Final Words

by Teri Thackston

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  “You’ll end your sessions with him?”

  Her brow furrowed. “That might look suspicious.”

  “You’re right. But I’m going to those sessions with you from now on.”

  The lines in her forehead disappeared. Her eyes sparkled. “My hero.”

  “You bet!”

  Tossing the towel aside, Emma draped her arms around him and snuggled close again. Her breath warmed the flesh that covered the base of his throat even as her naked body scorched his.

  “You know, my hero, we might be more comfortable on the bed,” she murmured.

  Feeling the tip of her tongue against his skin, he closed his eyes. “The rug suits me fine,” he answered, burying his face in her hair once more.

  * * * * *

  Emma felt no trace of guilt as she parked outside Paul Sanders’ office building the next morning. She hadn’t really lied to Jason when she’d said she’d stay away from Paul because Paul was in Dallas. His secretary was just leaving for her regular noon aerobic workout and the office would be empty for an hour. In less time than that, Emma hoped to find enough evidence for Jason to arrest Paul and for Marta to put him away.

  She waited until Pamela Ives drove away and then got out of her car. Hurrying across the parking lot and into the building, she thought back to her late-night phone call with Marta. Her friend had called to make sure Emma was all right. To Emma’s surprise, Marta had actually seemed pleased to learn that Jason was still there. So pleased, in fact, that she hadn’t even questioned Emma regarding her earlier statement about Paul. Emma was glad because she didn’t want to involve Marta too soon. First, she wanted to gather some evidence of her own.

  Rounding the corner leading to Paul’s office suite, Emma found the elevator lobby deserted. Quickly, she shoved her credit card into the space above the latch of the outer office door. After the two of them had imbibed too much wine one night shortly after Emma had left Alan, Marta had taught her the skill. She’d picked it up during her early years of associating with criminals.

  Criminals like Alan, Emma thought, shaking her head. After his arrest, he’d confessed to everything. He’d been determined to get Emma back because he had lost all his money in a bad real estate venture. With him, their relationship hadn’t meant more than money for a long time.

  Putting aside painful thoughts, Emma focused on the task at hand. She heard the latch click. The door fell open. Heart pounding, she slipped inside and looked around. Bookcases, sofa, desk and plants. No file cabinets in the outer office.

  Clutching her credit card so hard that it dug into her palm, she walked into Paul’s office. Windows behind his desk let plenty of sunlight into the room so she didn’t need to turn on a light. She walked to the two-drawer lateral file behind his desk, grabbed the handle of the top drawer and tugged. Locked. Frowning, she faced Paul’s desk. It too, was locked.

  Time ticked by. Returning to the reception area, she looked around until she spied a small crystal jar peeking from under the leaves of an ivy that perched on one corner of Pamela’s desk. Inside the jar lay a ring holding two silver keys. Grabbing it, she ran back into Paul’s office and quickly opened the top file drawer. Reaching inside her pocket, she pulled out the list of autopsies that she and Jason had matched with police files and she went to work.

  “William Barcus,” she murmured, locating the man’s file. Inside it lay appointment and payment records along with neatly typed transcripts of sessions Barcus had spent with Paul. At the front of the folder was a letter to Marta Zamora explaining Paul’s professional opinion of Barcus’ unfitness to stand trial. “Cannot clearly differentiate wrong from right,” it read.

  Closing the file, Emma began looking for other names on her list. After finding two more, she was struck by something odd. A small blue cross had been stamped on the inner cover of each file. Puzzled, she chose a file with a name that wasn’t on her list. The inside cover was blank.

  Emma opened a second and third folder from patients that weren’t on her list. Neither bore a blue cross. On the fourth file, labeled Kay Ashton, Emma found the emblem again.

  She scanned her list but found no such person. Grabbing a pen off Paul’s desk, she made note of the name and then began to check every folder in the drawer. She found three more that contained blue crosses. Two of the names matched her list and one did not. Returning the last file to the drawer, she reached for the next one but stopped when she heard the distant rattle of a doorknob.

