“I’m calling security.”

Mari’s threat didn’t stop Bryce. It was the sight of her hazel eyes, awash with tears, that froze him in his tracks.

Were the tears a ruse, or evidence of her compassion?

He didn’t know, but an impulse he couldn’t control propelled him forward, arms open. Wrapping them around her, he pulled her close. A flood of images flashed through his mind. Caught off guard, he did his best to ignore the unwanted memories. He struggled to keep his head clear. Where had his objectivity gone? She was a suspect and he was here to question her, not to hold her in his arms.

His silent lecture wasn’t taking hold.

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

His voice jerked her head up. Her eyes met his, and his mouth went dry. A giant fist squeezed the breath from his lungs. Neither of them moved, neither blinked.

And he tried to remember why kissing her would be a very, very bad idea.

Dear Reader,

It’s spring, love is in the air…and what better way to celebrate than by taking a break with Silhouette Special Edition? We begin the month with Treasured, the conclusion to Sherryl Woods’s MILLION DOLLAR DESTINIES series. Though his two brothers have been successfully paired off, Ben Carlton is convinced he’s “destined” to go it alone. But the brooding, talented young man is about to meet his match in a beautiful gallery owner—courtesy of fate…plus a little help from his matchmaking aunt.

And Pamela Toth concludes the MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES series with In the Enemy’s Arms, in which a detective trying to get to the bottom of a hospital black-market drug investigation finds himself in close contact with his old high school flame, now a beautiful M.D.—she’s his prime suspect! And exciting new author Lynda Sandoval (look for her Special Edition novel One Perfect Man, coming in June) makes her debut and wraps up the LOGAN’S LEGACY Special Edition prequels, all in one book—And Then There Were Three. Next, Christine Flynn begins her new miniseries, THE KENDRICKS OF CAMELOT, with The Housekeeper’s Daughter, in which a son of Camelot—Virginia, that is—finds himself inexplicably drawn to the one woman he can never have. Marie Ferrarella moves her popular CAVANAUGH JUSTICE series into Special Edition with The Strong Silent Type, in which a female detective finds her handsome male partner somewhat less than chatty. But her determination to get him to talk quickly morphs into a determination to…get him. And in Ellen Tanner Marsh’s For His Son’s Sake, a single father trying to connect with the son whose existence he just recently discovered finds in the free-spirited Kenzie Daniels a woman they could both love. So enjoy! And come back next month for six heartwarming books from Silhouette Special Edition.

Happy reading!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

In the Enemy’s Arms
Pamela Toth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAMELA TOTH,

a USA TODAY bestselling author, was born in Wisconsin but grew up in Seattle, where she attended the University of Washington and majored in art. Now living on the Puget Sound area’s east side, she has two daughters, Erika and Melody, and two Siamese cats.

Recently she took a lead from one of her romances and married her high school sweetheart, Frank. When she’s not writing, she enjoys traveling with her husband, and reading. She’s been an active member of Romance Writers of America since 1982.

Her books have won several awards and they claim regular spots on the Waldenbooks bestselling romance list. She loves hearing from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 5845, Bellevue, WA 98006. For a personal reply, a stamped, self-addressed envelope is appreciated.

Merlyn County Regional

Hospital Happenings

Newlyweds Hannah and Eric Mendoza welcomed their beautiful baby girl into the world only a few weeks ago. Pass along your congratulations when you see the happy father handing out pink cigars!

Public relations volunteers unite! The PR department is throwing a massive shindig for the goddess of buzz, Lily Cunningham. We hear she snagged herself the most eligible of Merlyn County bachelors, CEO Ron Bingham. We wish them the very best!

That handsome detective Bryce Collins is still working alongside Dr. Mari Bingham on the investigation into procedures at the Foster Clinic (although some have seen the former sweethearts avoiding each other). Please give the detective and Dr. Bingham your full cooperation, should they request information about the hospital. And please continue to report any strange behavior at the Foster Clinic or in the pharmacy department to Dr. Bingham or her receptionist. Her future—and her heart—may depend on it!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter One

“What is he doing here?”

As Mari Bingham peeled off her gloves, she glared at the detective staring back at her through the glass divider. It seemed to Mari as though every time she turned around, even here at the midwifery clinic where she was the director, she noticed Bryce Collins watching her. If not for his gold shield, she would have filed a stalking complaint against him.

“He’s been waiting to talk to you.” The receptionist lowered her voice, her expression concerned. “Is everything okay, Dr. Bingham?”

“Of course, Heather. Everything’s fine.” Mari dredged up a smile. She’d been called in to the clinic at 2:00 a.m. and it was now midmorning. Even though she was the director, she still saw patients. Mari considered the joy of bringing a healthy baby into the world well worth a few hours of lost sleep, but this delivery had been a long one and the last few weeks had been difficult for her.

Mari had been meaning to confront Detective Collins, but not here, not now, and certainly not without a shot of caffeine to hone her senses.

In her search for decent coffee, she had come straight from the birthing room without bothering to freshen up first. She must look awful—her face pale and shiny, her hair falling from its hasty bun and her light green scrubs stained and wrinkled.

From previous experience, she knew all too well that neither a carefully made-up face nor a freshly laundered outfit would have lessened the defensiveness she always felt around the man advancing on her now with the determination of a cougar stalking a deer. He had been after her for weeks.

Despite the rumors and speculation surrounding Mari, she refused to cooperate and play the role of prey. She just wanted the investigation to be over, the real criminals caught and her reputation cleared.

“Please show the detective to my office,” she told Heather as Bryce narrowly avoided tripping over a toddler pushing a tiny grocery cart across the waiting room. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Mari didn’t care how long he’d been cooling his heels. He should know from his last attempt at interrogating her here that the Foster Midwifery Clinic was a busy place. Besides, she desperately needed some coffee and a bagel, if there were any left over from the morning break. Except for a few of the tiny breath mints she always carried with her, she hadn’t eaten a thing since dinner last night.

Let Heather deal with Bryce’s intimidation tactics for the moment. It would be good practice for the girl.

As Mari made her escape, she swallowed a yawn. It was no surprise that she hadn’t been sleeping well, even on the few nights that one of her patients didn’t go into labor at 2:00 a.m. Worrying about who might be evil enough to steal drugs from the clinic and then let someone else—her—take the blame was wearing Mari down. The last thing she needed today was another visit from Bryce Collins.

She knew he had stopped loving her a long time ago, but was it possible that he still resented her enough to send her to prison—even if it was for something she hadn’t done?

Detective Collins had been studying Mari through the glass divider. He watched the receptionist with the eye-popping blue hair give Mari the no doubt unwelcome news of his presence. As he got to his feet, Mari’s gaze collided with his. Even with her spine stiffened, she looked tired.

