The Secret Lives of Doctors' Wives

Yolie’s security company had phoned her and said the alarm was going off. When they’d checked it out, the kitchen door had been unlocked, but shut. Oddly, Lula had been locked in an upstairs bathroom without food or water, barking her head off. When Rosie had gone up to let her out, Yolie’s favorite pink bath mat had been nothing but bits of rubber and pink fuzz.

Other than that, there had been no signs of an intruder. Nor had any valuables been missing.

So, who had unlocked the door and set off the alarm? Who had locked Lula upstairs? Lula had a bad habit of biting postmen and pool men, but she’d let herself be locked in the bathroom without shedding so much as a drop of blood on the white wall-to-wall carpet.

“Shit happens,” the security guy had said, as if that explained it. “Or you have a mystery intruder. Somebody who’s got a key. Somebody your doggie knows. Or you’ve got a glitch in your system somewhere.”

“Check the system,” Yolie had said.

“I’m so scared, Ms. Castle,” Jennifer whispered now, cutting into Rosie’s thoughts.

Me, too, Rosie thought.

She wound her way down the parking garage ramp and soon was speeding west on Martin Luther King, Jr.

“The house is so big and dark…And there’s all these spooky sounds. I’ve been hearing them ever since Yolie put the garage door down and drove away.”

“Then call 911! I’ll be there as fast as I can, but I’m at least ten minutes away!”

Oh, why hadn’t Yolie installed cameras?

The break-in had seemed so insignificant. It was odd how the small moments and the casual decisions could turn out to be the most important ones of all.

What if…Rosie simply hadn’t gone to Pierce’s tonight?

She forced herself to concentrate on her driving and getting home safely so she could find Alexis. Darling precious Alexis.

Alexis had to be all right.

A distant light switched from green to yellow to red.

Rosie slowed, looked both ways; then she stomped down hard on the gas pedal. She prayed that Michael wasn’t nearby in his radio car, ready to pounce again, like he had that night a year ago when she’d seen Pierce jogging and had decided it was time to confront him about the rent.

No sign of a radio car.

Rosie shot through the light.

Michael was worrying over his report in his unmarked four-door Crown Vic in front of Carver’s mansion.

The scene, the punks, the victim, all felt wrong. Why? What was he missing?

Keith was leaning back in the passenger seat smoking while Michael went over the facts one last time. Suddenly they caught a call about a missing little girl on their radio.

The name Alexis Castle meant nothing to Michael. The name Rose Marie Castle charged through him in a soul-searing bolt.

Castle. His old girlfriend, Rosie. Carver’s girlfriend, too.

Her grandkid missing tonight? That was a helluva coincidence. What was going on? He had to make sure Rosie and the kid were okay.

“We’re not taking another damn call.” Keith’s eyes flashed in the dark as he sent a smoke ring toward the ceiling.

“The grandmother’s the victim’s ex-girlfriend.”

“Shit.” Keith blew another smoke ring and settled back in his seat.

Michael was glad Keith decided to give him the silent treatment instead of pumping him with questions. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss Rosie, whom he had no desire to see ever again.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her.

A year ago, Michael had caught her on the rebound from a bad relationship with the dead man. And damn it, as always, they’d ended up in bed.

So what else was new? He’d been her first back in high school, but then she’d dumped him, married, had a kid. Not that his own life had been any less complicated. Last year when he’d run into Rosie, he’d been separated from his wife, Marie.

Funny that her name was Rosie’s middle name.

Not so funny.

Michael’s mouth thinned at the memory of Rosie’s long, honey-gold legs wrapped around his on that hellishly hot Sunday, the morning after. They’d cuddled all night long, but come morning, she’d turned on him.

Why was it that, with a little alcohol on board, two former lovers feeling the need for a little TLC could take up right where they’d left off?

It had been a pretty amazing night. He might have been well on his way to falling in love with her again, but the next morning she’d taken one look at his black head on her pillow and had started throwing things at him—first his shirt, then his jeans and then his boots. When she’d gone for the lamp and handcuffs, he’d locked himself in the bathroom.

