Beauty vs. the Beast
M.J. Rodgers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This is dedicated to Randall Toye with special thanks for his vote of confidence in its concept.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

K.O. (Kay) Kellogg—This attorney’s arguing a dynamite case. With luck it won’t blow up in her face.

Damian Steele—He’s the psychologist who “killed” the nasty personality of a dual-personality patient.

Lee/Roy Nye—Lee is the dual-personality patient; Roy no longer exists. Or does he?

Rodney Croghan—He’s the attorney for the plaintiff, a conniving and ruthless opponent.

Fedora Nye—She’s the woman who’s suing Damian for murdering her husband’s personality.

Tim Haley—He was Damian’s receptionist. Now he’s too angry to work with him.

Priscilla Payton—She’s a lady scorned and maybe a lady out for vengeance.

Larry Nye—He’s the son of the “murdered” man, a chip off the old block.

Bette Boson—She’s another multiple-personality patient with even more severe problems.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Prologue

Angry sounds rumbled through the walls.

The little boy rocked sleepily awake as the thunderous sounds shook his small body. His eyes blinked open to darkness.

He burrowed his head beneath his covers, cupping his ears with his palms, trying to block out the sounds. But the violent, unrelenting blows pounded ever more fiercely against his eardrums, making them feel sore and beaten.

He grabbed the pillow and dragged it beneath the covers. He wrapped it around his head to muffle his ears. If he could no longer hear the sounds, maybe he could make them go away.

Please.

But the angry sounds kept getting louder, closer.

He threw the pillow aside and snatched the covers off his head. He dived for the edge of the mattress. His feet tangled in the sheet and blanket. He fell to the floor, kicking and squirming, clumsily trying to free himself.

Frantically, he fought with the bedding and with the tears of terror beading onto his cheeks as the precious seconds slipped away.

And the angry pounding came closer, ever closer.

His tiny fingers clawed at the wood-slat floor as he inched himself beneath his bed. The bulky bedding got caught on the bed frame. He pulled his feet free of it just as the pounding stopped right outside his bedroom door.

He flattened himself beneath the bed as panic welled sick in his stomach and the rough wooden planks scored his delicate cheek.

The door to his bedroom banged open. The hallway light blinded him. He raised a shaking hand to shade his eyes, peering through the slits between his small fingers.

He could see the hideous dark hump swaying in the doorway, so immense its shadow pressed against the walls and climbed to the very ceiling. It was the demon from hell, its eyes glowing red, its rancid stench of smoke and acrid alcohol burning the little boy’s sensitive nostrils.

He opened his mouth to scream—great, lung-emptying, panic-packed shrieks that tragically could make no sound at all, except in the deepest and darkest recesses of his mind.

For he knew he could not let the demon hear his screams, or the reasons for them would only get so much worse.

The demon bellowed its angry thunder throughout the boy’s small body as it stomped into the room, lifted the empty mattress off the bed and threw it against the wall. This was just the beginning of its search. And the longer it searched and could not find him, the more furious it would get. And the more terrible the punishment would eventually be.

The little boy knew he was worthless and deserved everything he got. He had been told that often enough. He should come out from under the bed now and submit to his punishment.

But the little boy couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t willingly give up to this angry, hurtful demon. He had to try to escape just one more time.

The demon stomped over to the closet and yanked open the door, growling and kicking and slamming its huge fists against the closet wall when it realized its prey was not there.

The little boy knew his chance had come. He slid out from under the bed and quickly scampered over to the bedroom door.

His heart hammered in his chest as he ran down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him.

He must hide. But where could he go? He’d been found in the living room behind the couch. He’d been found in the kitchen under the table. He’d even been found in the laundry room at the bottom of the hamper beneath a pile of dirty clothes.

Maybe the demon wouldn’t think to look in that old storage shed behind the garage. The little boy jumped uncontrollably as the next angry bellow shook the hallway walls. It was coming out of the bedroom.

He had to get away. He could think of nowhere else to go. He would head for the shed.

The little boy’s bare feet slapped on the floorboards as he ran for the back door. He grasped the knob and pulled it open. The freezing night air hit him like an icy slap. He held tightly to the rickety banister as he scurried down the porch stairs. But in the panic of his headlong rush, he tripped on the steps and fell face first onto the frozen ground.

He landed hard, the breath knocked from his body. He could hear the demon bellowing once more from inside the house. The little boy gasped for air, forcing himself to lie still against the icy ground, against the chilling terror, until his lungs filled again and his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

He began to make out the faint silhouette of the garage. He got to his hands and knees and crawled beside its rough stucco wall until he reached the old, dilapidated shed behind it. He scrambled to his feet.

His small hands stretched above his head to feel for the rusted iron latch. With all his strength, he pulled the heavy wooden door toward him. He slipped inside the shed and closed the door behind him, hearing the latch click into place.

The shed was absolutely black. The hard earth floor was like ice beneath his bare feet. His knees and palms stung from his fall down the stairs.

The little boy paid no heed to these physical discomforts. He felt his way slowly over the rough-hewn, wood-splintered walls until he had reached the farthermost corner. He leaned his back against it and sunk to the ground.

It took a very long time before his heart stopped pounding against his thin ribs, before his breath stopped wheezing through his small lungs. Finally, he drifted into a blessed numbness, a welcome respite from the ripping terror.

He didn’t know how long he huddled there, but gradually he began to feel very cramped and tired and awfully cold. He shifted his position slightly, only to have his bare toes poked by the stiff bristles of a nearby broom. He longed to be stretched out on his bed beneath a warm blanket.

But he knew there were things much worse than being cramped and tired and cold. Much worse.

He could still hear the demon’s distant roar as it continued to search the house for him.

He shivered as the cold night breeze whipped through the wooden slats at his back. He could just make out an old tarp shoved against the shed’s wall a few feet away. He leaned forward and grasped the tarp’s edge and dragged it toward him. He dropped back into his corner and draped the old tarp over his small back and shoulders to keep off the draft.

The tarp was stiff and smelled of paint. He didn’t care. For a few precious moments, he almost felt warm. For a few precious moments, he thought he had escaped this night. For a few precious moments...

The back door to the house suddenly slammed. The heavy boots of the demon crunched over the frozen ground as they made their way to the garage, bringing an abrupt end to all the little boy’s hopes.

He burrowed his head between his knees as terror once again tore through his heart. It would search the garage, and when it didn’t find him there, it would be bound to search the old shed behind it.

He should have known the demon would find him. It always found him.

A sob broke through his small throat. No! No! Not again! He must find a way to escape before it came for him. He must!