Was her obvious fatigue merely a by-product of her chosen profession? Becoming a doctor, an obstetrician, had been a goal he hadn’t been willing to support. In fact, when they were younger, Bryce had done everything in his power to dissuade her from pursuing a career in medicine. Judging from her current wilted appearance, it appeared that her job was taking its toll.

Grudgingly Bryce supposed the investigation—his investigation—might also be partly to blame. Was a guilty conscience keeping her awake at night? Did she feel sorry for the victims of the switched pain medication or was it merely the fear of getting caught supplying drugs to the black market that dimmed her normal sparkle?

His determination to find answers was the reason he’d spent the last hour waiting to see her. He’d been surrounded by chattering mommies, fussing babies and whiny toddlers. One of the latter had just wiped a mashed-up cookie on the knee of Bryce’s slacks.

Given a choice, he would rather be chasing a suspect through a dark alley full of pit bulls.

Instead of waiting for him, Mari walked away. He nearly ran down two little kids when he chased after her, swearing under his breath.

With her clipboard clutched to her chest, the blue-haired receptionist headed him off while Mari disappeared around a corner. Biting back his impatience, Bryce glanced at the girl’s name tag.

“Heather, I told you that I need to speak to Dr. Bingham,” he said, doing his best to soften his request with a smile.

“She asked that you wait in her office. I’ll take you there right now and the doctor will be with you in just a little while.”

So far, he had nothing to show for the morning that was rapidly slipping away except for the dried cookie on his knee. “Great,” he replied, his annoyance oozing out. “It’s not as if I’ve got anything better to do with my time.”

Below the silver hoop that pierced Heather’s brow, her black-rimmed eyes widened. With a huff of annoyance, she spun on her heel, leaving him no choice but to follow.

The case was getting a fair amount of publicity and he had grown up in Merlyn County, so people recognized him. Today he ignored the curious glances of the patients and the disapproving stares from some of the clinic staff as he focused on getting his interview with his number-one person of interest.

The receptionist opened the door marked Marigold Bingham, M.D., Director and stepped aside. Heather’s frosty expression didn’t thaw, but it actually went rather well with her icy-blue hair.

“You can wait in here,” she said. “Do you want coffee?”

Whatever they served here at the clinic had to be an improvement on the bilge at the station. For an instant he was tempted, but he didn’t want to be distracted.

“No, thanks,” he said reluctantly. “I’m fine.”

She must have been worried that he might snoop through Mari’s paperwork, because she hesitated with her hand on the doorjamb. It was only when he sat down facing the cluttered desk and withdrew his notebook from his jacket pocket that she left.

Unfortunately for Dr. Bingham, the obvious loyalty of her staff was no indication whatsoever of her guilt or innocence. The grim fact was that someone who worked here was stealing Orcadol, a popular and powerful new prescription painkiller, and selling it on the street. From a personal point of view, and because Bryce had known her for so long, he was reluctant to believe that Mari could be involved in something as despicable as drug trafficking. As a detective with the Merlyn County Sheriff’s Department, it was his sworn duty to follow the trail of evidence that pointed relentlessly in her direction.

He scrubbed one hand over his jaw, feeling its roughness. He needed a shave. A stakeout on an unrelated case had gotten him up at dawn, but the perps never showed. Sometimes his job sucked.

Sheriff Remington, a crusader against illegal drugs, was growing impatient with Bryce’s lack of progress in the Orcadol case. Just this morning the sheriff had asked Bryce for a status report, but there had been damn little to say.

Over the course of his career, Bryce had witnessed time and again the damage caused by drugs; the broken, wasted lives, the crimes committed in order to feed habits gone out of control, the families ripped apart and the children hurt by addiction. Was it really possible that someone like Mari, who had taken an oath to save lives, could be responsible for the recent increase of the illegal supply of Orcadol, or Orchid, as it was called on the street?

Nothing surprised Bryce anymore. Greed was a powerful motivator and the word was out that Mari was desperate for money to support the construction of her pet project, a biomedical research facility. The question that ate at him was just how far would she go in order to get it?

Unless Bryce was willing to shoot holes in his own career, he had no choice but to set aside his personal reservations and treat her the same as he would any other suspect. Better in Bryce’s opinion to have him be the one investigating her than Merlyn County’s other detective, Hank Butler. At least with Bryce on the case, she was less likely to become the victim of sloppy police work, questionable shortcuts or even—it had been whispered but never proven—doctored evidence.

“Dr. Bingham to Neonatal. Dr. Mari Bingham to Neonatal, stat!”

Mari was in her office doorway when she heard the summons to the hospital, which was adjacent to the clinic. Bryce had glanced up and was already halfway to his feet when she stopped.

“Sorry, but I have to see about this,” she said, torn between relief at the interruption and concern for whoever needed her. Just this morning Milla Johnson, a midwife at the clinic, had mentioned one of her patients to Mari.

The patient, barely twenty-four weeks pregnant, had been experiencing what she described as twinges. Milla had sounded concerned when she told Mari that the woman’s husband was bringing her in for an exam.

“Don’t leave!” Bryce snapped before Mari could turn away. “I’ve been waiting long enough already.”

“Apparently not, Detective,” she contradicted. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Ignoring his muttered curse, she hurried down the hall toward the sky bridge to the hospital.

Waiting for her was something he had once refused to do, so it only seemed fair for him to cool his heels now.

Bryce dropped back into the chair, flipping once again through his notes and wishing he hadn’t refused that cup of coffee. He made a couple of calls on his cell phone, pacing the confines of the small office like a caged bear. Mari still hadn’t returned when he was through, so he wandered back out to the main lobby to see if he could get an idea of how long she was going to be held up this time.

Failing to spot Heather, he approached the nurses’ station. An older woman wearing a headset was seated at a computer terminal. As she slid back the glass panel, she met his gaze with a smile.

“Is Dr. Bingham back from the hospital yet?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied, glancing at the badge Bryce held out. “One of our patients was brought to the clinic in preterm labor,” she continued in a low voice. “The poor thing had to be moved to the neonatal ICU at the hospital when her membranes ruptured. Dr. Bingham is likely to be over there for a while.”

Bryce glanced at his watch, unwilling to give up. “I guess I’ll grab a sandwich in the cafeteria,” he muttered, half to himself. “If you see the doctor before I do, tell her I’m looking for her.”

If the woman suspected his reason for seeking Mari out, she didn’t let it show. “I’ll be sure to do that, Detective. Enjoy your lunch.”

When he got back to the clinic after wolfing down a passable meatball sandwich and fries, he approached the same woman again.

“Dr. Bingham is still at the hospital, but you’re welcome to go over there and wait,” she said, pointing. “The quickest way to get there is right across the sky bridge.”

Bryce had been to the hospital on several occasions, but he’d never had a reason to visit the clinic until this investigation had begun. He thanked the woman and headed in the direction she’d indicated.

Babies didn’t interest him much, especially wrinkled preemies who looked like tiny bald men, but he needed to make sure that Mari didn’t elude him again when she got done. The sheriff had made it clear that the next time he asked about the case, Bryce better have some answers.

