Final Words

by Teri Thackston

  Hosken drew his hands out of his pockets and jabbed an index finger in Jason’s direction. “This is why I pulled you and Garcia off that case. You’re too close to it to think straight. I’m gonna cut you some slack, MacKenzie, because Tyrone Sharpe was your friend. But don’t you ever come at me like that again or I’ll have your badge. You got that?”

  “Yeah.” Jason fisted his hand in his hair. “I got it.”

  Turning, he brushed past Charlie and stomped out the door.

  * * * * *

  Emma nipped at her lower lip as she considered the entry in her appointment book. She was scheduled to see Paul at eleven o’clock. Since she’d heard what Graham Jones’ spirit had said yesterday, she dreaded facing the psychiatrist.

  Could the dead teenager’s claim be true? Could Paul Sanders be a killer? So far none of the spirits had been wrong about the manner in which each of them had died or about who was involved, so it must be true.

  Putting aside her appointment book, she drew a phone book from a lower desk drawer and began to page through the residential section. Paul was the only Sanders listed in Clear Harbor. Turning to the Yellow Pages, she looked under headings for psychiatrists and physicians. The only Dr. Sanders listed in Clear Harbor was her Paul Sanders.

  She closed the phone book. The idea of sitting across from him after what she’d heard unnerved her more than anything she’d encountered since her accident. Paul had access to people like Graham Jones every day. It made sense that he might have counseled the young man. But could he have murdered him?

  Picking up the telephone handset, she jabbed in Marta’s private number at the District Attorney’s office. After two rings, her friend answered, “Marta Zamora.”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Hello, Me.” A smile brightened Marta’s voice. “Talk fast. I’m due in court in ten minutes.”

  “Paul Sanders.” Emma hesitated. Marta needed to know that the suspects she sent to him for evaluation might be in danger. But she couldn’t blurt out an accusation with no proof. “How long have you been referring suspects to him?”

  “Several years. Why?”

  Emma fiddled with her paperclip holder. “You trust him?”

  “Of course. Listen, I hate to rush you but I’m on the clock. Talk faster.”

  “Has anyone ever registered a complaint against him?”

  “Sure. We get lots of complaints from folks he finds competent in spite of their efforts to appear incompetent. But people like that bitch about everyone in the system.”

  “What about the people he has found incompetent?”

  “No complaints that I know of. What’s this all about?”

  “I have another appointment with him this morning.”

  Marta hesitated before saying, “As you so politely informed me the other night, you don’t have to check in with me.”

  Guilt racked Emma. “I’m sorry, Marta. I was really rude to you and I—”

  “No, you were right. You’re an intelligent woman and you may have seen a side of Jason MacKenzie that I haven’t.” Marta paused again. “It’s just that you’re more than a friend to me. You’re like a sister. I can’t help worrying about you, Emma.”

  Emma needed to trust someone with her secret. What was happening went beyond her need for privacy and Marta would be the perfect confidante. But she couldn’t tell her over the phone. She needed to look her friend in the eye when she confessed that dead people were helping her solve their cases.

  “Can you meet me at Paul’s office at noon?” she asked before she could change her mind. “We can have lunch after my session. I need to—”

  “I wish I could but I’ll be lucky to grab a diet soda today. Looks like another late night too.” In the background, someone called Marta’s name. She answered that she was coming then quickly told Emma, “Listen, if it’s a matter of trust just follow your instincts. Paul can help you if you let him. And now I have to run. Call you later!”

  Emma drew breath to beg but Marta had already hung up. Her hand trembled as she hung up too.

  “She’s not available, is she?”

  Emma looked up with a start. Jason stood in the doorway. Excitement shot through her. They’d both been so busy that she hadn’t seen him since Amy’s autopsy.

  “No,” she said, remembering what Veronica Garcia had told her about Jason’s feelings for her. “No, she’s not.”

  “Maybe I could fill in for her. I happen to be free for lunch.”

  Rising, she stepped around the desk and approached him. In spite of her fears and worries about Paul, her temperature inched up with each step as if she approached a crackling bonfire. She wanted to walk right into that heat, to embrace it, to let it embrace her. The gleam in his eyes told her he felt the same. But there was something else in his manner too. An edge that the suspected had nothing to do with her.

  “We haven’t been able to hook up since the other night,” he said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Since that little girl’s autopsy.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back. “We’re a couple of busy people.”

  “We’ve both got rough schedules. Makes it kind of hard to finish…” the gleam in his eyes brightened, “a conversation.”

  “I have an appointment with Dr. Sanders in a few minutes,” she said, dragging her libido back in line with difficulty. She’d told Jason that she was seeing the psychiatrist but had never explained why. He probably assumed that it had something to do with what she’d told him at the beach house. He’d thought that she’d had a dream in the ER and that her subconscious mind had somehow pulled his sister into the memory of it. How would he react if she told him the whole story?

  “I could drop you off,” Jason offered. “Run a few errands and then pick you up again at noon. We’ll have lunch and…talk.”