  Emma froze. The sound had come from the reception area. Holding her breath, she eased the file drawer closed, locked it and grabbed the keys and her list. Just as the outer office door opened, she slipped behind the heavy drapes near the seating area where she and Paul usually met. Footsteps crossed the oak floor of the reception area and then became muffled on the thick carpet inside Paul’s office.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins. The sun at her back pulled sweat from her body, sending it trickling down her spine. She could smell the bitterness rising from under her arms.

  Spying movement out of the corner of one eye, she shifted her gaze. She could just see a faint reflection in the window behind the file cabinet and her heart nearly stopped. Paul. But he was supposed to be in Dallas until that evening.

  Unlocking the file cabinet, he opened the bottom drawer. Selecting a file, he pulled it out and opened it. Keys jingled as he pressed an object hanging from his key ring against the inner cover of the folder. Then, tucking his keys back into his pocket, he lifted his gaze to the window.

  Emma just stopped herself from jerking back. Although the drapes hid her, her reflection was caught in the window too. The slightest movement would draw his attention.

  The sweat she’d excreted before was nothing compared to what flowed out of her now. Even considering her recent ghostly experiences, she’d never been so frightened in her life. She could just make out the glimmer of his teeth as he studied his reflection. Lifting one hand, he straightened his tie and then pushed his fingers through his thinning hair, smoothing down the gray strands. He angled his head as if studying his face for a moment. Finally, he put the folder back into the drawer. He closed the drawer, locked the cabinet and turned away. Seconds later, Emma heard footsteps retreat across the carpet. They tapped against the oak floor of the reception area and then the outer office door clicked closed.

  Easing the drapes aside, Emma walked out on trembling legs. Instinct screamed for her to run away in case he returned but she needed to know why he’d crept into his own office when he was supposed to be out of town.

  The keys jingled in her shaking hand as she unlocked the cabinet again and opened the bottom drawer. She scanned the files but couldn’t tell which one he’d taken out. Then she spotted a familiar name on a file that seemed just a little crooked. Emma pulled out the file and the sweat on her body ran cold. Layne Simmons.

  She opened the folder. A bright blue cross shimmered inside the front cover, the ink still damp enough to have cast its image on a letter inside. Emma knew then that the object Paul kept on his key ring had been a stamp. Looking at the letter, she saw that it was dated recently and addressed to a captain at the Houston Police Department.

  “I consider Detective Simmons not only unfit for duty,” it read. “But a danger to the community she has pledged to serve. She is inclined to put herself in deadly situations with little regard for her own safety or for the safety of others and should be handled with care.”

  Handled to death, is what you really mean.

  She fingered through the file tabs, looking for her own patient file. It wasn’t there.

  Emma glanced at her watch. Twelve-twenty. To be safe, she had about thirty minutes to finish before Pamela Ives returned. Replacing Layne’s file in the drawer, she picked up where she’d left off.

  * * * * *

  Jason frowned as he stood in the doorway of Emma’s empty office. Looking up, he saw her assistant striding up the corridor, a plast
ic-wrapped sandwich in one hand and a soda can in the other.

  “Hey, Detective MacKenzie,” Skitch said. “Dr. St. Clair ran out to grab some lunch but she should be back soon.”

  Jason tucked his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “I was hoping to take her to lunch, myself.”

  Skitch grinned and popped the top on his soda can. “You two are becoming quite a thing, huh?”

  Warmth coiled in the pit of his stomach. “Is that the story going around?”

  “It can be. You want a rumor started, I’m your— Oh, hey, there she is.”

  Jason looked up to see Emma step off the distant elevator. His heartbeat immediately quickened at the sight of her.

  “Don’t trust Skitch to get the details right,” she warned as she approached the two men, her gaze locked with Jason’s. “He likes to embellish a bit.”

  Skitch held his sandwich against his chest, just above his heart. “I confess. Making up tales is one of my great joys.”