“Damn, but I wish he’d stayed where he was for another week or two,” Mari muttered as she gazed sadly at the tiny infant. “He’s so underdeveloped.”

If only his mother had come in sooner, the neonatal team would have had the time for more options. Medications, intravenous fluids and simple bed rest often stopped contractions, but once dilation and effacement of the cervix began, labor nearly always progressed to delivery.

No one replied to Mari’s comment.

The hospital, which served three counties, was a level three facility with a fully equipped NICU. In this case, transport to the University of Kentucky research hospital in Lexington might have saved the infant if there had been more time.

Mari was sick at heart, but she needed to be strong and keep her feelings hidden for the rest of the team. Milla, the midwife who had first alerted her to the potential situation and who was also pregnant, was obviously deeply affected by the tragedy.

The neonate had been born with severely underdeveloped lungs, heart and nervous system. Respiratory distress, seizures and intraventricular hemorrhages had contributed to the insurmountable odds. Despite the team’s efforts, the end had come quickly.

Mari’s throat was clogged with tears she dared not shed when she looked at the impersonal wall clock and conceded defeat. “Thank you, everyone,” she added softly.

Milla released a trembling sigh. A hospital resident cursed under his breath and another slammed wordlessly out of the unit.

Mari ignored them, well aware of the frustration, sadness and grief her colleagues experienced whenever this type of thing happened. Before she would be able to share those same emotions and grieve in private for poor Baby Jenkins, she had one more task left to do.

“The parents have to be told,” she reminded Milla, willing the young midwife to be strong. “Are you up for it?” If the tears glistening in Milla’s eyes were to overflow, Mari wasn’t sure she’d able to get through the next few minutes with her own composure intact.

“Yes.” Milla blinked rapidly several times. She cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”

With a silent nod, Mari led the way to the room where the hopeful parents waited. They may have been praying and were certainly hoping for a miracle to save their son. How many times had it been Mari’s duty to break the hearts of people just like this couple?

The hospital and the women’s health clinic that her grandmother had been instrumental in developing weren’t enough to save these high-risk preemies. What Merlyn County, Kentucky, desperately needed was the new research center that Mari was determined to build.

At the door to the birthing suite, she paused and looked at Milla.

“Okay?” Mari asked. She was fully prepared to intercede if the young midwife was too upset. The parents would need the compassion and support of the medical staff, not their tears.

“Yes, thank you.” Milla was dry-eyed, her voice soft but steady.

Allowing her to lead the way, Mari squeezed her eyes shut and composed herself. When she opened them again, she saw Bryce leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He had been watching her just like a cat with a mouse.

Her gaze locked with his and her face went hot. She knew he had witnessed her moment of vulnerability, but now she sent him a warning glance before following Milla into the birthing suite and letting the door shut behind her.

The parents were huddled together on the bed, their hands tightly clasped. Mrs. Jenkins’s face was red and puffy, but when she saw the two women, her expression brightened.

Mr. Jenkins managed a wobbly smile. “How’s our boy doing?” His voice was falsely hearty.

Once again, Mari regretted with all her heart the news they brought.

“I’m so sorry,” Milla said softly. “We did everything we could, but his problems were too extensive. He didn’t make it.”

The rest of her explanation was drowned out by Mrs. Jenkins’s wrenching sobs.

Outside in the hallway, Bryce waited impatiently for Mari to come out. He wondered how much longer she intended to avoid him.

From behind the closed door, an anguished wail sliced through his thoughts like a surgeon’s scalpel. The delivery that Mari had been summoned to must have somehow gone wrong.

No wonder she had looked so grim when he saw her. His presence in the hall probably hadn’t even registered with her.

On more than one occasion, it had been his duty to break the bad news to family members about the victim of a fatal accident or a homicide. It was never easy.

He’d always assumed that doctors, like cops, must develop an ability to insulate themselves in some way from the more tragic aspects of their jobs. Mari’s hide must be as thick as a concrete retaining wall if she could deal with people’s suffering with one hand and dump more Orchid on the streets with the other.

He gritted his teeth and firmed his resolve. If she was guilty, he was going to do everything in his power to bring her down.

Mari knew from sad experience that most of what she and Milla had just told the stunned parents fell on deaf ears. After Milla’s initial statement, they had stopped listening while they struggled to absorb the shock. Later on, they would no doubt have questions as they tried to deal with a deluge of guilt they probably didn’t deserve.

Leaving Milla to console them as best she could, Mari slipped quietly out of the room. Bryce still lurked in the hall like her own personal black cloud, but she was far too vulnerable to deal with him just yet. Beneath her outward calm, she was raging at fate and circumstance, at whatever force that was so callous it could give parents a precious gift and then coldly, indifferently snatch it back again.

If Bryce were to confront her now, smug and superior in his role of noble law enforcer, she might just jump on him like a crazed lunatic and vent her frustration. If he hadn’t hounded her for weeks, snapping at her heels and giving her nightmares, eroding her sleep with his suspicions, might she have come up with a miracle for Baby Jenkins today?

In her doctor’s brain, Mari knew she had used every bit of medical expertise and equipment available to her. Deep within her woman’s heart, she wondered, as she always did, why every newborn couldn’t be saved.

Bryce straightened away from the wall as she went in the other direction. “Dr. Bingham!”

Mari ignored him, walking faster. She needed a moment alone.

“Mari! Wait up.”

Without slowing her pace, she waved him away. “Not now,” she called over her shoulder, half expecting him to stop her by force.

To her surprise, he allowed her to escape.

With her teeth tightly clenched, she made a beeline for her office. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it as the tears finally spilled over. For a few moments, she indulged her sorrow and frustration with her knuckles pressed to her mouth to stifle the sounds of her defeat.

Gradually her weeping slowed and she regained control of her emotions. Blindly she grabbed the box of tissues on her desk and blotted her face. When she cried, her nose always got red and her skin turned blotchy. Her eyes probably looked as though she’d been on a three-day bender, so she would have to hide out here for a little while longer.

Someone knocked on the door. Before she could speak, it opened and Bryce leaned in. “You okay?”

“Get out,” she snapped.

Instead of complying, he shocked her by coming in and shutting the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

Was he blind or just indifferent?

Mari reached for her phone. “I’m calling security,” she warned as she lifted the receiver.

Dr. Bingham’s threat didn’t stop Bryce, who had faced down worse than an unarmed woman holding a wad of damp tissues. It was the sight of her hazel eyes, awash with tears, that froze him in his tracks like a gun trained on his heart.

Were the tears a ruse by a lawbreaker desperate for time? Or was her devastated expression that of a compassionate healer? So many of the people he had interviewed insisted the latter was true.

“Please, Mari.” He extended his hand. “Don’t call anyone, okay?”

