Deadly Obsession (A Brown and de Luca Novel Book 4) (11 page)

“You think
I
had something to do with her break?” If there was one thing Gretchen would not tolerate, it was being accused. It didn’t matter if she’d done the thing or not. No one better
dare
accuse her. Ever. “I’m a
nurse
,
Dr. Cho. I
help
my patients.”

“I know. I know you do. I am not trying to blame you for anything here. I merely want to know what she said, what she heard. Maybe something you had no idea would be a trigger somehow set her off.”

“She asked me to check in on her family,” Gretchen said suddenly. It had come without her bidding, but as soon as she said it, she knew why. Dr. Cho would have checked on her before making this call. He already knew she was working for Mason. She had to be able to explain that. “I told her I would.”

“I see.” He was quiet for a long moment while her mind threw out a zillion possibilities of what he might say next, along with ten zillion potential answers, sorting, sorting, which would be best. “And did you do that?”

“Yes. I did, and it turned out her brother-in-law needed a home care nurse. Since I have a few weeks until I start my new position, I took the job.”

He didn’t say anything.

Gretchen listened for his breathing, wondering if they’d been disconnected, and blurted, “Just to fill the gap.”

Yes, there was his breathing. She heard it now. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“It worked out for both of us. The perfect coincidence.”

“Yes. Quite the coincidence.”

He didn’t believe her. She knew that. She’d seen him use that same trick on patients to get them to reveal things. That long silence. Crazy people couldn’t stand silences like that.

“I’m sorry to hear Marie had a setback,” she went on. “She actually seemed pretty solid when I saw her.”

“And she didn’t show any signs of aggression toward you?”

“No. No, she
thanked
me.”

“Then why did you find it necessary to push your panic button and summon the orderlies?”

She didn’t know why she bothered continuing the game. He knew. He was on to her, or, if he wasn’t, he would be by morning. The doctor was a genius. He would tell Mason that she had been Marie’s nurse. He would tell him that she had been talking to Marie when her most recent psychotic break had begun. Between that and Marie’s squawking that someone from the hospital was out to do him in, it would be obvious, wouldn’t it? Mason was a detective. He would put it all together.

She heaved a sigh, nodded once, decision made. “Dr. Cho, I wonder if you’d mind if I talked to you. Professionally—as a patient...off the record, you know? I have kind of a confession to make.”

A long pause. But she didn’t babble nervously. Not this time. This time
she
waited
him
out.

“I could do that. I can see you tomorrow, if you wish. But it has to be in my private office. It can be early. Before hours. No one will see you here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Eight o’clock?”

“My first appointment isn’t until ten. Yes. Eight o’clock.”

“I’ll see you then, Dr. Cho. Thank you.”

“Goodbye for now, then,” he said, and the connection ended with her phone’s electronic reproduction of a click.
’Cause there is no click. Not anymore. It’s space. It isn’t physical. It doesn’t make a sound. But the computers give us a sound so we feel comfortable. Like it’s still the old way. Like things are still physical. Like there’s still a click.

She put her telephone down. She would leave it home tonight, so there would be no telltale line of blips leading out to Dr. Cho’s place and back. She had cans full of gasoline in the storage shed out back. It wasn’t going to be fancy. There wasn’t time for fancy.

Dr. Cho wouldn’t say anything to Mason because she’d asked him for professional help. He’d taken an oath. After he talked to her at her appointment tomorrow, he would decide what to do. Whether she met the standard for ratting out a patient. I.e., “patient must represent a clear and present danger to a known individual or group of individuals.”

The problem was, there wasn’t going to
be
an appointment tomorrow. Dr. Cho was going to be nothing but ashes by then.

* * *

I spent the night. We made slow, necessarily quiet and therefore incredibly sensual love at 2:00 a.m. I had to bite the pillow. It might’ve been the best ever.