Chapter One

Kay knew he was coming. She stood behind her desk and waited impatiently as she wondered why Adam Justice, her senior partner at the law offices of Justice Inc., had been so mysterious about this new client he was sending her.

The stranger stepped through the open doorway of her walnut-paneled office, halting uncertainly the second he saw her.

“You’re K. O. Kellogg?”

Kay nodded mutely, at the same time wincing internally at the surprise stamped on his face and in his deep voice. She should be reconciled to both by now. She wasn’t.

Still, just as she obviously didn’t fit his preconceived idea of a lawyer, he didn’t fit her preconceived idea of a psychologist.

His full, unruly, dark brown hair framed a ruggedly square, sun-darkened face. He looked as if he’d be far more at home at the helm of a ship than anchored to an analyst’s couch. Yet, in contrast to his rough, outdoorsy features, his dark dress slacks, tan cashmere jacket and open-necked, salmon-colored silk shirt bespoke a man thoroughly at ease in more formal, indoor settings.

“Please come in, Dr. Steele. I’ve been expecting you.”

He closed the door behind him and advanced into the room. His stride was long, muscular and powerful. His face was open, fluid and friendly.

Except, that is, for the sharp assessment in his glinting green eyes. Something about that intense, imposing glint belied the casual countenance of the man.

“I’m only Dr. Steele to my patients,” he said. “Call me Damian. And your first name is...?”

Kay leaned across her neat, polished walnut desk to extend her hand. “I’m called Kay.”

“Kay,” he repeated as his much larger hand engulfed hers and lingered, branding her with its gentle insistence. As she looked into those deep green eyes and felt the claim of his hand, a strange, warm sensation streaked down the back of her thighs.

Kay quickly slipped her eyes and her hand from his and sat down. She knew what that strange sensation was, of course. Her new shoes had to be cutting off the circulation in her legs. She had suspected the heels would be too high. Still, the idea of adding a full three inches to her height had been too enticing to resist.

That would teach her to watch those illogical impulses. As soon as this interview was over, she’d slip her feet into the pair of fuzzy slippers she kept in her drawer. Until then, she’d try to remain seated. She motioned toward one of the walnut-armed chairs in front of her desk.

“Were you expecting a man, Dr. Steele?”

He took the offered chair, but sat on its edge. “No. Your senior partner told me you were a woman.”

Kay thought as much. Adam Justice generally cleared that particular obstacle from the start. As for clearing the misleading image of her small size and too youthful face, well, here she was again, beginning the uphill climb. Kay took a deep, resolute breath.

“So, it’s my appearance that has caused your...surprise.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. He obviously had not expected her to address the issue so candidly. The upturn to the corners of his mouth hinted at a small amusement.

“Yes, Kay. You could say your appearance came as somewhat of a surprise.”

Well, at least he was open about it.

She felt the frown line forming between her eyebrows. “I hope you’re not the kind of man to be unduly influenced by appearances.”

He smiled directly at her frown. “I think you’d be safe in assuming I’m not.”

He had an inviting, disarming smile—the kind that made one instinctively trust him. Kay did not allow herself to succumb to any such instinct. She rested her hands on her desk and launched into the well-rehearsed litany of her professional credits.

“I’ve been a practicing attorney for six years, the last five at this firm. I was made a full partner fifteen months ago. Mr. Justice told me that your case involves an unusual civil matter. I’ve handled many civil matters for this firm, some of which have been most unusual. I’ve gone to trial on thirty cases and won twenty-nine.”

“Adam mentioned you had an impressive trial record.”

Kay’s forward momentum immediately swerved to this interesting side road. “Adam? I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis with our firm’s senior partner. How do you know Adam?”

“We met a few years back.”

“Where?”

“Around.”

“You’re friends?”

“We know each other.”

His sentence dropped into a definite and deliberate period. Kay’s brief hope of finding out something more personal about Adam Justice took a nosedive. It seemed Dr. Damian Steele was as good at playing mysterious as her firm’s senior partner. Yes, that impenetrable glint in those deep green eyes was undoubtedly a warning—this was a man who kept secrets and kept them well.

“I’m glad Adam told you about my trial record. However, he may not have mentioned that I’ve also negotiated equitable settlements on as many cases that never went to tri—”

“I’m not interested in settling.”

The easy smile had quickly left Damian Steele’s face. His smooth, deep voice had developed a rough, sharp edge. There was a menacing feel to the glint that now flashed in his eyes. And that’s when Kay knew that, charming smile and civilized dress notwithstanding, this man could be dangerous. A half chill, half thrill shot up her spine.

“All right, Dr. Steele, I hear you. You don’t want to settle your case.”

“Damian, remember?”

The smile was suddenly back, as charming as ever.

“Of course, Damian,” she repeated casually. But the sound of his first name passing between her lips set off a warm hum inside her mouth that made her curiously self-conscious.

There was certainly an intriguing mercurial quality to Dr. Damian Steele—open and thoroughly enticing one instant, mysteriously closed and darkly dangerous the next.

Kay cleared her throat and gave herself a moment to whisk away her strangely contrasting and singularly unsettling reactions to this man. She steadied her hands on her desk as she determinedly brought her attention back to the issue at hand.

“Why don’t you tell me about your situation? From the beginning, if you please.”

He watched her a long moment before leaning back in his chair. Despite his initial surprise at her appearance, he wasn’t running for the door. Yet. She followed his lead and relaxed in her chair.

“I’m a psychologist in private practice. Five and a half years ago, a man named Lee Nye came to me plagued by troubling blackouts. In the course of my therapy with Lee, I discovered that living inside him, he had another separate and distinct personality named Roy.”

Kay instantly shot forward in her chair. “You mean he’s one of those multiple-personality people?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t he just tell you that?”

“He didn’t know. Neither of his personalities was aware of the other.”

Kay leaned back again, taking a moment to consider his words. Multiple personalities were the latest of the legal hot spots. She’d followed several recent cases with interest.

In those cases, defendants with the disorder claimed that since only one of their multiple personalities committed a crime, their other personalities were blameless and shouldn’t be punished. It had become a very sticky legal issue, no doubt about it.

Kay believed that most of these defendants were only doing what defendants had done since the beginning of the trial-by-jury system—latching on to the newest legal loophole that would allow them to get out of taking responsibility for their actions.

She carefully kept the cynicism out of her tone.

“I confess I know very little about this condition. How is it possible for a man to possess two personalities inside him and not know it?”

Damian Steele had been watching her intently with that open face and those secretive eyes. She knew it was impossible, but she had the uncanny feeling that he had been reading her thoughts as easily as a highway sign warning of a divided road ahead.

He raised his hands off the arms of his chair and slowly brought them together. His fingers moved as though to interlace, but instead butted up against one another.