He wasn’t sure if it was his words or his tone that stopped her, but he had no intention of giving her time to reconsider. Nor did he intend to offer comfort, but an impulse he couldn’t control propelled him forward, arms open. Wrapping them around her, he pulled her close.

Prepared for a struggle, he tucked her head under his chin. As he inhaled the scent of her lemon shampoo, a flood of images flashed through his mind. Caught off guard, he did his best to ignore the unwanted memories, as well as his own spontaneous reaction.

Her slight body stiffened, palms braced against his chest. Barely breathing, he waited for her to jerk away, but instead she sighed, going limp. Before she could sink to the floor, he scooped her up into his arms.

He was shocked at how little she weighed. Had the investigation and his pursuit done this to her?

She slipped her arms around his neck, distracting him, and clung like a child as she cried softly against his chest. The feel of her softly rounded breasts sent awareness pumping through him like a drug. For a moment, he shut his eyes and cuddled her close, wanting to absorb everything about her like a giant sponge.

He struggled to keep his head clear, to keep his lungs working. What the hell was he thinking? Where had his objectivity gone? She was a suspect and he was here to question her, not to hold her in his arms while he mooned over her like a teenager.

His silent lecture wasn’t taking hold.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, ignoring his own tap-dancing pulse. “It’s okay.”

The sound of his voice jerked her head up. Her dark lashes were clumped together. Her eyes were reddened and wet, the skin beneath them blotchy and waxen.

When her lips parted on a tiny sound of protest, his mouth went dry and a giant fist squeezed the breath from his lungs. As they continued to stare at each other, his entire being hummed with awareness.

Neither of them moved, neither blinked. He tried to reason out why kissing her would be a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

“I think you’d better put me down now.” Her voice cracked the silence. Heat of a different type filled his cheeks, but the rest of him went cold at the thought of what he’d nearly done.

“Of course.” Gently, he stood her on her feet while he scrambled to regain control of the interview—and his own professionalism.

Her chin went up as she circled the cluttered desk. After putting the unmistakable barrier between them, she sat down with her hands neatly folded.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” she asked coolly, as though nothing earthshaking had nearly happened.

Bryce was angry at his own weakness, as well as with Mari’s ability to manipulate him. Years of professional experience told him she was more likely to slip up and reveal the truth while she was tired and emotionally drained. He couldn’t give her the chance to lock her defenses back into place.

“You’ll have to come down to the station with me,” he replied, deliberately hardening his heart against the sight of her tear-streaked face and dark, wounded eyes. “There are some questions I need to ask you about the drugs being stolen from your clinic.”

Chapter Two

It took Mari a moment to process what Bryce had just said. A moment ago, she had thought he might attempt to kiss her.

“You want me to what?” she asked, shocked by his statement. Thank God she was already sitting down or she would have fallen.

“Listen, Mari—” he began.

“Dr. Bingham,” she corrected coldly, cutting him off. “What do you expect me to do about my patients, Detective? I have appointments and responsibilities. I can’t just walk out of here because you snap your fingers.”

His frown deepened and a muscle twitched along his jaw. “I’m sorry, but I’ve already been here for too damn long.” He stabbed his finger at her. “You’ve got two choices, Doctor. Have someone else cover for you or reschedule your patients, but I’ve been waiting long enough. Either way, you’re coming with me.”

As though he had cinched a noose around her neck, his statement made the muscles in her throat tighten. She could barely speak.

“Am I under arrest?” she croaked. She should have seen this day coming and consulted with an attorney to find out about her rights.

How could Bryce shift so easily from acting like a human to being a robocop? Why had he bothered to comfort her if his intention was to drag her through the clinic in handcuffs?

His eyebrows rose, as though her question had surprised him. “No, I’m not going to arrest you. There are just too many interruptions here for an interview.”

As though to prove his point, the phone on Mari’s desk chose that moment to ring. It made her flinch. Out of habit she reached for the receiver, but then she snatched back her hand.

“My voice mail will take a message,” she said, and then she bit her lip. What did he care? “Interrogating me would be a big waste of time,” she argued forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “As I told you before, I don’t know anything about the missing drugs. Why can’t you believe me?”

“You may know more than you think.” His expression was impossible to read, but then he had always been good at hiding his feelings from her.

What information could she possibly give him that he didn’t already have? And how could she convince him, once and for all, of her innocence?

A chill went through her. What if he was lying about not arresting her?

“Should I call my attorney?” she asked, shoving her trembling hands onto her lap so they were hidden by her desk.

He leaned over her, his gray eyes chilling in their intensity. How could she have ever thought his gaze was warm? He was probably searching for some sign of her guilt. “Do you need a lawyer?”

Feeling trapped, Mari opened her bottom drawer and took out her purse. She glanced down at the phone as she weighed her options. If she said yes, would that make her look guilty?

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Of course not.” His face remained unreadable.

“I need to call and make arrangements from here for someone to cover me.” Milla had been supportive, and Mari could count on her to be discreet.

He nodded. “Just say that we need you to come down and give us some background information on Orcadol.”

Once again he had managed to surprise her, suggesting a way to lessen her humiliation. She was about to thank him when she recalled that his suspicion was the very reason she needed a cover story.

Wordlessly she had Milla paged, resisting the urge to drum her fingers on the desktop while she waited for the midwife to respond.

“How are Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins doing?” Mari asked when Milla finally came on the line.

“The hospital chaplain is with them now,” she replied. “He’ll help with the arrangements.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” Quickly, Mari outlined what she needed, her gaze on Bryce the whole time. If her scrutiny made him uncomfortable, he didn’t let it show.

“Is this because of your friendship with Dr. Phillipe?” Milla asked when Mari was done. “Can’t they test him if they don’t believe that he’s drug-free?”

Ricardo Phillipe was a friend of Mari’s who had been connected with early Orcadol development. He was also involved in planning the experimental research facility.

After a car accident in which Ricardo had been critically injured, his wife and small daughter both killed, he had developed a drug problem that led to him losing his license to practice medicine.

Mari swiveled her chair so she was facing the wall. “I’m sure that’s not an issue.” She lowered her voice even further. “I really can’t discuss it now.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry,” Milla replied. “Is there anything else I can do? Can I call someone for you?”

“No, but thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” Mari knew that Milla was fiercely loyal, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest of the staff, not anymore.

And what would her patients think when the news got out that she’d actually been taken downtown for questioning? What about the investors who hadn’t already pulled out of the research facility project? Would this ruin any chance she had left of securing the financing to build it?

Lillian Cunningham was the Public Relations director from New York who Mari had recently hired to improve the clinic’s reputation. Lily would have a fit when she heard about this! Just because she happened to be in love with Mari’s father didn’t mean she would cut Mari any slack, either. Lily was one of the best in the business, but she wasn’t a miracle worker.

After Mari told Milla goodbye and replaced the receiver, she grabbed her purse and scooted back in her chair, praying her shaky legs would support her.

“I’m ready,” she told Bryce. What on earth did he think he had on her? His flinty expression told her nothing.