Good thing, too. She’d smashed the lamp against the door. Next, he’d heard the handcuffs bounce off the wall. Then she’d run just like before, screaming, “You ruined my life—all over again!”

What the hell had that meant? She’d run out on him after high school. He’d called her a few times, but she’d always hung up on him.

When his wife had finally called him back, he’d stupidly confessed about Rosie, and that had been the final straw for Marie. Since their divorce, he’d been lonely as hell.

So, now Rosie’s granddaughter was missing.

He hoped to hell Rosie wasn’t connected to this murder. Or that the kid wasn’t in the hands of whoever had cut Carver up.

Just the thought and his palms began to sweat. Gut instinct told him to get over there fast.

Without so much as a glance toward his silent partner, Michael started the ignition.

As he drove, he thought about the missing kid. When his marriage hadn’t worked out, he’d been glad Marie and he hadn’t had children. Still, deep down, not having them was one of life’s big disappointments.

What if Rosie’s granddaughter’s life depended on somebody who gave a damn making the right decision?

Hell.

When he stepped on the gas, Keith swore viciously and flicked his cigarette lighter.

Three

The large windows of Yolie’s mansion threw long bright rectangles of yellow out onto the dark lawn as Rosie pulled up. Red and blue lights blinking, cop cars were everywhere.

Alexis, please…Please be okay, baby.

Rosie parked the Beamer in the driveway, got out and ran stumbling up the dark sidewalk. Besides the radio cars, several cars she’d never seen before were parked on the narrow street in front of the house. Dark, shadowy figures moved about near the brilliantly lit pool house and pool.

Expecting the worst inside, she struggled with her keys and pushed the big door open.

“Jennifer?”

Her coppery curls bouncing and her blue eyes as bright as lasers in her olive-toned face, Alexis got up from the television set and hurled herself into her grandmother’s arms, nearly knocking her down.

“You didn’t come home when you said, Mimi!”

Rosie swallowed guiltily and tried not to think about why.

“So, I went to your bed! I crawled under the covers with Lula on top so I could hide and surprise you! I guess I fell asleep, and I didn’t hear Jennifer when she called me! So, guess what? She called the nice policeman! But don’t give me a time-out! Please don’t!”

Rosie pressed the slim child close and drank in the musky fragrances of unwashed little girl, sweaty curls and peppermint breath. Her nose was running, too.

“You’re okay? You’re really okay! Oh, honey…” Relief flooded Rosie as she searched her purse for a tissue. Finally. Something good had happened since she’d turned forty.

“You’re squeezing me, Mimi!”

As she hugged Alexis even closer, Rosie slowly became aware of the tall, dark, lean-hipped man writing something on a notepad.

The police! She was in no shape to deal with them. When he strode into the living room and stood over her, tingles of alarm coursed through her. Then her gaze climbed a pair of long muscular legs encased in rumpled black slacks.

Familiar long muscular legs.

For no reason at all she remembered the furious rattle of palm fronds, the sound of a Mexican xylophone, the salty air that smelled of the sea…and the sting of hot skin from that awful sunburn she’d gotten from lying on the beach in the shade too long with Michael.

It couldn’t be him…Not Michael Nash!

Michael wore a brown sport coat that needed an iron. His tie had been yanked loose at his throat. There were shadows under his long-lashed, dark eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d fast-talked and fast-kissed and fast-petted her into riding off on the back of his motorcycle to Veracruz, Mexico, the day after they’d graduated from high school.

Michael. He had a tattoo of a cute little palm tree on his chest over his heart, which matched the one she had over her left breast. Thank God they were both clothed.

With a low moan, she stood up slowly and blew out a mortified breath. She’d dressed in such a hurry at Pierce’s and then at the hospital again that she was sure she looked even more of a mess than Michael did.

Michael turned off the TV and shot her his famous football star grin that back in high school had made all the cheerleaders want to sleep with him. Okay, obviously she’d gone for it, too.

Alexis must’ve fallen for the smile because she ran over to him and lowered her lashes much too fetchingly for Rosie’s peace of mind. And she was all of five.

Oh, my God!