“The two Nye personalities had been living separate mental lives and saw themselves as separate identities. When each personality started to seek control over the consciousness, their identities began to clash.”

She leaned forward slightly. “You describe these personalities as having separate identities. Is this multiple-personality phenomenon an intense, extended form of role playing? Like an actor throwing himself into a part so thoroughly, he forgets he’s acting?”

“No, Kay. There is no conscious intent to role-play. The divergent and distinct personalities are absolutely real to that person. That’s why a clash resulted when these two both sought control over the consciousness.”

“How were these personalities able to coexist before without a clash?”

“Lee—the personality I treated—had been submerged for many years while Roy held control over the consciousness. Then Lee began to lay claim to the consciousness approximately six years ago. Lee’s emergence caused each of the separate personalities to experience memory blackouts during the time the other took control. After one of these blackouts, Lee would suddenly come to awareness and find himself in a place he didn’t recognize, with people he didn’t know and with absolutely no memory of the intervening hours, days or maybe even longer periods of time.”

“A kind of recurring amnesia.”

“Yes.”

“And you say the clash between the two personalities began about six years ago because this Lee personality that was subordinated started to come out?”

“Yes.”

“Why did Lee start to come out?”

“Because the previously dominant personality—Roy—had been steadily getting weaker over the years, and Lee had been steadily getting stronger.”

“Ah, it was like a tug-of-war between them.”

“In a manner of speaking. Only, since neither knew about the other, each was tugging, as you put it, against an unknown.”

“Tugging against an unknown,” Kay repeated, trying out the words in an attempt to better grasp the elusive concept. “I’m striving to relate this to something familiar in my own personal experience, but I confess I’m having trouble finding anything.”

“I doubt you ever will. This phenomenon is hard to relate to normal experience. The individual I treated was born LeRoy Lyle Nye on August 20, 1952. That means his body is in its forties. But Lee, the man who came to me for treatment, can remember very little personal history before six years ago.”

“Because he only came to life six years ago?”

“In some respects, yes, but he is an adult. He views himself as a man in his early thirties and behaves consistent with that view.”

“Surely this Lee personality must have suspected something was amiss when he could only remember back such a short time.”

“He thought very little of his past. The present and future claimed his primary focus. His blackout episodes were far more disturbing to him than his lack of earlier personal memories. The latter he accepted as a mere inconvenience.”

“He only felt inconvenienced? I would think a normal person would be frantic.”

“Because a normal person would feel the loss. But when Lee thought about his lack of memories, which wasn’t often, he merely assumed others had the same difficulties remembering as he did.”

“Is Lee’s reaction typical for someone with his disorder?”

“There is very little that is ‘typical’ in a multiple-personality case. Each is as individual as the mind from which it evolves. These cases were once thought to be rare. Now, most in the field believe they are far more common than any of us imagined. The literature is growing on the subject, but we still have much to learn about diagnosis and treatment.”

“You realize, I expect, that the concept of two separate and distinct personalities existing in the same mind is rather an unusual one for the layperson to envision, much less accept.”

His left hand swept across the thick, unruly hair at the side of his head. It was a rough, square hand, a tool for the impatience that she sensed had set it into motion. But it was also a servant to the disciplined mind that returned it to the arm of his chair. As she had earlier sensed, this psychologist could be just as complicated as his subject.

“Kay, multiple personality disorder or MPD still seems like science fiction to many people, even many psychologists. Some postulate that the affected individuals possess not many personalities, but many fragments of one personality.”

“Which approach do you consider more accurate?”

“I’m a pragmatist. I don’t fixate on disputing or embracing labels or adhering to hard-and-fast data.”

“So how do you approach treatment?”

Damian rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, the heels of his shoes disappearing into the thick mustard-colored carpet, his long, lean legs crossing at the ankles.

“I believe achieving results is what is important, not how the results are achieved. Patients come to me or any psychologist because they want to eliminate their disruptive feelings or behavior, sometimes both. I try what I believe will work, and if my method doesn’t work, I drop it and try something else until I find what does work.”

“What did you try with Lee when he came to you?”

“Lee wanted to eliminate his disruptive blackouts. Nothing in his present life appeared to be causing them. His lack of memories strongly pointed to the possibility of past trauma. I hypnotized him to discover what that past trauma might be. It was under hypnosis that Roy emerged.”

“So up until the time you hypnotized Lee, you didn’t know Roy, the second personality, existed?”

“That’s correct. Actually, Roy never came out in my sessions with Lee unless Lee was under hypnosis.”

“Are you saying he had to be hypnotized into being Roy?”

“No. What I’m saying is that under hypnosis, the control Lee exerted over the shared mind was relaxed sufficiently to allow Roy to be called out at will.”

“At your will, as opposed to Lee’s or Roy’s.”

“Yes. The first time it happened was quite unexpected. I had hypnotized Lee and asked him to tell me about his blackout periods, reasoning that an unconscious part of his mind must know. And it did. That unconscious part was Roy.”

“He popped up and introduced himself?”

Damian smiled. “Not exactly.”

“Then how did you know you were talking to this other personality?”

“Frankly, I didn’t know who I was talking to at first. The experience of finding another personality inside one’s patient is unnerving. It takes some adjusting and reflection on the part of a therapist not used to the phenomenon.”

“Lee was the only multiple case you had seen?”

“At that time, yes. I was eager to get up to speed on proper diagnosis and treatment. After I discovered Roy, I videotaped every subsequent session in order to be certain that I wouldn’t miss anything. That proved very fortunate. If I hadn’t had the tape to replay for Lee, I doubt he would have believed in the reality of Roy. You see, even people with multiple personalities have difficulty accepting the concept.”

Damian smiled at her with warm understanding for her reservations. “I know it must be difficult to take all this in,” he said.

Kay found herself wanting to immediately release her skepticism and accept whatever this man said. She caught herself just in time and shook herself mentally. Damn, but this psychologist was good at getting one’s defenses down. She’d have to be careful. Very careful.

She sat up straighter in her chair, cleared her throat. “How can a person’s mind become separated into these different personalities as you’ve described?”

“Psychological research connects the development of multiple personalities to a traumatic fragmenting of the core personality.”

“And the English version of that translates to...?”

He grinned at her, a very attractive grin.

“Perhaps an analogy would be helpful. If you think of our early-childhood personalities as rough diamonds and life experiences as the diamond cutter, then a multiple-personality individual is the result of life’s diamond cutter clearly missing its mark. The personality ends up shattered into pieces—sometimes two, far more often into many different pieces.”

“And in the case of your patient, the different fragmented personality piece that emerged as a young child was Roy.”

