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.
If she had been a serious drinker, she might have stopped in at Josie’s for a couple of belts before heading home. Even though Mari wasn’t on call tonight, the idea of parking her butt on a barstool while she inhaled secondhand smoke and listened to some boring drunk expound on his political views didn’t tempt her in the least.
Gradually the businesses were replaced by small houses. Some were run-down, with dirt yards full of junk and old cars. A few houses were neat and tidy. Children played in the dust or on the sidewalk. Their parents sat in the shade of deep porches and sagging steps. A radio blared. Dogs lazed in the heat. A row of sunflowers added color to the washed-out scene. Oak trees, maples and dogwoods cast long shadows as the sun sank lower in the sky.
The houses got bigger, surrounded by greener lawns, nicer fences and fancier flowers. The cars in the driveways were newer and the trees looked more stately.
Finally the cab driver slowed, turning onto Mari’s street. Half a block down, he pulled up in front of a brick building tucked between a white oak and a walnut tree. Four blue doors, one for each two-story condo, were trimmed with identical ornate brass knockers. White shutters framed each window. Matching planter boxes sprouted red and white petunias and dark blue lobelia, and a flag was displayed proudly.
After Mari paid the driver and entered her end unit, she dropped her purse onto the floor of the foyer and