Bryce didn’t bother with chitchat on the way to the station that was housed in the Merlyn County Courthouse complex. The fairly new tan building in downtown Binghamton contained all the county’s administrative offices.

As soon as he parked in an official space, Mari got out of his sedan without a glance in his direction and marched up the front steps. His legs were longer than hers, so he was able to catch up with her in time to pull open the heavy glass front door.

“Come with me,” he said once they were inside. The departments were clearly marked, but he wanted her to lift her head and make eye contact with him.

When she did, she looked as though someone had drained the fight out of her. It was no surprise, after what she’d already been through. She also seemed nervous, again, no big surprise, and—if he was any judge of character—shell-shocked.

Because he knew her to be strong-willed and smart, the last observance startled him. Anyone who managed to successfully complete medical school, an internship and a residency had to be both.

After the conversations he’d had with her over the last few weeks, including their confrontation at the hospital picnic, she must have been prepared for today, unless she wore blinders and went around with her fingers stuck in both ears.

The girl he’d once known very, very well was a lot more savvy than that. Maybe she was merely attempting to play on his sympathies.

There had been a time he would have cut off his hand to spare her the slightest hurt. He had outgrown that kind of foolishness when she ran a spike through his heart and walked away without a backward glance.

He was still plenty attracted to the total package that made up Mari Bingham, even in her loose-fitting scrubs. His reaction to her pissed him off royally. It wasn’t his heart he was risking this time around, but his entire law-enforcement career. He’d better get himself focused or he’d wind up back behind the wheel of a patrol car on graveyard shift. Or working as a nighttime security guard for a local warehouse.

Lightly he cupped Mari’s elbow. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. Maybe she was more scared than she let on. Most people were nervous the first time they ended up in this kind of situation and the level of their anxiety had nothing to do with their guilt or innocence.

Wordlessly, he led the way into his home-away-from-home.

“Detective, I’ve got your messages here,” said the civilian receptionist as he approached the counter.

Christine had been hired straight out of high school with an admitted “thing” for cops and their guns. Her jaw worked her ever present wad of gum as she smiled widely and waved several pink slips in the air.

He nodded without breaking stride. She was barely eighteen, but she had already managed to corner him in the break room after shift one evening! Every time he thought about what could have happened if anyone else had come in when he was peeling her off him, he broke into a sweat.

Another phone rang, the new watercooler belched like a scuba diver’s tank and the stereo system pumped out classic country. All conversation in the room shut down abruptly the minute its occupants noticed Mari. Just as they had everywhere else in the county, whispers and rumors connecting her with the Orchid black market had been circulating through the department.

Escorting her through the open squad room, Bryce ignored the detective seated at a desk covered with crumbs and candy wrappers, the two uniforms standing by the coffee machine and the one on the phone. In the far corner, a female officer and a teenage girl in camouflage and combat boots had stopped arguing to gawk. As he hustled Mari past Sheriff Remington’s office and the storage closet-slash-break room, conversations started up again.

A long-haired creep wearing cuffs leaned against the wall. He skimmed his slimy gaze over Mari, but his knowing smirk vanished when he saw Bryce’s glare.

Bryce itched to throw a coat over her, right after he buried his fist in the little prick’s ratlike face. Before Bryce could take her into one of the rooms they used for interviews, Hank Butler waved his phone receiver in the air.

“Collins! Got a second?” he called out.

Bryce waved his free hand in response as he pushed open the first door. Whatever Hank wanted could wait.

Except for the requisite scarred table and beat-up chairs brought over from the old building and the two-way mirror on one wall, the interrogation room was as sparse as a cell. No point in making anyone who was brought here feel comfortable.

Mari glanced around. “Charming.”

“I wasn’t on the decorating committee,” Bryce drawled, dragging back one of the chairs. “Have a seat. Want anything? Coffee?”

“I’ve heard about cop coffee. I’ll pass, thank you.” She might be nervous, but she held her head high. His father used to say her nose was in the air.

“What, no lie detector?” she asked, turning her head. “No rubber hoses, no holding cell?”

“Someone’s already in it,” he lied, “but I guess you could share.”

She sat down gingerly, as though she expected the chair to collapse beneath her. Folding her hands on her purse, she stared past his shoulder.

She might not want coffee, but he needed a shot of something. Right now the sludge in the bottom of the pot was the strongest liquid available.

“Be right back,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt to let her cool her heels for a minute, soaking up the atmosphere while he found out what the other detective wanted. Bryce had waited long enough at the clinic.

Leaving the door ajar, he glared at the guy in handcuffs. As he slid his gaze away, Bryce recognized him as a low-level dealer, one who’d probably end up in jail or dead on the street. Guys like this one got busted all the time, but it never seemed to do much good.

Mari stared at the big mirror and tried not to fidget. Someone might be on the other side, observing her behavior and taking notes. Despite her exhaustion, she scraped back the wobbly chair and walked over to the wall, where she very deliberately studied her reflection. She’d watched Law and Order often enough to know the setup, but let the detectives think she didn’t.

The face staring back at her looked awfully plain, but the lip gloss in her purse seemed too frivolous for the occasion. She limited her primping to tucking some of the loose strands of dark hair behind her ears.

Through the door Bryce had left open, she could hear a couple of male voices. Their conversation sounded guarded, almost secretive, as though they didn’t realize they were being overheard. She had enough problems of her own, so she didn’t pay much attention to their low-pitched discussion.

It seemed like days since she had lost the poor little neonate, weeks since she’d had a good night’s sleep and eons since this cloud of suspicion had first settled over her life.

Feeling slightly dizzy, she sat back down in the hard chair. Where was Bryce? Probably getting even with her.

Let him play his macho games, she thought, smothering a yawn. She would just put her head down for a minute so the room would stop spinning before he came back.

Bryce approached Hank, masking his annoyance. The other detective was overweight and out of shape, with powdered sugar smearing one flabby cheek.

“What did you want?” Bryce asked shortly.

“Got any leads on those vandalized cars out at Ginman’s Lake?” Hank asked with an innocent look on his florid face.

“You called me over for this?” Bryce demanded. Everyone in the department knew Hank Butler was lazy. “It’s your case, Hank. Why don’t you drive out there and ask around? You might learn something.”

Scratching the stubble that bristled along his double chin, the older detective leaned back in his chair, gut straining the buttons of his wrinkled shirt. His little pig eyes glanced past Bryce.

“Didn’t you and the doc used to date back in the day?” Hank asked, trying to sound cool. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get her alone, huh? Work some kind of deal?”

Bryce ignored Hank’s baiting. He saw that a greasy-haired lowlife had been brought out of the other interrogation room. He and the other dealer had their heads together while the deputy refilled his coffee mug.

“Why are they here?” Bryce asked a deputy.

The deputy glanced over his shoulder. “Street cleaning,” he quipped.