Rosie watched in horror as he knelt. Oh, how she hated how infinitely gentle his voice was when he spoke to the little girl. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Alexis nodded up at him. Holding her blue blanket, she twisted it to and fro shyly.

“Of all the cops in this city—you had to be the one to come.” Rosie ran her hands through her wildly tangled hair. Then she snapped, “Alexis, it’s time for bed!”

The child put her hands on her hips. Her jaw squared mulishly. “I’m not sleepy.”

“I thought you were a homicide detective,” Rosie said to Michael.

“So you remember?” His grin twisted. “I like it that you paid attention. Your babysitter called 911. I heard your name.”

“So you volunteered?”

His eyes darkened, and she felt a little scared.

“Something like that.” He lowered his voice, but not before she caught the edge in it. “Fond memories.”

Why did he look so serious? Why was he studying her so intently with those cop’s eyes of his? As if she’d committed a crime?

She tried not to think about Pierce. “Aren’t there enough bad guys to keep you busy?”

“Maybe I prefer bad girls.”

“I’m a good witch,” Alexis said, and batted her lashes at him.

“Yes, you are, darling,” Rosie agreed, glad of the distraction. “The best little witch ever to ride a broom with her very own Blue Binkie. But it’s time for all good witches to go to bed.”

As Michael continued to watch Rosie, his grin made her feel feverish and anxious.

She was forty, for heaven’s sake. A grown-up. A grandmother. She was too old to get the chills because of him, of all people.

Michael shifted so that he faced her. She grew even warier of his penetrating gaze.

“I thought cops were supposed to be doughnut addicts with weight problems. When are you going to get fat and old?”

“You look good, too, Rosie. So good, you make me remember palm trees and…that night last year.”

She flushed. “Don’t!”

He grinned. “What are you—forty?”

She lifted her chin. “Don’t remind me.”

“Palm trees?” Alexis whispered eagerly. “Can we go to the beach, Mimi? I love the beach.”

“Hush.” She had to get Alexis to bed and Michael out of here fast before he grew bossy or inquisitive, or her hormones started acting up.

“I’ve got some guys outside making sure everything is all right,” he said, in that deep, oddly tense, authoritative tone she’d never liked. “They walked Jennifer home. I stayed inside watching cartoons with Alexis to wait for you.”

He glanced at his watch and then at her again. Maybe it was just her, but she thought his detective eyes glinted suspiciously. “So, where were you…so late?”

“There was an emergency. I’m a nurse. I—I had to go in to work,” she said, finger-combing her hair as he continued to watch her, still in that too-assessing way of his.

“Your babysitter seemed to be expecting you much earlier. I think Alexis and she got nervous…”

“Jennifer knew I had to work.” Rosie felt herself flushing guiltily. Then she bristled. What business was it of his? For a second or two she considered telling him about the break-in two days ago, but that would only prolong the encounter.

She glanced pointedly toward the door. “Well, Alexis is safe and sound now, so, again, thank you.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t budge. Not even when Alexis rubbed her eyes again.

“Look, I really do need to get her to bed,” Rosie said desperately. “You know the way out.”

He was still watching her in that way that so unnerved her when he said, “I called the hospital, and your supervisor said you were off all day and that you came in briefly around twelve-thirty…and that—”

Because of her fear and guilt, Rosie’s temper blazed out of control. She felt her face grow hot. But instead of saying anything, she took Alexis’s hand and hurried her upstairs. But as she ran, she was aware of him standing there, not moving, his keen gaze burning into her back.

In her bathroom, she strained her ears trying to hear the door close behind him. When she thought she’d heard it, she tried to forget him.

Not a chance of that! Not when Alexis turned to her, bright-eyed and curious. “Are you in love with him, Mimi?”

“What?”

“Are you?”

When she shook her head, Alexis, who was clearly in the midst of her first crush, smiled and then gushed in a confidential tone, “Good. Because I am.”

Oh, God…Unwanted memories swamped Rosie—her arms laced around Michael’s young, lean back as they roared toward Mexico, the wind gusting against their skin; his long naked body on top of hers at that secluded beach with the palms after he’d taken her virginity. Last of all she remembered the compassion in his eyes as she’d poured her heart out to him in that bar last year after he’d ticketed her. When she’d finished talking, she’d leaned across the table and kissed him as if he were the only person in her whole life who’d ever really mattered. His answering kiss had been equally tender and hot and all-consuming.