  Emma realized that Jason was exactly the person she wanted by her side right now. He’d rescued her from Craig Potter near the docks and she found herself wanting him to rescue her again. There was something a little sexy about the idea. And she found that feeling sexy beat the pants off feeling scared.

  “Great.” She glanced at her watch. “Can we leave now?”

  “Sure.” He offered his arm. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  “Good morning, Emma.”

  In spite of the fact that Jason would be returning to pick her up, Emma’s flesh crawled as she faced Paul in his office a few minutes later.

  “I hope you’ve been sleeping better,” he said, walking around his desk toward her.

  Emma swayed back against the door. “Better. Yes.”

  “Sit down.” He beckoned her to join him at the chairs they usually sat in. “Tell me what you’ve been doing since our last session.”

  “Mostly paperwork.” She moved forward reluctantly. She didn’t want him to know that she’d worked on a boy who might be one of his victims the previous afternoon.

  He tugged at his trouser legs and sat down with her. “No more…visitations?”

  His hesitance helped her relax a little. He still didn’t believe that the spirits she saw were anything more than hallucinations, that the clues she found were more than coincidence. She had to make sure he continued to think that way.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Nothing has happened.”

  “What about your personal life? Have the police made any progress on your case?”

  “No. But that doesn’t bother me. I think of it as an accident more than an intentional act.”

  His lips tightened as he took out his pen. “People must be held accountable even for accidents.”

  A chill coursed down Emma’s spine. “Even if those people can’t help themselves?”

  “We’re all responsible for what we do, no matter what the circumstances.” He considered her quietly. “You know, Emma, that I can’t help you unless you’re completely honest with me.”

  Her pulse skipped and the backs of her knees went damp against the leather c
hair. “I have been honest.”

  “You’re tense today. Are you sure nothing has happened?”

  Concern for her filled his tone, his expression, his posture. Had she not heard the accusation of a dead teenager, she would have been certain that Paul Sanders offered only compassion to his patients. Not death.

  “Nothing,” she lied and then tried to hide behind a half-truth. “Except that I’ve started to explore a new relationship. He’s one of the detectives assigned to my case.”

  “Getting involved with a police officer brings a whole new set of considerations into a romantic equation.”

  “That’s right, so I’m taking it slowly.” Recognizing an opening to gain more information, she took it. “I imagine you spend a lot of time with law enforcement officials, what with the suspect evaluations that you do.”

  “Most of my time is spent with the District Attorney’s office and defense attorneys. But I occasionally consult with detectives in the course of evaluating their suspects.”

  “Do you find many suspects are incompetent to stand trial?”

  “No. Most people understand right from wrong. That’s the primary criteria. But there are some who simply cannot stay within the boundaries of the law because they can’t reason where those boundaries lie. Because of that, they escape justice. Or rather, they are sentenced to a different kind of justice.” He smiled. “But don’t let me climb on my soapbox, Emma, or we’ll waste your entire session.”

  “That’s all right.” She needed to know more, needed to get inside his head as he’d been getting inside hers for the past few weeks. “I know I get frustrated when I work on someone with a criminal past who’s been bounced around because the system didn’t know what to do with him.”

  “Society demands some level of punishment even for those not competent to stand trial.” He leaned toward her and spoke with an earnestness that made her flesh crawl again. “A young man with the mind of a child should not be excused for robbing vagrants simply because he doesn’t realize that his actions are criminal. He can’t be freed to commit more crimes nor should society have to support him in a hospital environment forever.”

  Thinking of Graham Jones, Emma hugged her arms over her stomach. “Justice must be served, no matter the circumstances?”

  “Surely, having autopsied so many victims of crime, you feel the same? If a criminal doesn’t receive the appropriate punishment, how can the victim receive the appropriate justice?”

  “You make a good point,” she said quietly.

  “But it’s time we talked about you,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

  Emma tried to remain cool for the rest of the session and to convince Paul that she’d accepted her experiences in the morgue as hallucination or coincidence. For him to know that she was capable of unmasking him could be dangerous for her. But by the time Paul’s mantle clock chimed the noon hour, the effort of maintaining her composure while she told one lie after another left her drained.

  Paul stood up. “Emma, if you’re worried about this new relationship, I’ll be more than happy to discuss it with you.”

  “Maybe another time.” Uncomfortable with him standing over her, Emma surged to her feet and promptly lost her balance.

  Paul shot out both hands to steady her and she recoiled from his touch. His eyes darkened and she thought for a moment that he could see the fear burrowing deep inside her. He was perceptive. He had to be to function as an effective counselor.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “My leg went to sleep.” She forced herself to shake his hand even though every cell in her body screamed for her to pull away. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “I’m leaving Friday for a weekend conference in Dallas and won’t be back until Monday night.” He followed her to the door. “But if you need to talk in the meantime, please feel free to page me. You have my pager number, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She opened the door, made herself pause and turn to smile up at him in spite of the panic that still threatened to erupt. “Thanks for all your help.”

  “I’m happy to do it.” Gripping the edge of the door, he leaned over her shoulder. “Remember, you’re not in this alone. I will do whatever I have to do to help you get through this.”