The coffee looked fresh, so Bryce poured two cups. Both of the dealers watched resentfully when he walked past them and shouldered open the door 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 sagged with relief against the ivory wall. Lennox, her cat, looked up from the paisley couch where he liked to nap, ignoring his wicker bed.

Jumping down to the carpet with his ringed tail twitching, he meowed a greeting.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” Mari asked as he rubbed against her leg.

She was about to drop her keys into a pottery bowl on a small table when she remembered that her car was still parked at the clinic. Her hand closed around the key ring and she swung back toward the door.

The quick spin made her feel slightly dizzy. What she needed right now, more than wheels, was something to eat. She’d splurge and call another cab in the morning.

Steadying herself, she bent down to pat Lennox. The gray tabby butted his head against her leg, purring loudly. He looked up with adoring green eyes.

He was the perfect roommate. His love was unconditional. He’d been fixed and—despite having six toes on each white paw—he hadn’t yet figured out how to work the TV remote.

When Mari headed for the kitchen, he followed. All she wanted was to toss something frozen into the microwave, pour herself a glass of wine and watch a mindless reality show on television until it was late enough to curl up in bed with her cat and fall asleep.

She filled Lennox’s fish-shaped bowl with food, gave him fresh water and nuked her own meal. When it was heated, she sat at her dining-room table, studying the vase of pale yellow roses from her grandmother’s garden. They were starting to droop and to lose their petals.

Mari felt pretty droopy herself.

As soon as she was done eating her pasta and shrimp, she disposed of her dish and settled onto the couch with her wine. Her feet were propped on the old trunk that served as a table. Normally the condo was her haven. She had done the decorating herself, using warm, rich tones and filling it with items she loved. Tonight, despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t relax.

Ignoring the television, she turned on the stereo. The soothing sound of cool jazz filled the room as she released her hair from its untidy bun and rested her head against the back of the couch. Lennox jumped up and settled onto her lap, rumbling with contentment. Eyes closed, Mari stroked his fur with one hand while she clutched her wineglass with the other.

She sipped her Merlot while she reviewed in her mind every procedure that she had followed in the neonatal unit earlier. It was terribly frustrating that her best hadn’t been good enough to save the Jenkins baby.

Until she was able to line up the necessary funding and build her new research center, the more critical cases in Merlyn County would still be at risk. Babies would die and families would grieve.

As Lennox slept peacefully, Mari let her mind shift gears, going from work to the investigation. Maybe she should have insisted on talking to Bryce and getting it over with, instead of fleeing like a rabbit that had been unexpectedly freed from a snare.

Orcadol was a controlled substance, an opiate and a powerful painkiller. In the wrong hands, it could be extremely dangerous. Whoever was stealing it needed to be stopped.

Until now, despite all the signs, it had been hard to convince herself of Bryce’s willingness, his obvious determination, to pin the recent thefts of Orcadol on her. After today, she had no choice but to accept that he would. At least she knew that he couldn’t possibly have any proof to support his accusation. She was innocent. In time, he would have no choice but to leave her alone and to pursue other leads.

She still didn’t understand why he had changed his mind so abruptly today, first holding her in his arms in a clumsy attempt to comfort her and then treating her like a common criminal. Taking her into an interrogation room, but then letting her go without asking a single question about the case. If his plan was to confuse her, it was working!

Mari finished her wine, catching the last drop on her tongue. Once upon a time she had believed Bryce to be a compassionate man—one who would stand by her and believe in her for as long as they lived.

That man, the one she had loved with all her heart, would have known without asking that she wasn’t capable of doing anything as heinous as stealing drugs in order to sell them illegally. He wouldn’t have doubted her, not even if he had been confronted with a mountain of proof.

She set her empty glass on the trunk she’d found at a flea market, tipped back her head and closed her eyes. She had certainly been wrong about Bryce, drastically so. Could it be possible that right now he was staring at whatever evidence he’d gathered and thinking the same thing—that he had been wrong about her?

As the liquid notes from Kenny G’s saxophone faded into silence, the phone rang. It startled Mari and woke the cat, who leaped away like a launched rocket. She let the machine take the call, but when she heard her brother’s voice, she grabbed the receiver.

“Geoff! How are you?”

“Right now I’m a little upset,” he replied. “Someone I know saw you going into the courthouse with that detective who’s been harassing you. I don’t figure the two of you were down there applying for a marriage license, Mari, so what gives? And why didn’t you call me?”

“I was going to,” she fibbed, picturing her brother pacing with his free hand clamped on the back of his neck. He did that when he felt pressured. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner and irritate Cecilia,” she added, trying to placate him. “You’re still on your honeymoon.”

“Cecilia would understand.” He spoke briskly, impatiently. “She knows how important you are to me. Now quit dodging the issue. What happened today?”

Quickly, Mari filled him in on the aborted interview.

“What can I do to help?” he asked. Despite Geoff’s many responsibilities at Bingham Enterprises and his recent elopement, he took his family duties seriously. In fact, until he’d met Cecilia, he had always been a bit of a stuffed shirt. Mari didn’t know the details, but she knew the other woman had turned his well-ordered life upside down.

“Well, you could give me a ride to the clinic in the morning,” Mari replied. “I left my car there this afternoon.”

“No problem, but you know that wasn’t what I meant when I offered to help.” His voice was edged with frustration.

“What did you have in mind?” she teased. “Assaulting an officer? I know you’ve been trying to loosen up your image, but getting arrested would be a little extreme, don’t you think? One felon in the family’s enough.”

“It won’t come to that, sis, but it’s time that we hired you an attorney. I know several good ones.”

Mari massaged her temple, willing away the headache she could feel coming like a thundercloud building up on the horizon. “I told you before, I don’t need an attorney,” she said quietly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He released a huff of breath that signaled his impatience. “Hiring an attorney isn’t an admission of guilt. You’ll need—”

Mari cut him off. “You said that before, but what I need is a ride to work tomorrow. That’s all for now, okay?” How could she explain that she just wasn’t ready to take that step? Not yet.

From everything she had heard about him, Bryce was a good detective. Despite whatever personal ax he might have to grind, sooner or later he would talk to a witness or uncover new evidence that would make him realize he had been looking in the wrong direction. When that happened, Mari’s personal nightmare would be over.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning on one condition,” Geoff said. He was a skilled negotiator, trained by their father to deal with important clients. Even though Geoff was younger than Mari, when the two of them were growing up he’d always managed to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted.

“What’s the condition?” she asked warily.

“Let me line up the best defense attorney I can find, just in case. You don’t have to worry about the bill.”

“That’s not the point. I don’t need—” Mari began.

“But your family needs to do something, okay?” Geoff said. “Something more than playing taxi while we wait for your detective friend to crack the case.”

She wanted an aspirin. “Okay.” Surely this mess would be cleared up soon—any day now—and her life would return to normal.