“He was chosen by the mind to exist in the hostile childhood environment.”

“What was the hostile environment that fragmented the personality?”

“Roy’s mother became pregnant as a young teen. Her parents arranged for the baby to be adopted by a childless couple they knew. However, when Roy was two, his teenage mother kidnapped him from his adoptive parents and fled the state with a guy she had just met. The man physically and emotionally abused the child.”

Kay sagged into the back of her chair. She had had to deal firsthand with the emotional devastation of child abuse in her first year as a lawyer in the King County prosecutor’s office. The anger and repulsion she’d felt at hearing such stories, along with her frustrated efforts to gather enough evidence to put away so many of the abusers, had finally driven her out of the prosecutor’s office and into civil law at a private firm.

She knew she was tough. But she no longer kidded herself that she would ever be tough enough to deal with such horrors and inhumanity with the dispassion the profession demanded. She forcibly refocused her attention to the issue at hand.

“Why didn’t the child’s mother protect him?”

“I don’t know for certain. Maybe due to fear for herself. But by turning her back to the abuse, she contributed to it.”

“You say Roy’s mother did this. But wasn’t she also Lee’s mother?”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally, no. Lee remembers little of his childhood. He seems to have nearly total amnesia for his own life events occurring before approximately six years ago.”

“But earlier you said that he views himself as a man in his thirties. How can he sense thirty-plus years of existence when he only remembers six?”

“It’s like Lee was sitting in front of a window opening to the world. He can tell you about the social and cultural changes that have occurred during most of his lifetime, including names of presidents and world events. He just can’t relate them to anything personal that happened to him until about six years ago.”

“Because six years ago was when he began to interact with life and not just watch it.”

“Yes, very well put, Kay. The Lee personality existed in early childhood only as an observer. He lived in a kind of mental attic where he felt protected and safe. Then six years ago, he came down from his mental attic and began to take over from the Roy personality.”

Despite the fact that Kay was still having difficulty getting her mind to accept the bizarre nature of this disorder, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by it. Two people inside one mind—each compartmentalized into separate memories and identities. It was literally mind-boggling.

“You said Lee Nye came to you for help. Did Roy Nye also seek help?”

“No. Roy Nye attributed his memory losses to alcoholic stupors.”

“And when he learned about Lee?”

“When I showed him the videotape of the sessions with Lee in control, he erupted first into denial, then anger.”

“How does he handle the situation now?”

“He doesn’t. Roy Nye is dead.”

Kay blinked in surprise. “Dead?”

“Yes. He died four years ago. Which brings me to why I’m here, Kay. Mrs. Roy Nye has filed a three-million-dollar wrongful-death lawsuit against me.”

“Your patient was married?”

“No, Lee wasn’t married. Roy was.”

“And Roy’s widow blames you for Roy’s death?”

“Yes.”

“Because of your treatment?”

“Yes.”

“Were formal charges ever brought against you in connection with Roy Nye’s death?”

“No.”

“Did the police ever consider you a suspect?”

“The police were never involved.”

“If Roy died of natural causes or an accidental death, how can his wife—”

“Roy died neither by accident nor by natural causes.”

Kay leaned her forearms on her desk, trying to bore past the solid wall of secrecy in those deep green eyes.

“Okay, I confess I’m confused. How did Roy Nye die?”

His eyes never left hers. His deep voice did not alter a decibel as he delivered the news.

“I killed him.”

Chapter Two

Damian watched his admission rivet Kay’s spine into stiff attention.

He had intentionally shocked her. He wanted to find out who the woman was inside that delicately petite five-foot two-inch frame.

From the moment he’d walked into her office, he’d sensed that Kay Kellogg was nothing like the image she presented.

Not that the image she presented was at all hard to take. Her long, honey-gold hair strained against its imprisonment beneath a silver barrette at the top of her head. Her eyes floated like plump blueberries in her milk-white face. She moved as gracefully as a slim willow, her soft voice sifting through the office like a gentle breeze rustling leaves.

And when she had taken his hand and his body had registered the strong current passing between them, he knew no woman had ever affected him so immediately or so thoroughly.

No doubt about it. Kay Kellogg possessed that kind of natural, land-mine femininity that instantly and spontaneously detonated deep in a man’s body, forcibly reminding him why he was happy to be a man.

She knew it, too, and the knowledge did not make her happy. That was evident by her lack of makeup and jewelry and the formalness and formidability of her dark blue linen suit and the high collar of her light blue cotton blouse.

She wore her clothes like armor. She was making a mistake. All that starched formality only served to accentuate the soft, beckoning woman beneath.

This valiant need she had to try to hide her femininity was far more disturbing and deadly to Damian than even all that land-mine femininity, because it stirred up all his protective instincts.

She didn’t react to his news, except for that initial and instant rigidity of spine. Her eyes remained focused on his, her hands steady, her soft voice absolutely even. She recovered exceptionally fast.

“Are you saying that the police don’t know you committed this murder?”

“I don’t consider I have committed a murder, Kay.”

“You just told me you killed Roy Nye.”

“I did.”

“Then it was an accident?”

“No, I deliberately set out to do it.”

Her eyes still remained glued to his; her composed voice did not falter. He was being deliberately obtuse. Yet she continued to deal with him calmly and coolly. She had an amazingly determined and disciplined mind within that delicate packaging.

“Kay, perhaps the situation will become clearer to you when I say that although Roy Nye is dead, Lee Nye is still very much alive.”

The small frown reappeared between her fawn-colored eyebrows. “How can one identity be dead and not the other?”

“Because I consciously sought to extinguish him. I was successful.”

“Are you saying you ‘killed’ the personality that was Roy?”

“We term it ‘extinguishing’ in psychological parlance. Once Lee Nye realized there was another personality inhabiting his body and taking over during the blackout periods, he was eager to be free of him.”

“And you agreed?”

“After I got to know Roy. He was in a self-destruct mode, inflicting ever-escalating harm. He was not amenable to change. If he had been allowed to continue, he would have taken Lee with him by killing off their shared physical self, as well as their separate personalities.”

“So you’re saying that to save Lee, you killed Roy.”

“Yes.”

“And now Roy’s widow is suing you in a wrongful death suit?”

“Yes.”

She sat back in her chair and pursed her lips in a moment of quiet contemplation. She had inviting lips—naturally pink and soft-looking. Still, they were deliberately unpainted and she definitely wasn’t pursing them in invitation. Good thing, too. Damian resolutely refocused his eyes on her small hands, resting steady and composed on her desk.

“Well, when Adam warned me that your case would be a surprise, he certainly didn’t exaggerate. This one is an original. A suit filed on behalf of a widow of a man who isn’t even really dead.”