Man, I gotta tell you this was starting to freak me out a little. Cozy evening with the kids, curling up in bed with my man—and without my bulldog, I might add—all content and blissed out. What the hell new sort of Rachel was this, anyway? I didn’t recognize her. She was like the new girl in town. And I didn’t know if I liked her just yet.

Jeremy made us all French toast in the morning, saying Misty had taught him how. He did a damn good job of it, too. Mason said it was far superior to Jeremy’s last effort at French toast. So we ate, and then went our separate ways. Jeremy drove Josh to school in Mason’s Jeep. After they left, I said goodbye to Mason, called Myrtle and started to head for my car.

Mason caught up to me, though, grabbed hold and spun me around like he was Clark Gable and I was Vivien fucking Leigh. He tugged me flat against him. I grinned, flipped my hair and leaned back. And then he kissed me like that, all bent backward over his arm and shit.

When he broke off and started to straighten, I grabbed a handful of his shirt in my fist and pulled him down again. “You don’t want me to leave, just say so.”

He sighed. “You can always come back tonight.”

“Or you guys can come over.”

“Um, yeah, but...we have a new puppy and you have imported Moroccan walnut floors or some shit like that.”

“I’ve been a real snot about my house, haven’t I?”

“I did not say that.”

“No, you didn’t have to. I’ll admit, it was a tough adjustment, having the boys there, but the end result was that I had to relax about it. And I’m better off for it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So bring little Hugo. I’ll put papers down. That’s what normal people do, right?”

“I guess so.” He gave me a lopsided smile, flashing only one of the dimples of death at me, but it was enough to make my liver quiver.

“I gotta go,” I said, reluctant as hell. “I have a deadline.”
And a horny nurse to check out.

“Okay. We’ll come over for dinner. You want us to get takeout?”

“No. I’m gonna cook. Something amazing. Like...pot roast.”

“You know how to cook pot roast?” His eyebrows went up. Myrtle barked. She’d left my side to go around to the passenger door and was now demanding someone heft her porky ass into the car.

“Well, of
course
I know how to cook a pot roast. Everybody knows how to cook a pot roast. And stop looking so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m a little bit
afraid
...” He headed around my car, opened the door and obediently lifted the princess into her seat, then buckled her harness. He took her goggles from around the shift and put them on her, then added her scarf and patted her on the head.

I stood there watching him. And you know what, I had to admit, all sarcasm aside, things were pretty damn good in my life right then.

It was a little scary how good they were.

He closed Myrt’s door and came around to mine. “Have a good day. And you’re not cooking a pot roast, although I have no doubt you’d cook the hell out of one. I’ll just have to wait for another time to find out for sure. I’m taking you out to dinner tonight.” He kissed me again before I could swat him for doubting my pot-roasting abilities, much as he might deny it. I got behind the wheel of my T-Bird, ran my hands over her black-and-yellow steering wheel, and forgot all about that.

Yeah. Things were good in my life. I started her up and listened to her purr.

“Later, babe.” I told him, then I closed the door and took off, eager to get my day’s work done and call my sister to ask her how the hell to cook a pot roast. I’d said I could do it, so I was damn well going to know how. Because at some point, Mason was going to be expecting a friggin’ pot roast.

It was too early in the day to put the top down, but I rolled Myrt’s window down for her, so she could gobble up the wind like it was made of pizza.

9

“H
oly shit,” said my right-hand woman, Amy, when I met her on the way to my own front door. Today her work attire consisted of black skinny jeans, a torn, off-the-shoulder T-shirt and a three-foot-tall stack of files. She’d arrived for her day’s work on time. I was the one who was late.

“Holy shit, what?” I asked, fumbling for my keys.

“Holy shit, you’re...smiling. Almost glowing.” She frowned at me over the top of the files, blowing her long, bloodred, sideswept bangs out of her eyes. “Are you pregnant?”

“God forbid.”