They set a time for him to pick her up in the morning, she asked that he give his bride her love and they said goodbye. After she hung up and took some aspirin, she turned on the television. Perhaps watching a tribe of ordinary people attempt to outplay, outwit and tearfully eliminate each other on some deserted island would put her own life back into perspective.

Chapter Three

“Collins! Phone call on line two,” shouted the uniformed deputy filling in for Christine while she took a break.

Bryce was sitting at his desk with his notes about the Orcadol case spread out before him, but he couldn’t concentrate. An hour had passed since Mari stomped out of the office. He might as well leave, too, for all the work he was getting done.

Disgusted with himself for letting her walk away, he picked up the receiver and punched the button that was lit up.

“Detective Collins.”

“Hey, bro! How ya doin’?”

His mood dropped another notch. From the giggle that followed Joey’s question, Bryce figured that his younger brother was either high or drunk. Unfortunately, Joey had never met an addictive substance he didn’t like.

“Hi, Joey. What’s new?”

“Oh, not much. Just figured I’d check in with my law-abiding big brother.”

Bryce could hear laughter and rap music in the background. Joey seemed to collect no-good bums and losers. No matter how many times Bryce told himself that he wasn’t responsible for his brother’s behavior, it didn’t wash.

“You okay?” he asked reluctantly.

In his opinion, Joey was never okay. The coal mine accident that left their father paralyzed when they were kids had somehow crippled Joey, as well. He had been in and out of juvy for small stuff. Between losing or quitting every job Bryce got him, he’d been arrested for a DUI, shoplifting and possession.

“Right as rain.” He giggled again.

“I’m at work, Joey. You must know that, because you called me on the department number. Why didn’t you ring my cell phone like I’ve asked?”

As soon as the words were out, Bryce winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. It wasn’t Joey’s fault that his own day had gone so badly.

“Sorry, bro. I, uh, I lost your cell number.”

“No problem,” Bryce replied, struggling for patience. “Let me give it to you again.”

He rattled it off and then he made Joey repeat it back. Maybe he’d keep it this time. The way he was headed, he’d probably need Bryce’s help.

“I’m about done here,” Bryce said. “You want to get a bite? We could go to Melinda’s. I’ll buy you a steak.”

Joey was as gaunt as a greyhound and usually in need of a haircut, but Bryce didn’t care how his brother looked. Perhaps he could talk some sense into him.

Melinda’s was Binghamton’s version of fancy. The decor was a little dramatic, but the food was reliable. On weekends, the live music alternated between country bands and classic rock, but it would be quiet tonight and they could talk.

“Nice of you to ask, bro, but I’ve kind of got something going here already. Rain check?”

Bryce felt a mix of disappointment and relief that added to his guilt. Where had he failed his only sibling?

“Sure thing. I’ll catch you next time.”

“One of these days real soon, I’ll be the one picking up the check.” Joey’s voice was hyped. “You wait. Maybe I’ll buy you a car, some fancy wheels to replace that piece of crap you drive now.”

Joey’s bragging barely registered. He always had some deal going, some shortcut to wealth that never amounted to a hill of black-eyed peas.

Once again a corrosive mix of guilt, regret and resentment sloshed around in Bryce’s gut like cheap whiskey. “That would be great. Make it red, with a good stereo, okay?”

“You never listen!” Joey’s mood flipped abruptly, as it often did. “Don’t you p-p-patronize me! I’m gonna show you! I’ll show everyone!”

Before Bryce could say anything more, the phone slammed down in his ear. Damn, he thought as tension zinged his brain. Another warm and fuzzy Collins family moment.

He slid open the drawer of his desk, found the battered aspirin bottle clear in the back and shook out two pills. He swallowed them with the rest of his cold coffee. As he shuffled the reports on the Orcadol investigation back into the folder, Hank sidled up to his desk like an overweight crab.

“When you gonna crack the Orchid case?” he asked loudly, jingling the coins in the pocket of his pants. His free hand rested on his gut as if to hold it up. “Got any leads yet?”

Hank’s interest was puzzling until Bryce saw that Sheriff Remington’s office door sat open.

“Save it, Butler,” Bryce replied with a jerk of his thumb. “He’s not paying attention.”

Hank flushed an unhealthy shade of red.

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” he blustered. “I’m just trying to help out.”

A rookie might have been taken in by Hank’s innocent expression and his helpful tone, but Bryce had been around long enough to know better. The other detective had a reputation for easing into a case after the legwork had already been done so he could hog part of the credit.

Bryce had already been pointedly rude to Hank today and the other detective still had juice with a couple of old-timers in county government. Hank’s other connections were mostly petty criminals and snitches, but antagonizing a fellow cop was never smart. You never knew when you might have to count on him to watch your back.

“I appreciate the offer.” Bryce kept his expression bland. “Let me get back to you.”

They exchanged phony smiles before Hank lumbered out to the vending machine in the lobby. Just watching him was enough to sink Bryce’s mood even further.

Was he seeing a glimpse of his own future? Hank’s wife had divorced him years ago and moved away with their daughter. Now he lived alone in a beat-up rental, waiting either for his pension to kick in or a heart attack to drop him—whichever came first. In the meantime, Hank closed enough routine cases to avoid becoming a blip on the sheriff’s radar.

“Detective Collins?” As if he had read Bryce’s mind, Sheriff Remington stood in the doorway of his office. “Got a minute?”

Bryce blinked and refocused. “Sure thing, Sheriff.” He got to his feet and dragged up another smile, one he hoped was convincing. “What can I do for you?”

“Bring the Orcadol file.” He went back inside.

Folder in hand, Bryce felt like a kid who’d been summoned to the principal’s office. He took the plain wood chair facing the sheriff’s desk. Among themselves, the deputies called it The Hot Seat.

“Have you got anything new to tell me?” Remington sat back, his hands steepled and his fingertips grazing his mustache. He gave Bryce his full attention.

“No, sir.” Bryce knew from painful experience how pointless it was to jerk his boss around. “I wasn’t able to interview Dr. Bingham today like I planned, but I will.”

The sheriff’s gaze narrowed, but he didn’t ask any more questions. Instead he removed a folder from a drawer and slid it across his desk. “This came in a little while ago. It’s the analysis on the handwriting recovered from the drug raid.”

Bryce itched to open the folder and read the contents. When they’d paid the dealer a surprise visit, they’d confiscated a variety of illegal substances, as well as what looked like torn prescriptions with Mari’s name. The signatures were illegible, but the department had ordered a comparison with a sample of her handwriting obtained by its office.

“The handwriting isn’t Dr. Bingham’s,” Remington said. “It wasn’t even a good forgery.”

Bryce was surprised by the relief that flowed through him. What he should be experiencing was disappointment, since the findings of the report made his case a whole lot tougher.

“I see,” he said stupidly.

Remington narrowed his piercing blue eyes. “I’ve been taking a lot of heat from the mayor’s office on this, and I’m damned tired of seeing my name in the Mage.”