“Make no mistake, Kay, Roy is dead. When I was successful in extinguishing him, Lee subsequently divorced Roy’s wife and shed all ties with Roy’s past, including having his name formally changed from LeRoy to Lee. The two individuals shared a body, but never a life. Roy is, as a matter of record, gone.”

“Psychologically speaking, Damian, I bow to your terms. But, legally at least, I think we should begin by attempting to dispute that fact.”

Her eyes were bright with possibilities. She tapped her fingers on the desk to an ever-increasing beat. Damian had the strong impression that they were impatiently trying to keep pace with her racing thoughts.

“I assume Mrs. Roy Nye knows all about your treatment of Lee and your part in extinguishing the Roy personality?”

“Yes. Lee fully explained the circumstances in court when he filed for divorce. Mrs. Nye didn’t contest the divorce. Lee told me later that she even seemed relieved.”

“Then why is she bringing this wrongful-death suit?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said Lee first came to you five and a half years ago?”

“Yes. I saw him for a year and a half before Roy was extinguished. However, Mrs. Nye didn’t file the wrongful-death suit until recently.”

“Any idea why she waited this long?”

“No.”

“Have you ever met her in person or talked to her over the phone?”

“No.”

“Even though you treated her husband?”

“I considered Lee to be my real patient. Her husband, Roy, was a destructive and dysfunctional personality fragment. I feel fortunate that I was successful in extinguishing Roy, thereby freeing Lee to take control of his life.”

Damian watched Kay inhale a deep breath and let it out with a shake of her head.

“Well, it’s certainly a unique cause of action Mrs. Nye will be bringing to court.”

“Will it stand up?”

“Logically, it shouldn’t. But with all the crazy things going on in the legal system these days, it’s hard to second-guess what a judge will let a jury hear. When were you served papers on this suit?”

“Four months ago.”

Her voice rose perceptibly. “Four months ago?”

“The pretrial motions are scheduled for this Friday. The trial is scheduled to begin a week from today.”

She leaned forward. “This Friday? A week from today? Why did you wait so long to seek legal representation?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been relying on the lawyer who represents my malpractice insurance company. After months of answering my frequent questions with vague assurances that he had everything under control, he finally called me into his office last week to tell me he was going for an out-of-court settlement.”

“What reason did he give?”

“He said that the publicity a suit like this could generate would only open a Pandora’s box of new suits against the psychologists that the insurance company represents.”

“Which he naturally wanted to avoid, being their legal representative first and yours second.”

“Yes. He was eager to approach the plaintiff with a settlement offer. In fact, he told me there was no way he would let a case like this get anywhere near the publicity of a trial.”

“Obviously you disagreed.”

“I have no doubt that what I did for Lee Nye was right, Kay. I’m neither apologizing nor paying off.”

“I take it the insurance company is no longer in the financial picture?”

“They’ve told me I’m on my own.”

“Without the insurance company’s resources, you realize this type of litigation could cost you quite a bit of money?”

“Adam discussed that aspect with me thoroughly. I have no intention of backing down.”

He felt her eyes assessing him. No surgeon’s knife could have been more precise in its careful probing. Yes, as he suspected from the first, this woman’s soft appearance and manner were quite misleading.

“I agree,” she said finally. “Backing down only invites others to advance. What we need is a good aggressive line of attack. I already see several possibilities we can pursue.”

Damian rose to his feet. He knew he had to stop this before it went any further. His curiosity and strong reaction to her had already let it go on far longer than prudent.

He extended his hand for a shake and set a small smile on his lips.

“I appreciate your listening to my story, but on reconsideration, I would be more comfortable engaging another attorney to represent me in this matter. Thank you for your time. Please send me your bill.”

She shot to her feet, but not to take his hand. Blue-white heat flashed in her blueberry eyes.

“You’d be more comfortable with another attorney? How can you possibly make such a decision without first hearing my ideas on the case and my strategy for your defense?”

He let his lips spread into his most soothing, reassuring smile, the one he’d been using for years on agitated patients.

“I’m certain your ideas and strategy are fine. My decision has nothing to do with your legal competency.”

She continued to ignore his outstretched hand. She did not return his smile. Her hands balled into fists. She rested her knuckles on the desk and leaned toward him menacingly.

“If you don’t doubt my legal competency, why are you dismissing me?”

He dropped his hand since she obviously wasn’t going to take it. He tried an earnest look and a calming tone, his most successful combination for difficult-patient situations.

“I don’t mean to offend you, Kay. I appreciate your reputation. Please understand that this decision is based purely on a personal idiosyncrasy.”

He followed his words with his most winning smile. Once again, she did not smile back.

“Rejection under the vague umbrella of personal idiosyncrasy, is offensive. I would hope you would at least afford me the professional courtesy of saying what you really mean. Don’t let my small size delude you. I’m not a child. I’ll be thirty in a few months. You don’t have to baby me.”

Damian’s smile faded as his eyebrows rose in surprise for the second time that morning.

So she was demanding the truth from him, was she? All right. He’d give her the truth. He looked her up and down. Deliberately. Not like a psychologist. Like a man.

“I have no illusions about your being a child. Far from it. It is precisely because I find you far too desirable a woman that you will not do. I’m facing a difficult lawsuit. I am not going to risk the possibly disastrous complications of getting personally involved with my attorney while I’m fighting for my professional life. Good morning.”

He pivoted sharply on the carpet and strode purposefully toward the door.

Her voice carried quite well considering its innate softness.

“Not so fast, Dr. Steele.”

He stopped and swung back to face her, irritated to be so strongly summoned by such a soft, yet clearly minatory, manner. That irritation crept into his words.

“There isn’t anything left to say.”

She moved quickly around her desk and marched toward him. She stopped directly in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, her chin up, her eyes sparking blue-white fire despite the saccharine smile that drew back her lips.

“I have two things to say. One, it takes two to get involved. And as difficult as it may be for you to imagine, I am fully prepared to struggle against succumbing to your charisma and live up to the ethical standards of my profession.”

She was so smug in her sarcasm. So damn smug. His irritation grew.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t—”

“The second thing I’d like to say is this,” she interrupted deliberately, still in that far-too-sweet tone. “If you, a psychologist, cannot control your impulses, then, Doctor, perhaps you’ve been spending your time on the wrong side of the analyst’s couch. I can get you the name of a good therapist if you don’t know one.”

Damian clenched his hands at his sides as an unwelcome heat rose in his chest and flared through his nostrils. How dare this pint-size attorney tell him that he needed psychological help and offer to find him a good psychologist. His voice lowered into a deadly warning hush.

“I have no trouble controlling my impulses,” he said, although at the moment he knew he was having a lot of trouble.