Myrtle bumped her in the shins, bulldog for
pet me immediately or the next time I’ll leave a bruise.
This was unfortunate for Amy, since her arms were loaded down with file folders and she couldn’t have petted Myrt if she’d tried. I got the door unlocked, swung it wide-open and quickly punched in the security code so the pesky alarm wouldn’t go off. I hated that thing.

Amy trundled in behind me, hurried across the living room and dropped the files onto the coffee table. Then she finally knelt to give Myrtle her due. I could see the front of Amy’s T-shirt now. A gothed-out version of Hello Kitty. With fangs. The folders slid sideways, spreading themselves out into what looked like a more comfy position.

“So why are you in such a happy mood?” she asked.

“Why are you accusing me of being happy?”

“It’s Mason, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. I didn’t have any intention of turning into one of those sappy-ass females who waxed on about how in love they were. I mean, really, just shoot me now. “What are all the files about?”

“Maura.”

I froze where I was standing. “Maura? As in Maura Kelley?”

“Is there any other Maura?”

I blinked at the files, then at Amy. “So why are we gathering intel on the most successful female media mogul in the world?” Maura was my hero. She owned her own network. She wrote books. She had a talk show, one of the very few I’d never been invited to be on, even though her guests were usually working in my very own field. She had a magazine. She had the ear of the president. I wanted to be Maura when I grew up.

As soon as I thought it, a little frown pulled my brows together, ’cause it felt a little off. Was that still what I wanted? Interesting that it didn’t feel quite on target anymore.

“It’s the time of year when her people are booking guests for the new season of
The Maura Show
, and I think it’s about time you were one of them. The audio versions of three of your books are coming out right smack in the middle of the new season, too.”

I smiled. “I’m not gonna argue with that.”

“So I’ve got the stats on every guest she’s had in the past two seasons. You know, the highlights, their bios, who their agents are, that sort of thing. Trying to find a common thread or two so I know what to emphasize when I send her your dossier.”

“Do I pay you enough?”

“Well, there’s always room for improvement.” She arranged the folders into three neat stacks. “I’m going to make coffee. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yeah. Jeremy made French toast.”

“How was it?”

“It was very good. Misty taught him how, and Sandra taught Misty, and you know what a great cook my sister is, so—hell that reminds me. Do you know how to make pot roast?”

“Um, no. And what a weird question.”

“I’ve gotta call Sandra real quick. You make the coffee, and then we’ll dive into this stuff.” I also wanted to check into Nurse I-made-your-man-some-cookies, but one thing at a time.

“Okay.”

So Amy went to the kitchen, and I dialed Sandra, took the phone with me to the sofa and fired up my laptop. Then I typed “Gretchen Young, RN” into the search bar and hit enter.

Sandra picked up the phone. “Hey, baby sister, what’s up?” she asked.

“I miss you and your disgustingly perfect family, that’s what. How about a barbecue or something before summer’s gone completely?”

“Only if it’s at your place.”

“Done. What are we having?”

“How do I know? You’re the hostess.”

I made a face at her, and I knew she knew it, even though she couldn’t see through the phone. “Burgers and dogs. Let’s keep it simple. I’ll buy the meat if you’ll make the salads.”

“Deal,” she said. “Now all we need to know is when. So how are you, anyway?”

“Scary good.” I glanced toward the kitchen. “I said it back.”

“You said what ba— You
did
?”

I smiled, because she’d known exactly what I was talking about almost immediately. “Yeah.” I had been dying to tell her, though I wouldn’t admit it, not even under torture. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Then why are you telling me about it?”

’Cause I’m feeling like a giddy teenager and I can’t keep it in.

“Because you’ve had your panties in a knot ever since I told you he said it and I didn’t say it back. So now you can relax.”

She sighed softly. “I’m so happy for you, Rache.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatev. Listen, I sort of bragged that I could make pot roast. And I don’t fucking have a clue how.”

“I can tell you how. It takes time, though.”

“That’s okay, I don’t have to do it today. Mason’s taking me out. But sooner or later, I
will
need to prove my claim that I can make a pot roast.”