Nobody else had ever made her feel as if she was the only one.

Rosie yanked the brush through Alexis’s hair and then washed her face, but she was too tired and upset to bathe her.

“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, after a night’s sleep, we’ll bathe together,” she said, forcing a bright smile.

Alexis set Blue Binkie on the counter and squirted a blob of jewel-blue toothpaste on her brush, and for once didn’t argue, so Rosie got to splash cold water on her own face in relative peace.

“I want to sleep with you,” Alexis said when they were finished.

“Yes, I’d like that, too.” Rosie wiped a bit of shiny blue off the corner of Alexis’s mouth. “We’ll have our very own slumber party.” How Rosie had longed for such closeness to Carmen, Alexis’s mother, when Carmen had been young. But it hadn’t happened back then, and it still hadn’t happened.

Someday.

When they closed the bedroom door, Rosie gently tucked the little girl, Blue Binkie, several books that she demanded, and three of her favorite stuffed animals under the covers of her king-size bed. When Alexis rolled over, hugging her blanket and shutting her eyes, Rosie tiptoed downstairs, intending to turn the lights out, lock up and set the alarm.

Instead, she nearly screamed when she saw Michael sprawled on the couch, writing in his little notebook.

“I thought you’d left.”

He looked up, his eyes hard with suspicion.

“Cute kid,” he said, forcing a mildness in his low tone. “Real cute. Reminds me of you. I envy you. I never had kids.”

Quickly, she glanced at him and at her family pictures right behind him, and then away. Had he looked at them?

Deep breath. Deep breath.

“You have to go,” she said. “Now.”

“Why the hell are you so afraid of me?”

“Who’s afraid? I was just worried Alexis might wake up and get scared.”

“There’s no need to be afraid of me, you know.”

“Right. I’m not.”

“Besides, I thought we kind of clicked again last year.”

At the reminder, a ripple of tension raced down her spine. Maybe if she went on the attack, he would leave.

“Look, I was going through a rough time last year. You were pushy as hell. You took advantage. I made up my mind a long time ago…that you and I…weren’t right for each other.”

He slammed his notebook aside and sat up straighter. “Oh, right, blame me for what happened. Revenge fantasies cause you to chase your old boyfriend down with your Beamer, and then when I ticket you and prevent you from doing murder or whatever you intended, you reach under the table and grab—”

“Okay! I don’t need a replay!”

“What was I—a revenge fuck?”

“Oh…! Is that what you told everybody you know—that I threw myself at you?”

“It damn sure would have been the truth. What about the revenge part? Is that why you did it?”

She marched toward him, intending to pound his wide chest. But as soon as she entered his space, she grew jittery and halted. Suddenly she was too afraid of his power and her own vulnerability after all that had happened tonight. Besides, anytime she saw him, guilt about the past swept her.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry I said that. And about what happened last year, I was a self-serving…er, pushy jerk…To let you feel me up right there in the bar. And then to kiss you back when you kissed me.”

Just when her blood came to a rolling boil again, he paused.

“To let me?”

“Rosie, be fair. The sex was your idea. You knew how easy it was for you to stir me up in high school,” he stated. “And you’d learned a lot since then. I was going through a rough patch with my wife, too.”

“Your wife? You…you dog! I can’t believe this!” Oh, yes, yes she could. After tonight, she could believe anything. Men were scum. “You were married?”

“Was.”

This was bad.

She gulped in a breath, almost strangling. She knew she should drop it, but she couldn’t. “You should’ve stopped at that first kiss—or at least by the second.”

“So should you. The truth is, you sort of pushed, too. I mean, your hands were doing all those things under the table.”

“But you were married.”

“Not anymore—thanks to you.”

“What? You’re blaming me? Oh…!”

“When Marie and I were making up, I’m afraid I told her about us.”

“Marie? Her name’s Marie, too? And what’s this us? There is, I mean was, no us.”