  For an instant, she wanted to believe that he was nothing more than a caring, competent psychiatrist. But then something in his eyes—something flat and empty—shook her again. This time to her core.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say before turning to walk away on feet that wanted to run and keep running.

  “Rough session?” Jason asked as Emma got into the Mustang and closed the door.

  “A little, yes.”

  She fastened her seat belt and then settled her hands in her lap. Her fingers, he noted, wound tightly around her purse strap.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked.

  She hesitated before shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “I have nice wide shoulders. Perfect for leaning on.”

  A weak smile flickered over her face. “I’ve noticed. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet with anyone but Dr. Sanders.”

  “I understand.” He pulled out into the noon traffic, disappointed that she wouldn’t confide in him but respecting her privacy. “Whatever’s bothering you, I’m sure he can help.”

  Emma glanced at him and he noticed her smile had vanished again. “Do you know Dr. Sanders?”

  “Only by reputation. He’s counseled a few cops, helped ’em deal with things.” He eased the Mustang through a yellow light. “Too bad he couldn’t help Ty.”

  “Ty?”

  Jason tightened his hands on the steering wheel. After seeing how tense she was, he’d abandoned his plan to question her about Ty’s case. She probably didn’t know anything anyway, since Edgar Powell had promised Chief Hosken that he would handle Tyrone’s body personally.

  “Tyrone Sharpe was another detective friend of mine. He died a few months ago.

  “He was seeing Dr. Sanders?”

  “Tyrone had emotional problems,” he explained. “Sanders tried to help him with counseling. But before they could make any headway, Tyron was killed while working an off-duty job.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jason. Did you find out who killed him?”

  “Not yet.” That failure jabbed his gut like two bony fingers and he knew that dragging Ty’s body out of the grave wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

  Emma leaned toward him. “Jason?”

  Glancing over, seeing her concern, he shrugged. “It just seems that I can solve every case but the ones that are really important to me. Maybe I should see the good doctor, myself.”

  “No!”

  Looking over at her sharp response, he saw that she’d gone pale. “Emma…”

  “You don’t need a psychiatrist.” She lightened her voice. “Besides, you’ve got me to talk to, right?”

  “Right.” Stopping at a traffic light, he forced a smile. “Well, now that we’re both equally depressed, let’s have lunch, okay?”

  Emma nodded and some of the color came back into her face. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  * * * * *

  Emma hadn’t expected a picnic in the park down the street from her office. Pizza topped with chicken and Alfredo sauce tasted great when eaten on a blanket in the shade of an expansive oak tree. It tasted even better because she was sharing the meal and the surroundings with Jason.

  “I can’t believe you made this,” she said after she swallowed another bite of the scrumptious pizza. The creamy sauce lingered on the middle of her tongue.

  “You continue to doubt my cooking ability?” Sitting cross-legged beside her, Jason reached for another narrow slice of pizza. “You want to come back to the house and look at my dirty kitchen? I’ll even let you scrub the Alfredo sauce out of the pan.”

  Emma smiled at a mental image of Jason, shirt-sleeves rolled back, up to his elbows in a sink full of soapy dishwater.

  “Oh, I don
’t doubt that you can cook,” she said. “I just can’t believe you put all this together during the hour I was with Dr. Sanders.”

  “I’d cooked the chicken last night and had it in the fridge. Same for the pizza crust. The tricky part was the sauce.” Tilting his head back, he lowered the point of his slice into his mouth.

  “Isn’t it always,” Emma murmured, fascinated by the cords in the column of his neck. A man’s sternocleidomastoid had never looked so intriguing. Her fingertips tingled as she considered how that muscle would feel if she were to reach out and touch it now. It would feel tight and yet supple. His skin would be warm in spite of the shade that shielded them from the summer sun. Warm skin—hot even—and slightly moist.

  She blinked, blushing when she realized he’d caught her staring.

  “Emma, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to get hungry for something more than pizza.”

  The huskiness in his voice revealed that he was already feeling that other hunger. The same hunger that stirred inside her when she locked her eyes with his.

  Emma lowered what was left of her own slice onto the plate in front of her. Resting her hands on her knees, she continued to hold his gaze. “A few nights ago—the night we saw Alan and that woman in the bar—I was ready to tell you that I wasn’t interested in you.”

  His eyes darkened. “And now?”

  “After that kiss on the beach and again at the party the other night…” She took a cleansing breath but it didn’t smooth out the jumble of nerves that had replaced her stomach. “I’ve still got some things to work through but… I think I—”

  The ringing of his cell phone cut her off. Scowling, Jason pulled the offending phone off his belt and looked at the caller ID. “Damn it. I’ve got to take this.”

  As he flipped open the phone, Emma took another deep breath. But it didn’t slow her racing heart. What had she been about to say? She wasn’t sure even now what words would have come out of her mouth or where they would have led her.

  “Yeah, Charlie, I’ll be right there.” He closed his phone and looked at Emma. Regret darkened his eyes. “I’ve got to go. Robbery in progress. Charlie’s already on the scene. I’m sorry.”