“I’ll show you next time we all have dinner together.”

“When you do, you can meet the puppy.”

“There’s a puppy? Wow!”

“His name is Hugo. And don’t sound so excited. Neither Myrtle nor I are overly impressed.”

We said goodbye, and I hung up and looked at the search results. There were several images of several Gretchen Youngs. None of them were her. There was a listing on LinkedIn and a couple on Facebook, but they weren’t her, either. And then there was the usual ad that offered to find out everything about anyone for a fee. I didn’t need that service, since I was dating a cop.

Dating.
Was that still the right word? Was it something more than dating now that we’d exchanged the L word? What did you call it at this stage?

“Who are you stalking?” Amy said. She’d come in from the kitchen with my favorite giant coffee mug in her hand, filled and steaming. She’d waited the full six minutes for my Bonavita to brew a fresh pot. Smart girl.

“Oh, it’s this irritating little twit of a nurse who’s coming in twice a day to change the dressing on Mason’s arm. She’s got it bad for him. I just thought she warranted a little checking into.”

I turned my chair around and took my cup while Amy frowned at me. “Are you worried?”

“What? That he’ll sleep with her? No. I’m really not.” I grinned. “That’s kind of cool, isn’t it?”

“It’s beyond cool. So why are you checking into her, then?”

“Him I trust. Her I don’t.”

“Well, you don’t have to.” I tipped my head to one side like Myrt when she hears a new word that might have something to do with food. She clarified. “If you trust him, it doesn’t matter if you trust her or anyone else. He’s the only one that counts.”

“Yeah, I know that. Duh, of course I know that. I probably wrote that somewhere.”

“You did.”

“But she’s after him.”

“Yeah, but, um, have you
seen
him? There’s always going to be
somebody
after him.”

“There is?”

“Rachel, the man’s a hottie. He’s a detective
and
a hottie. He’s like Dreamy McDreamboat. Are you telling me you’re oblivious to this?”

I shrugged. “I guess I thought it was just me.”

“Uh, no. It’s anyone with a pair of working eyes.” She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry about the ‘working eyes’ comment.”

I made a face at her, then sighed. “I didn’t have a working pair when I first met him. He’s even dreamy invisible.”

She smiled. “Never thought I’d hear you use the word
dreamy.
”

“You didn’t. And if you ever say otherwise, you’re fired.”

She zipped her lips, but bent to reach past me, and closed me out of the browser. “Let this go, boss. Trust me.”

“Yeah, this from an expert on affairs of the heart.”

“More so than you are.”

I rolled my eyes and sipped my coffee, then made my way back to the stacks of folders. “All right, let’s figure out what Maura looks for in a guest, then.” Sinking onto the sofa, I opened the first folder. The dossier on one Dr. Deepak Chopra. “You pull this off, Amy, and you’re a freaking genius.”

“So I’ll get like a bonus or a raise or something, then, right?”

I scowled at her, but you know what, I
would
give her one. She was probably overdue, and man, did I need her. And she knew it, too.

* * *

Mason was sipping coffee, going over the files on the arson case and trying to ignore the way Gretchen’s breasts “accidentally” brushed against his shoulders while she changed the bandages on his arm.

He hated to admit that Rachel was right, but she was. He’d been slow to pick up on the signals Gretchen was sending, but now that it had been pointed out to him, it was pretty obvious she had more on her mind than basic first aid. Even though he’d made it clear to her that he wasn’t interested.

He felt uncomfortable as hell. He was going to have to let her go, and if she cried rivers and pleaded like last time, he was going to have to ignore her.

He was sitting on the sofa, all the way on the left side, his arm extended. She was beside it. She didn’t need to lean in as closely as she had been. And then, when the wrapping was done, she continued leaning in, too close for too long, and he turned to look up at her.

She averted her eyes quickly, but he was suddenly, acutely aware that she wasn’t just trying to tease him with her breasts. She’d been reading over his shoulder. He slapped the folder closed. “That’s not for public consumption.”