  “That and stuffing your face.” Catching Jason’s arm, Emma tugged him into her office. “See you later, Skitch.”

  She closed the door and Jason didn’t wait another second. He pulled Emma into his arms and gave her the kiss he’d been thinking about all morning.

  “Well,” she said when he finally released her. “Hello.”

  “I missed you.” He kept his arms around her, pleased by the slightly dazzled look in her eyes. “I came by to take you to lunch but Skitch told me you’d already gone. Did you meet Marta again? I know she planned to call you once she knew anything more about your ex-husband’s case.”

  “No, I haven’t talked to Marta.” Her gaze dropped to the top button on his shirt and her face grew pink. “I went alone.”

  Her blush roused his suspicions. “You had lunch alone?”

  “Yes. Well. I…didn’t really have lunch.”

  He knew suddenly what she’d done and felt as if he’d been gut-punched. “Emma, you promised you wouldn’t see Sanders without me.”

  “I didn’t see him. Not exactly.” Lifting her hands, she began to toy with one of his shirt buttons. “I thought he was out of town, so I waited for his secretary to go to her aerobics class and then I sort of…broke into his office.”

  Catching her chin in one hand, Jason tilted her head back. Moist and dark, her eyes revealed her guilt. “You little fool.”

  She stiffened in his embrace. “Maybe I am but I learned the names of other possible victims. And, Jason—”

  “Whatever you found was illegally obtained.” Releasing her abruptly, he retreated a step, not wanting her to feel how badly he was shaking. Didn’t she realize the man could have killed her? “I can’t use it.”

  “You could say you got an anonymous tip. You have to check out these names. One of them… Jason, it was Layne Simmons.”

  A chill swept him. “What?”

  “Layne was seeing Paul. As a patient. I think he killed her today.”

  He shook his head. “Layne isn’t dead.”

  Emma placed her open palms against his chest. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

  “It’s been a few days but I figured she just went home.”

  “Her file was marked with a small blue cross. The other files I found marked that way matched some of the names on my list. I think he kept track of his victims that way.”

  He stared at her. “I ought to throw you in jail for breaking and entering. Then at least I’d know you were safe.”

  “No one knows I was there. I thought Paul might have seen me when he—”

  Pure alarm skittered through him now. “You said he was out of town.”

  Guilt flushed her cheeks. “He was supposed to be. But he showed up while I was in his office. I hid behind the drapes.”

  “Emma!”

  “He didn’t see me.” She pulled the list from her jacket pocket. “Look. These names that we connected to him were in his files. All the matches had small blue crosses stamped on the inside covers. I found other names with crosses in his files that aren’t on my list. According to his session notes, they were all criminal suspects.”

  “He could have caught you.” The urge to hold her, to keep her safe nearly overwhelmed him. “Emma, if he is a killer—”

  “I know, I know.” Stepping close to him, she leaned her forehead against his chest. “He could have killed me too.”

  Jason surrounded her with his arms and he felt her trembling. “Emma.”

  “Please help me run down these other names,” she murmured, her breath warm through his shirt. “Please.”

  Feeling her grow still and melt against him—feeling his heart melt in response—he sighed. “I’ll run the names. And then I’ll track down Layne.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  She lifted her head. “But—”

  Jason cut her off with another kiss. When he knew he’d gotten her attention—and a moment before his own began to wander hopelessly—he lifted his head and frowned at her. “I don’t want you to go near Sanders without me.”

  Stubbornness creased her forehead but she nodded. “I won’t. But I do have an appointment to speak with another psychiatrist tomorrow. Dr. Tamburello. You remember. His name showed up on our list as a consulting psychiatrist. His office is in Paul’s building.”

  He frowned. “When are you supposed to see him?”

  “Three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I have to be in court at one but I should be able to wrap it up in time to go with you. You wait for me here.” He paused as her stubbornness increased. “Please.”