She took another step toward him, obviously ignoring the warning in his tone, her voice still too sweet, her eyes still too blue-white hot.

“Then we have no problem here, do we, Doctor? I will give you my word of honor that I will abide by my ethical code of having no personal involvement with a client, and you will give me your word of honor that you will not fire me for the duration of this case as long as I perform my legal services competently.”

Damian watched her silently for a moment, newly stunned by her challenge, wondering how she had managed to maneuver him into this untenable position.

How could he say no? He’d be admitting that he couldn’t keep his attraction for her under control. Which was absurd. Of course he could. At the moment, he was far more inclined to wring that slim neck of hers than kiss those soft-looking lips.

“So what’s it to be, Dr. Steele? Are you going to hire me, or are you going to spend some much-needed time on another analyst’s couch?”

She was so damn cool and confident and sure of herself. Behind that soft, feminine facade, he could clearly see a fierce feline with claws and a considerable set of sharp teeth.

What had ever given him the impression that this lady lawyer could be vulnerable?

Damian suddenly found himself smiling, the anger she had provoked in him fading. If she could think this quickly on her feet and prove to be this good an adversary in the courtroom, he’d be foolish not to engage her for his legal defense.

He held out his hand. “All right, Kay. You’re hired. And you have my word as a man of honor that I will not fire you for anything other than incompetency.”

She closed the small remaining distance between them and took his hand, giving it a good, solid shake, just as she had when they first introduced themselves. A small, triumphant smile lifted the sides of her lips.

“You won’t regret it.”

On the contrary, Damian was beginning to regret it already. The warmth of her hand was something he could feel right through to his solar plexus. She might be able to disavow the attraction between them, but he couldn’t. Her light scent was as addictive as sweet, warm sunshine. She was bright; she was beautiful; she was out of bounds.

A hell of a dangerous combination. Damn. He could see it now. His mistake had been in trying to walk away from her earlier. He should have run.

* * *

“SO, Kay,” Adam Justice began in the Wednesday morning partners’ meeting, “I see your case of Nye vs. Steele has already made the local news.”

Kay quickly swallowed her sip of licorice-spice herbal tea and set her mug on the oval conference table around which sat the four partners of Justice Inc.—herself, Adam Justice, Marc Truesdale and Octavia Osborne.

Kay swung her body to the right to look into Adam’s stone face, as cool and mysterious as his pale eyes and the scar that jagged from his jaw to disappear below his impeccable, starched-white dress shirt.

“Mrs. Nye’s tearful interview about the loss of her husband, Roy, was just an overt play for sympathy. The press is obviously giving her airtime only because of the unusual dual-personality feature of her case.”

“The news commentator mentioned that Dr. Steele couldn’t be reached for comment,” Adam said. “Did you advise him to avoid the press?”

“Yes. Pretrial motions are Friday morning. I believe I’ll be able to get the case dismissed entirely, in which case Dr. Steele doesn’t need to have his face flashed on the screen with that kind of negative publicity.”

Adam made a note on his case list, his full head of straight, jet-black hair nodding in silent, sober approval. Adam Justice’s reputation as a hard-driving, brilliant attorney was legendary throughout Seattle’s legal system.

And his sister, Ariana Justice—better known as AJ—ran a detective firm touted as one of the best in the state.

Yet even after five years of working with the two of them, Kay had learned very little about the human side of either Adam or AJ. Both brother and sister assiduously deflected any and every personal probe.

“What’s your angle on dismissal?” Marc Truesdale asked as he grabbed for his second bran muffin from the lazy Susan at the center of the conference table.

Marc was the opposite of Adam, open and easy to get to know. He’d joined the firm just two years before, yet Kay knew far more about him than she suspected she’d ever know about Adam. Marc was overwhelmingly good-looking, oozed charm and was only a few months older than Kay. And despite his reputation for romancing the ladies, Marc always treated her with the strict deference and respect of one colleague for another.

“My argument will be that since no corporal death has in fact occurred, there is no legal basis for a wrongful-death suit.”

Marc nodded. “Good logical approach. Think it will work?”

Kay smiled at his question. “I have an ace up my sleeve if it doesn’t.”

He smiled back. “You always do.”

“I had better have on this one. Getting up to speed for a trial by Monday isn’t exactly the way I want to spend my weekend.”

Octavia Osborne exploded into that rich, throaty, uninhibited laugh that danced around the room and brought out the worst of Kay’s envy. At five foot eleven, Octavia was a statuesque redhead whose perfect grooming and gorgeous clothes always exuded the kind of natural flamboyance and woman-of-the-world sophistication that Kay knew she could never emulate. Octavia leaned toward her, a knowing twinkle in her sagacious eyes.

“Come on, Kay. That’s just the way you’d like to spend your weekend. Talk about a lady with all work and no play in her life. You turn in almost as many billable hours each month as Adam here, and we all know he eats and sleeps in his office.”

Kay shrugged. She didn’t take Octavia’s observation as a reprimand. On the contrary. She was proud of who she was.

“Okay, I confess. I’m the product of a long line of workaholics. It’s in the genes. We Kelloggs enter the world with an inherent proclivity to pounce right from the womb into the work force. We can’t help but get excited about our jobs.”

Beautifully arched eyebrows rose above Octavia’s eyes. She plucked a couple of grapes from the lazy Susan with long, graceful fingers. She reminded Kay of one of those regal and ravishing ladies who graced ancient Grecian urns.

“But even those workaholic parents of yours found time to...ah...get excited about other things, otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Octavia’s smiling mouth said. “Now, as a fellow partner in this firm, I sincerely appreciate all that hard work of yours that contributes to my paycheck. But as a fellow woman, I’m letting you in on a little secret. Taking time out for some fun can be rewarding, too.”

Kay looked away from Octavia’s directed glance and fiddled with her file of papers as Damian Steele’s ruggedly handsome face unexpectedly and unexplainably materialized in her mind.

Octavia leaned closer, a sweep of an ultralight, ultrasophisticated fragrance advancing before her. “You could always start by asking the sinfully sexy Dr. Steele to show you his couch.”

Kay felt the uncomfortable jolt of Octavia’s words, so close to her unbidden mental image. Her back straightened as she scrambled to collect her scattered thoughts. “He’s a client. You know I would never—”

“Never say never, Kay,” Octavia interrupted, holding up an admonishing finger, while at the same time letting the twinkle in her eyes and smile soften her reprimand as she popped the grapes into her mouth.

Kay’s shoulders relaxed. Her partner was just being her playful, kidding self. Why was she taking Octavia’s jab about Damian Steele so seriously? It wasn’t like Kay to be so touchy. No, it wasn’t like her at all.