“I know. Sorry. I just...it was that case, with those kids you saved, huh?”

He didn’t say yes or no. Instead he got up, looked down at his bandaged arm. “Nice job. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll just do the breakfast dishes for you, before I—”

“No. You don’t have to do that.”

“You can’t have your burned hand in dishwater yet, Mason. It could get infected.”

“I know that. But, uh, my mother’s lending me her housekeeper for the rest of the week. She didn’t really give me a choice in the matter, so...” It was a flat-out lie. He hated lying. And he was lousy at it.

“I see,” she said, and he thought she probably did. Why didn’t he just fire her and get it over with?

“Okay,” she said, and she was smiling brightly again. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. I’ve got
tons
to do today anyway.” She did a little pirouette, but somehow tripped and fell against him. His arms shot up instinctively to catch her by her shoulders. Her hands were flat on his chest. She stared up into his eyes, smiling, and then slowly, her smile died and she inched a little closer.

He set her back—firmly.

“I’m such a klutz.” She gathered up her bag while he was composing the words to tell her that her services would no longer be needed. Hell, Rachel was going to hold this one over his head for the next ten years when he admitted that she’d been right.

He kicked himself six ways to Sunday for not seeing it sooner. The thing was, Gretchen was sweet, and her attention was flattering. But it wasn’t fair to Rachel. Suppose, he thought, she hired some hot young stud to mow her lawn or something, and the guy was constantly hitting on her. How would he feel?

He would kick the punk’s ass, never mind how he would feel.

“Listen, um, Gretchen, there’s been a change of plans here.”

“There has?” She blinked her wide, doe-like eyes at him. And he felt as if he was about to kick a puppy.

And then his cell phone rang. He glanced at it, irritated, but it was Chief Cantone, so he knew it was important. She wouldn’t be calling him otherwise. He held up a finger. “I have to take this.”

“Oh, it’s okay, go right ahead.” She said it with an adoring smile and continued packing up her little black medical bag.

“Brown here,” he said to the phone, pacing away a few steps, but taking his file with him.

Gretchen helped out by moving into the kitchen, where she rattled around.

“How’s the recovery coming?” Vanessa asked. She sounded tired.

“If I say it’s complete, can I come back to work?”

“I’d give up half my pay if you could. And frankly, I think you might have to. There’s been another arson incident. Another fatality.”

He swore softly. Gretchen glanced in at him, her eyes curious, but then her expression softened. She mouthed “see you tonight” and turned to head out the door.

Dammit. He hadn’t managed to fire her yet.

“Where?” he asked.

“North of Syracuse. The house was drenched in gasoline and torched.”

“So why are we involved? That’s a completely different MO from our local firebug, besides being way outside our jurisdiction.”

“Because a witness put a silver Chevy Cruze in the area right before all hell broke loose,” Vanessa said. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Do you?”

Silver Chevy Cruze. The same as the car seen a couple of blocks from Rebecca Rouse’s house the night it was torched. “Who was the victim this time?” Mason asked.

“Dr. Henry Cho. He was a—”

“Psychiatrist,” Mason said. “Marie’s psychiatrist. I saw him yesterday.”

Vanessa Cantone was quiet for a second. “Well, that’s a twist. Is this connected to your sister-in-law somehow, Mason?”

“I don’t see how it could be, but...what about Peter Rouse? What was he doing at the time?” It might behoove the guy to torch another house, and maybe even see to it that a silver Chevy Cruze was seen in the area, if he somehow found out one was seen near his wife’s house that night. It would give his own alibi more weight, right?

“He was home with his kids. His mother-in-law was there, too.”

“How’s that?” He couldn’t have heard her right.

“She insisted on coming out to stay when the kids were released from the hospital and returned to him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said she didn’t trust him with her grandkids. Turns out to have been a blessing for him. She insists he didn’t leave the house all night. Says she would’ve known. That she’s been watching him like a hawk.”