,” he lied, “but I guess you could share.”

She sat down gingerly, as though she expected the chair to collapse beneath her. Folding her hands on her purse, she stared past his shoulder.

She might not want coffee, but he needed a shot of something. Right now the sludge in the bottom of the pot was the strongest liquid available.

“Be right back,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt to let her cool her heels for a minute, soaking up the atmosphere while he found out what the other detective wanted. Bryce had waited long enough at the clinic.

Leaving the door ajar, he glared at the guy in handcuffs. As he slid his gaze away, Bryce recognized him as a low-level dealer, one who’d probably end up in jail or dead on the street. Guys like this one got busted all the time, but it never seemed to do much good.

Mari stared at the big mirror and tried not to fidget. Someone might be on the other side, observing her behavior and taking notes. Despite her exhaustion, she scraped back the wobbly chair and walked over to the wall, where she very deliberately studied her reflection. She’d watched Law and Order often enough to know the setup, but let the detectives think she didn’t.

The face staring back at her looked awfully plain, but the lip gloss in her purse seemed too frivolous for the occasion. She limited her primping to tucking some of the loose strands of dark hair behind her ears.

Through the door Bryce had left open, she could hear a couple of male voices. Their conversation sounded guarded, almost secretive, as though they didn’t realize they were being overheard. She had enough problems of her own, so she didn’t pay much attention to their low-pitched discussion.

It seemed like days since she had lost the poor little neonate, weeks since she’d had a good night’s sleep and eons since this cloud of suspicion had first settled over her life.

Feeling slightly dizzy, she sat back down in the hard chair. Where was Bryce? Probably getting even with her.

Let him play his macho games, she thought, smothering a yawn. She would just put her head down for a minute so the room would stop spinning before he came back.

Bryce approached Hank, masking his annoyance. The other detective was overweight and out of shape, with powdered sugar smearing one flabby cheek.

“What did you want?” Bryce asked shortly.

“Got any leads on those vandalized cars out at Ginman’s Lake?” Hank asked with an innocent look on his florid face.

“You called me over for this?” Bryce demanded. Everyone in the department knew Hank Butler was lazy. “It’s your case, Hank. Why don’t you drive out there and ask around? You might learn something.”

Scratching the stubble that bristled along his double chin, the older detective leaned back in his chair, gut straining the buttons of his wrinkled shirt. His little pig eyes glanced past Bryce.

“Didn’t you and the doc used to date back in the day?” Hank asked, trying to sound cool. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get her alone, huh? Work some kind of deal?”

Bryce ignored Hank’s baiting. He saw that a greasy-haired lowlife had been brought out of the other interrogation room. He and the other dealer had their heads together while the deputy refilled his coffee mug.

“Why are they here?” Bryce asked a deputy.

The deputy glanced over his shoulder. “Street cleaning,” he quipped.

The coffee looked fresh, so Bryce poured two cups. Both of the dealers watched resentfully when he walked past them and shouldered open the door to the smaller room.

“Sorry to be so long,” he said, nudging it shut with his foot.

He stopped abruptly when Mari’s head popped up from the table. As long as he’d been in the department, this was the first time he could remember having a suspect—especially one who was sober—doze off before an interview.

“You okay?” he asked. She’d been pale before, but now she was as white as the foam cups he was holding. “Need some aspirin?”

She blinked and worked her mouth as though her tongue was stuck. “I’m just peachy, Detective. This has been a red-letter day for me.” Her hazel eyes brimmed with resentment. “Could we get on with it, please?”

Here was his chance. Her emotions were high and she was clearly exhausted. She was more likely to slip up and reveal something she would normally have kept hidden, like the truth behind her relationship with Ricardo Phillipe.

Dr. Phillipe had lost his license for illegal drug use. Mari’s association with someone having his shady past was too big a coincidence for Bryce to ignore. If he was ever going to solve this case, he needed answers. His professional instincts tugged at him like a bulldog on a short leash.