He was referring to the town newspaper, which had run several editorials questioning the sheriff’s priorities. His re-election campaign had included a promise to clean up the county and get illegal drugs off the street, but the arrests they’d made so far hadn’t yielded much in the way of either drugs or useful information.

He ran a hand through his white hair. “Last week a reporter from a TV station in Lexington called. She was looking for an interview.” Clearly the request hadn’t made him happy. “I’m starting to feel like a duck in a shooting gallery, Detective. What’s your next move?”

Bryce tapped his finger on the report. “Whoever is responsible for switching Orcadol at the clinic with a different painkiller has got to work there. I’ll need access to their personnel records.”

The sheriff frowned thoughtfully. “Do you have a plan?”

“I’ve got an idea that I’m pursuing,” he replied, hoping the sheriff didn’t ask for details.

The sheriff tapped his fingers on his desktop. “Let’s not rule out the doctor yet as a person of interest. She may be connected somehow, since I doubt this is a solo operation. If you lean on her, she may crack.”

“Yes, sir.” Bryce picked up the folder. The idea that Mari might have sold or given out illegal prescriptions for Orcadol had never made much sense to him, despite how much his bitter, angry side wanted to believe it. Illegal drug trafficking was a damned risky way to get the money for her research center. Now he was back to square two, looking for the link to the Foster Clinic.

The sheriff reached for his phone. “Keep me informed.”

“How are you feeling?” Mari asked Milla as they left the clinic for the day and walked toward the employee parking lot. “Nausea all gone?”

Milla blushed prettily as she glanced up at the man beside her. Mari was sure Milla’s high color wasn’t just because of the temperature, even though the day was especially warm.

There wasn’t a breath of air to stir the tree branches overhead. Even the last of the summer flowers bordering the sidewalk appeared wilted.

“My ankles are a little swollen,” Milla confessed. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

Milla’s fiancé and the father of the baby she was carrying, Kyle Bingham, took her hand in his as he made a point to peer down at her legs in loose-fitting uniform pants and thick-soled white shoes.

“You have the ankles of a gazelle,” he told her with a straight face.

Kyle was a resident at the hospital, as well as Mari’s cousin. Although Uncle Billy had never gotten around to marrying any of his numerous lady friends, he’d managed to father several children, including Kyle, before perishing in the crash of his plane. Each of Billy’s descendants had a different mother. Adding to the confusion, the boy who Kyle was helping Milla raise, named Dylan, was another of Uncle Billy’s progeny. Young Dylan was Kyle’s half brother.

Despite the dinner that Mari had recently hosted to introduce Kyle into the Bingham family, she hadn’t known him well until he’d met Milla. He had done the right thing when Milla got pregnant, but he’d also rescued both her and the clinic in another way.

During a recent home visit, Milla had discovered a new mother dead of a drug overdose and her baby girl in critical condition from ingesting contaminated breast milk. Milla called Kyle and together they managed to save the baby’s life.

As fate would have it, the baby’s aunt and uncle were the same couple who had filed a malpractice suit against Milla and the clinic for sending their own newborn to intensive care some months ago. When they saw Milla treating their niece, they confronted her.

Kyle overheard the loud exchange and leaped to Milla’s defense. He explained to the Canfields that without her quick thinking, the tot wouldn’t have survived. He didn’t mention his role in the rescue, instead giving Milla full credit. By the time he was through talking, he’d convinced the Canfields that no midwife as caring as Milla deserved to have her career damaged by a lawsuit.

Now she radiated with happiness, despite her swollen ankles and the fact that the day had been a hectic one. Love, Mari thought with a little curl of envy, must do that for some people.

Milla must have read something in Mari’s expression, because her smile faded. “This is all so unfair,” she exclaimed. “I wish there was something I could do to help the police find out who’s really been stealing Orcadol, so they’d leave you alone.”

Patting her shoulder, Mari felt the sudden tension. Milla didn’t need this kind of stress, not in her condition.

“You’ve both been wonderful,” Mari said. “Milla, I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate everything you did yesterday.”

Milla had quietly dealt with Mari’s patients after Bryce hauled Mari to the sheriff’s office. She had made excuses, rescheduled appointments and fielded questions from other staff members.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” Milla said, clearly embarrassed. “I was honored to help. I could never repay you for all your support.”

“I think we’re more than even.” Mari smiled at Kyle. “Do you realize how lucky you are, cousin?”

With a wide grin of his own, he leaned over to kiss Milla’s cheek.

“Absolutely. Having Milla, Dylan and a baby on the way has made me happier than winning the megastate lottery,” he replied.

To keep her thoughts from sliding back to her own problems, Mari tried hard to focus on the other couple’s obvious joy. Surely someday she, too, would find a man to care about, one who would support her career and help her to finally forget about her first painful love.

Milla’s happy smile faded again as she glanced past Mari. “On, no,” Milla groaned. “What can he possibly want this time?”

Mari glanced around to see who Milla was talking about. Her entire system jolted when she spotted Bryce leaning against his car, arms folded as he watched them. Despite the muggy heat, he was still wearing a lightweight jacket with his tan slacks, but his folded-up tie was sticking out of his pocket and his shirt was open at the neck. His hair was damp and slightly disheveled, as though he had been raking his fingers through it in the same way he used to do when they studied together. It gave him a youthful air she hadn’t seen in a long time, but the gravity of his expression spoiled the effect.

“Would you like me to run him off?” Kyle offered as Bryce approached them.

Mari took a deep breath. How could she find him attractive after everything that had happened between them? She must not have any better sense than a teenage girl with a crush on the boy she knew to be bad news.

Holding tight to her resolve, Mari patted Kyle’s arm. “I’ll be fine.”

She was fed up with Bryce’s constant harassment. Yesterday she had been too upset to offer much resistance when he’d hauled her into his arms, but today she was more than ready to vent her frustration.

“You two go on ahead,” she told Kyle. “I know you’re planning to take Dylan out to dinner. I’ve got a class tonight, so I’ll deal with this little annoyance myself.”

“Are you sure?” Milla asked. “You don’t have to talk to him. Maybe we should call Lily or an attorney.”

Mari shook her head. “I don’t need help standing up to a bully.” She pitched her voice loud enough for Bryce to hear, but he didn’t flinch. Either he’d grown immune to insults or her opinion didn’t concern him.

Probably the latter, since he believed her to be a criminal. He had stopped caring about her a long time ago, when she thought they were madly in love and planning a future together. Not only had he spoiled everything by refusing to go with her when she left for college, but he had expected her to give up her dream of attending medical school, so they could both find dead-end jobs here in Binghamton.

“Doctor. Miss Johnson.” With a nod, Bryce stepped off the sidewalk so they could walk by him. Milla returned his greeting softly with her gaze on the ground, but Kyle gave him a level stare.

“Call security if you need any help,” Kyle suggested to Mari as Milla tugged on his hand to hurry him along.

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