Octavia relaxed back in her chair as a small frown interrupted the smooth surface of her forehead. “I wish I could remember where I heard his name before, though. I’ve never met him or I’m sure I would have recognized his face when you introduced him around. But his name is definitely familiar. It’s maddening not being able to recall.”

“So you’ve been telling us since Monday,” Marc said. “Could it be that after catching a glimpse of this Dr. Steele, you’re the one who’s interested in checking out him and his couch?”

Octavia stretched back in her conference chair. Beneath her long lashes, her eyes glowed in a combination of confidence and amusement.

“Me? Interested in a man whose life is devoted to hearing women confess their deepest secrets? Not on your life, Marc. I want a man who is far more fascinated with the woman who reveals nothing.”

“Who’s opposing counsel?” Adam asked.

The senior partner’s question brought Kay’s focus back to the case at hand, as he no doubt had intended it should. She turned in his direction.

“Name’s Rodney Croghan. Drew a blank with me. Ring a bell for anyone?”

Adam and Octavia both shook their heads.

Marc nearly choked on his last bite of bran muffin. He reached for his cup of coffee to quickly wash it down. “Rodney Croghan? You’re sure it’s Rodney Croghan?”

“You know him, Marc?” Kay asked, not too surprised that a name that didn’t seem familiar to anyone else in the room would register with him. Marc got around.

“I do if there aren’t two attorneys with that same name. I was down in Olympia visiting friends a few years ago when a buddy asked me to sit in on a case he was trying. Rodney Croghan, an unknown associate with a big firm, was his legal adversary. My friend thought he had an unbeatable line of attack, everything sewed up tight, no loose ends. Croghan wiped up the courtroom with him.”

“Croghan’s that good?” Octavia asked as she leaned forward, her interest immediately sparkling in her eyes and tone.

“I think devious would be a more accurate description,” Marc said. “Croghan tried some off-the-wall legal shenanigans you wouldn’t have believed. Took everyone in the courtroom by surprise. The guy walked a very thin, dangerously high, ethical tightrope during that trial, I can tell you. Made me queasy just watching him.”

Kay tapped her fingers on the conference table. “Lawyers generally stay in their hometown where they’ve established their name and are familiar with the process, people and legal procedures. What is Croghan doing up here in Seattle?”

“Good question,” Marc agreed. “Maybe you’d best give AJ a call and start her investigators on a background check of Croghan.”

“I’ll wait to see how Friday morning goes first before bringing in AJ,” Kay said. “I really do expect to get the case dismissed.”

“Which judge did you draw?” Adam asked.

“A stodgy one, but that’s good. Frederick I. Ingle III.”

“Not good,” Octavia said, shaking her head.

“Not good?” Kay echoed, clearly surprised. “How can you say that? I had Ingle a couple of years ago in a personal-injury suit and he couldn’t have been more by the book. If this Croghan tries any funny legal business, Ingle is just the judge who will slap him into place.”

Octavia shook her head. “Maybe a couple of years ago, Kay, but Ingle has expanded his professional horizons. Last month his first novel was published and he’s no longer the same man.”

“He’s written a novel? About what?”

“It’s supposed to be based on one of his cases.”

“How could his writing a novel about one of his cases cause a problem?”

“Because of what the critics have said about it. They admit his writing is competent but call his main character—who just happens to be a judge—boring, and then added something about if the author was truly writing from real-life experience, he needed to go out and get a new life. They weren’t too complimentary about his plot, either. ‘Yawning, mundane material,’ I think the phrase went.”

“So he didn’t produce a legal thriller. I still don’t see how that should affect my case before him.”

“Ingle has apparently taken the criticism to heart, Kay. He’s been seen in some wild getup, scooting around Seattle in a new red Corvette. Inside the courtroom, his legal judgment is taking a similarly...ah...colorful turn.”

“How do you mean?”

“He’s flat out told parties to suits that they better settle them out of his court because they’re simply too ‘mundane’ for him to have to preside over in a trial. Do you know how delighted he’s going to be when he finds out what your case involves?”

Kay took a deep breath and let it out, shaking her head. “Terrific. A shifty lawyer and now a judge in search of the story line for a bestseller. I was feeling pretty good about this case before I came in here this morning.”

“You’ll handle it,” Adam said in his quiet, matter-of-fact way. There was something about the solidness of her senior partner’s infrequent but well-timed assurances that always filled Kay with confidence. She found some new starch for her spine as she sent him a small smile.

“Just watch out for Croghan,” Marc cautioned.

“I’ll try to deflect any legal darts he throws my way.”

“Be careful he doesn’t do to you what he did to my friend and wait until your back is turned before throwing them.”

Kay nodded, a small frown forming between her eyebrows as an unbidden and unsavory image flashed into her mind. She could clearly see her back outlined with several circles of chalk marks, the bull’s-eye right between her shoulder blades.

* * *

“I’M NOT RELOCATING with you, Dr. Steele,” Tim Haley said in a voice cracking with nervous defiance. “I’m going to stay with Dr. Payton.”

Surprised, Damian turned toward his receptionist. Tim Haley stood behind his desk, his bespectacled eyes downcast, his freckles suddenly darker against his naturally pale skin, his tall, thin frame visibly quivering like that of a newborn colt.

Damian rested the box of patient files he had just carried out of his office on the edge of the receptionist’s desk and faced him. This was very atypical behavior for the shy, willing young man, who always strove so diligently to please. Very atypical.

“Tim, we’ve been together almost six years. I thought we were a good team. What’s wrong?”

Tim’s eyes rose briefly to Damian’s. The effort to maintain his confrontational pose had set even his normally neat shock of copper hair to shivering on his scalp.

“You know what’s wrong,” he said, his voice cracking anew.

Damian hadn’t known, but he was beginning to get a glimmer. “Tim, it’s not what you think. What you overheard—”

Tim’s eyes dropped to his desk as he quickly interrupted. “Dr. Payton told me everything. So, it’s no use, you see.”

Yes, Damian could see. Nothing he could say now would matter to the man. Only thing he could do was to try to leave on as friendly a note as Tim would allow. He extended his hand.

“I’m going to miss you, Tim. Best of luck in everything.”

Tim stared at Damian’s extended hand, biting his thin lips, quivering again with the conflict of his emotions. As the seconds ticked by and Tim didn’t take the proffered hand, Damian realized that Tim would not be able to engage in even this one, last, small gesture of friendship. It would have required that the receptionist leap across the professional and personal chasm that he had so recently and painstakingly dug between them.

Damian dropped his hand and exhaled an internal sigh as he picked up his last box of patient files. He consoled himself with the fact that it could be worse. This last day in his office could have spelled far more serious confrontational disasters.