Carefully, he set her coffee where its aroma would tempt her. Taking the chair across the table, he flipped open his notebook and stared down at his own scribbled handwriting while she blew softly on the steaming cup.

When he looked up, the sight of her sweetly puckered lips made him forget what he was about to say. They stared at each other as color stained her pale cheeks.

“Do you ever wonder what went wrong between us?” The question spilled out before he could stop it.

Her gaze shifted to the mirror behind him. “Detective, is the reason you brought me down here to interrogate me about my past? Because if it is, I can assure you that the department will be hearing from my attorney.” She scooted back her chair, clutching her purse, and started to rise.

“Please sit down. We’re not done,” he ordered. Damn, but it hurt that she could dismiss her past so easily, as though he had never been a part of it.

She was right about this not being the place to discuss it, even though the room behind the two-way mirror was empty. What had he been thinking?

He ran his finger down the lines on the notebook page, refocusing, and then she made a small sound of distress.

She turned her face away, but not before he saw her eyes fill. The sight of a woman’s tears still turned him to putty, especially Mari’s tears. He had never wanted to make her cry. How things changed. As he stared, mesmerized by her profile, the only sounds in the room were the ever ringing phone and muted voices from the squad.

Realizing that he had been holding his breath, Bryce closed his notebook with a slap. Perhaps he was getting too soft, but he just couldn’t do it. He was determined to unlock the secrets of this case, but if Mari held the key, it wouldn’t be today.

“I’ll take you home,” he said abruptly. “Let’s go.”

If he had hoped to see gratitude shimmering in her pretty eyes along with the surprise that she quickly masked, he was doomed to disappointment.

“You’ve wasted my time, Detective, barging into my office and dragging me down here.” She got to her feet, head held high. “Next time you’ll have to make an appointment like everyone else.” Tucking her purse under her arm, she walked out.

Kicking himself for his moment of weakness, Bryce stood in the doorway and watched her leave. He was getting soft, all right. Soft in the head.

She moved quickly, with no sign of the fatigue that had appeared to weigh her down earlier. Had she been conning him? She was already halfway to the reception desk when his frustration spilled out.

“One more thing, Dr. Bingham,” he called across the room. “Don’t leave town.”

When he saw her shoulders stiffen, regret slapped at him like a cold, wet rag. It wasn’t Mari’s fault that his temperature still spiked whenever he saw her, that he resented the raw lust that surged at inopportune moments or that he hadn’t managed to put the memory of losing her behind him.

One thing was as clear as the window to the street. She wasn’t about to mistake the drug investigation for some kind of courting ritual, or to jump into the sack with him for old times’ sake. After today he’d bet she would rather slice him open with a rusty scalpel than look at him, so he needed to get his hormones under control before he questioned her again.

As Bryce watched her depart, his stomach a tangled ball of frustration, Hank Butler shoved back his chair and lumbered to his feet. After he had made a point to leer at Mari as she disappeared out the door, he hitched up his wrinkled slacks to the bulge of his gut and sauntered over to Bryce.

“Gonna visit the doc when she gets sent up?” he drawled. “After a few months of 24/7 with a bunch of broads, she might be happy to see you.”

Bryce walked away from him without bothering to reply, but he doubted Hank was right. After this was over, he’d never look good to Mari Bingham again.

“Where to, lady?”

Mari slumped against the seat of the taxi and gave the driver her home address. She had planned on returning to the clinic, but she was just too wrung out to deal with anyone else right now.

As they drove through the downtown area, she fixed her gaze on the passing scenery in order to keep her mind carefully blank of the day’s events. The cab passed the white clapboard building that housed the public library where she had studied with her friends back in high school, a couple of restaurants she’d eaten at more times than she could remember, The Cut ’n Curl, where she had gotten her first perm and a few bad haircuts, a clothing store and a run-down bar that had both seen better days. Scattered among the familiar downtown businesses were several empty storefronts with For Lease signs in their windows and a few pedestrians on the sidewalks.