  For a moment, she looked as if she might balk. But then a sly smile curled her lips. “I like this protective streak. And don’t tell me you’re just doing your duty.”

  He pulled her closer still. “I thought you figured that out Saturday night. And Sunday morning. And Sunday after—”

  “Well, you did raise my suspicions.”

  “Emma.” He kissed her gently. “I would do anything for you.”

  Hope glittered in her eyes. “Really?”

  “Really.” Determined to prove his faithfulness, Jason kissed her again. This time, there was nothing gentle about it and he let his mind wander where it wanted to go.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You’re humming.” Edgar stood in Emma’s office doorway. “Could your good mood have anything to do with a certain police detective I’ve heard rumors about?”

  She smiled over a stack of lab reports. “Can’t a girl keep a secret around here?”

  “No and I’m glad to hear this particular secret.”

  Emma was glad too. She’d proven to herself that she could trust her own judgment about men. Jason didn’t try to control her as her ex-husband had done. He was strong, he had opinions but he knew that she had to make her own choices.

  “I heard another rumor.” Edgar tucked his hands behind his back. “About your ex-husband. You must have been devastated.”

  Devastated enough to go for what I really wanted, she thought, considering whose arms she’d wound up in that night.

  “I’m fine,” she said and meant it. “It’s a relief to know who killed Brian and hurt me. And to know that I was right to end my marriage.”

  “I’m glad to see you have such a good attitude about it.” Edgar waved as Emma’s telephone rang. “I’ll see you later.”

  As he left, Emma lifted her phone. “Emma St. Clair.”

  “Dr. St. Clair, hello. This is Pamela Ives from Dr. Sanders’ office.”

  A chill crawled through her despite the woman’s warm voice. “Oh. Hello.”

  “I found your credit card here in the office. I was putting away some files and found it on the floor behind Dr. Sanders’ desk.”

  “Oh.” Emma’s mind threatened to stop functioning. “I must have dropped it when I was there for my last appointment. I hadn’t even missed it.” Realizing her voice was shaking, she paused to take a deep breat
h. “Thank you, Ms. Ives. I’ll pick it up next time I come in, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. I’ll keep it in my desk for you.”

  “Thank you.” Hanging up, Emma sank back in her chair and prayed that Pamela wouldn’t mention the card to Paul. He might not buy her simple excuse so easily.

  “You okay, Doc?” Skitch peered around the door frame, his brow furrowed in an all-too-familiar expression of concern.

  “I’m getting a headache,” she replied honestly.

  “Well, pop an aspirin. We just had three bodies delivered and every one is a rush.” Striding into her office, he dropped a typed list on her desk. “Here’s this afternoon’s menu. Pick your entree.”

  Emma pressed a hand against her nervous stomach. “Skitch. Please don’t refer to the deceased as items on a menu.”

  His smile turned sheepish. “Sorry.”

  She glanced at her watch. She had a couple of hours before her appointment with Dr. Tamburello. Picking up the list, she ran her gaze down it. Her eyes fixed on one familiar name.

  Heart pounding, she shifted her attention to her own list lying face up on her desk. There was a name she’d taken from Paul’s files—a name that hadn’t been on her own list before.

  “Let’s start with this one,” she said. “Leonard Fletcher.”

  * * * * *

  Jason paced the corridor outside the courtroom. If Marta didn’t call him soon, he’d be late meeting Emma. As it was, he’d have to talk fast once he got on the stand. Such haste would make his testimony sound nervous. The evidence in this armed-robbery-turned-homicide case that he and Charlie had chased down a few months earlier seemed flimsy enough without him coming across badly on the stand.

  And he was already distracted. He’d spent the previous afternoon looking for Layne. She hadn’t checked out of her hotel but none of the staff there had seen her in days. He’d even driven to Houston and convinced her landlord to let him into her apartment. The place had a stale air about it, as if no one had been there in weeks. Jason had then called her captain at HPD. The man hadn’t heard from her since she’d gone to Clear Harbor.