“I tried to explain that to her. Stupidly, I thought I should try to be honest when we started over.”

“And you were dumb enough to tell her about us?”

“Us. There! You said it, too!”

Images of what she’d done with Michael sprang into vivid color in her imagination. This was a nightmare. She couldn’t believe Michael had turned up the same night she’d seen Pierce again.

“How much did you tell her?”

“Too much.”

Everything. He’d told his wife everything!

Why had she picked Michael to sleep with instead of some stranger? The point had been to reassure herself she was still even capable of sex after the number Pierce had done on her. Period. She’d wanted no attachments. Who better than a man she knew she had to be done with?

Strangely, the sex with Michael had quickly become a compulsion. After a kiss or two, she couldn’t have stopped had her life depended on it. He’d made her feel too damned attractive, and she’d craved that after the way Pierce had discarded her.

A minute passed, and then another. The silence between them grew thick and heavy. Michael’s eyes were so intense they were giving her a bad case of the chills.

“Last year you were so upset with that doctor, you wanted to kill him,” he murmured. “You over the bastard yet?”

The question caught her off guard, and she spoke too abruptly and too defensively. “Yes!”

He was watching her eyes, reading her. “Ever see him?”

“No!” She forced herself to look Michael squarely in the eye.

“Ever talk to him?”

“No!” Her heart raced. But why was Michael probing so hard?

After a long moment of scrutinizing her, Michael’s hard face relaxed again, and she decided maybe she’d pulled it off.

“Good,” he said, his tone oddly controlled.

“Officer Nash, it’s late,” she stated.

“Michael,” he murmured.

She went to the front door and opened it. She smiled when he grabbed his notebook and got up.

He glanced around. Fortunately, the family photos didn’t seem to attract his attention. But he’d had a lot of time alone with them in the den. Still, he had no reason to be suspicious. But if he looked at Carmen’s pictures too closely…

“Nice house. Nice couch. And the pool. The pool’s great. You always did like to swim. I remember when we ran away together, how you wanted to go to that beach with all the palms and skinny-dip.”

She tensed again but said nothing.

“What about your art? You still draw everything you see?”

She shook her head.

“That’s too bad. You were good. I remember how you wanted to be a famous artist.”

His comment made her feel wistful. As a kid she’d seen her art as a way out of East Austin and the deadend kind of life Hazel had led, just as Michael had seen playing college football as his ticket to success. Both of them had been through so much. First they’d blamed each other for their fathers’ tragedy. Only with time had he seen that her pain was as great as his, and their mutual pain had caused them to form a bond. Then she’d gotten pregnant and made her decision.

Rosie felt the stirring of a vague, nostalgic longing. For what? It wasn’t as if things could have ever worked out between them.

She’d done what she’d thought best, and now they both, him unwittingly, had to live with the consequences. Period. There was no going back.

Unable to read her mind, he grinned and changed tack. “I notice this house belongs to one of your ex-fiancé’s ex-wives, Yolie Carver. The fast-food taco queen.”

He’d emphasized the name Carver, and Rosie tensed again.

“You’re not living with her just to cozy up to his family? You’re not still stalking…” His eyes darkened.

“You were leaving,” she reminded him, shakily. “Little girl found. Case closed.” She tried to make her voice light.

“Right. Just curious. You always did want to live high, princess.”

“Is that a crime?”

“Some things never change, I guess. Is that what you have against me? That I’m a cop? That I can’t afford a house like this? If you weren’t out for revenge, is that why you could bed me, but then be so anxious to get rid of me—”

“Why did you give up being a big pro football star?”

“You mean why’d I quit, just when I was set to rake in millions?”

“To become a cop?”

“You think I was a fool?”

“I didn’t say that.”

His daddy had been a cop. And he’d said he’d hated his daddy. Maybe being a cop was a calling.

Michael had moved up the ranks fast. She wondered if it was because he was good or because he knew the right people. Or because he was on the take like his daddy. Or maybe he felt he had to live down what his daddy had done.

“Why are you so damn set against me?” he demanded.

“Look, I don’t need this,” she whispered.

He pitched a business card onto Yolie’s gleaming coffee table.