As he turned to leave, he saw that he had clearly started to count his blessings too soon. Dr. Priscilla Payton stood in the doorway.

He stiffened as he stepped aside to let her pass. “Dr. Payton,” he said in as formally polite a tone as he could muster.

Priscilla Payton’s dark cap of short, straight, black hair seemed to rise on her head as though electrically charged. She stared at Damian with pupils so dark and enlarged, they looked like aimed bullets.

“Oh, right, it’s Dr. Payton now.”

Damian took a slow, deep breath. “I don’t mean to make this difficult for either of us. I thought you weren’t going to be in this morning. If I had known you’d be here, I would have cleaned out my office another time.”

Her eyes flashed as she spat out the word. “Coward!”

This was not a conversation Damian had any intention of prolonging. “I have to take these files to my car, and I’m due for an important appointment. So, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I won’t excuse you,” Priscilla Payton barked. She not only didn’t move from her position in the doorway, she spread her feet to block it further so Damian couldn’t get past.

“You want to know why I’m here this morning?” she said. “I’m here because I have an appointment with Bette Boson.”

Damian didn’t like the sound of this. “Ms. Boson is my patient. How can you have an appointment with her?”

“Because she’s not your patient anymore. She was waiting in reception that day when we had our little discussion, remember? She heard it all, every word. You think she’ll ever trust you again after what you did to me? You think she’ll ever even want to see you again?”

Damian remembered how Bette had nearly run out of the reception area that dreadful day. Maybe he really shouldn’t be surprised that she had decided not to continue therapy with him. Particularly since Priscilla had obviously talked to Bette before he could, just as she had talked to Tim Haley.

No use pointing out the total lack of ethics such behavior displayed. Priscilla was, obviously, in no mood to hear it.

“I want her videotapes, Damian.”

“Fine,” he answered. “I’ll pack them up and drop them off here on my way to the lake on Sunday.”

“Her videotapes aren’t still in your office?”

“I already moved all the videotapes to my home office. Now, if you’ll stop blocking the doorway, I’ll be on my way.”

Priscilla didn’t budge. Her hands set on her hips. “I saw Mrs. Nye on the news last night. I hope her attorney creams you in court.”

Damian was getting very weary of this vindictive trip Priscilla was on. Very weary. “I expected you to be a little more professional about our differences, Dr. Payton.”

“Me a little more professional? Ha! Look who’s talking.”

Enough was enough. Damian’s tone descended into an icy hush of warning. “This isn’t getting either of us anywhere, Doctor. Move aside.”

Her voice rose, even more belligerent and taunting. “What’s the matter? Can’t face a fight, Damian?”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “You know better. If you don’t stop blocking the doorway, Dr. Payton, I will physically move you out of the way. You make the choice. You have ten seconds.”

Damian watched Priscilla’s expression change from one of dare to one of growing disquiet as she read the intent in his eyes. He was not bluffing and she knew it. She scooted nervously out of the way.

“You always resort to violence, don’t you, Damian? Don’t you?”

Damian didn’t waste his time with a retort, nor a backward glance in her direction. He charged through the cleared pathway. He took the hallway in massive strides, shouldered his way through the outer doorway to the parking lot and made a beeline for his forest-green ‘61 Jaguar coupe, keeping cool in its private parking space beneath the shade of a thickly branched giant madrona tree.

This office complex had been his professional home since he had been lucky enough to find it tucked into a residential section along Lake Union seven years before. It wouldn’t be easy to find another that fit his needs so well.

Still, he was going to have to try.

Maybe it was good that this change was being foisted on him. Maybe he’d become too complacent. Maybe he needed a little shaking up.

Well, need it or not, he was certainly getting it. And to think it was only a year ago that he’d refused to be featured in the Seattle Times supplement as a prime example of the ruggedly individual and intellectual Pacific Northwest bachelor.

Ruggedly individual? Intellectual? What a joke. It seemed as if lately, all he’d been doing was marching straight into the sea of professional and personal suicide like some brainless lemming. What else could possibly go wrong?

Damian dug into his pants pocket for his key as he approached his car. He opened the driver’s side and carefully set the last box of patient records in the back seat. As he straightened up, he noticed a blue envelope beneath the windshield wiper.

He snatched it, expecting it to be yet another announcement for yet another new espresso shop. No wonder everyone was sleepless in Seattle. He was just about to throw the blue envelope into a nearby waste bin, when his eyes caught sight of the business card taped to its front.

His business card.

His eyebrows met in a dark frown. This was no casual advertisement. This was from someone who knew him. Damian slit open the sealed envelope and slipped out the single sheet of pale blue paper from inside.

The words on the page were large, blunt and perfectly even. They looked as if they had been formed by someone passing a thick black felt-tip pen over a stencil. He sensed a careful, composed and calm hand had modeled them. The meaning in the words themselves, however, gave him a sense of something quite different.

You are going to pay. I’m going to make sure of it.

Chapter Three

“Dr. Steele, is something wrong?” Kay asked. Over the last week of working closely together, she couldn’t remember ever seeing Damian with a frown. “Are you worried about how things will go this morning?”

He was sitting next to her at the defense table in the courtroom, smelling like a hint of spicy after-shave on clean-shaven skin, looking far too good in a single-breasted, Italian cut navy suit, a French-cuffed white shirt and a tie with a subtle geometric pattern. His quick smile showed bright against his summer tan.

“I’m not worried about the suit. I have a good lawyer.”

The compliment slipped beneath Kay’s careful professional guard. She let out a deep, internal sigh. If he had told her she was attractive, she could have ignored it. But this compliment to her competence managed to find her Achilles’ heel.

Maybe it was because so few men had ever really made the effort to see past her outward packaging, and those few who did had not been that complimentary about what they found.

Her eyebrows dived together in a frown. She reminded herself for the millionth time that it did not matter that so many men ended up uncomfortable with her. All that mattered was that she was comfortable with herself.

She was beginning to feel comfortable with this client of hers, too. All week long as they prepared for the preliminary hearing, he had treated her with charming deference and respect, never once getting out of line. That first day in her office, he had said he could control his impulses, and he had certainly proved it this week.

Unless he no longer had those impulses. Well, he wouldn’t be the first to be turned off by her once he got to know her.

Now, why did that thought suddenly depress her? Theirs could only be a professional relationship. If he was turned off by her, so much the better.

“I do have a request, however,” he said.

“What?”

“I’ve suffered all week with this Dr. Steele label. Go back to calling me Damian. Don’t worry, it doesn’t mean I’m getting carried away by your ability and beauty, or that you’ll soon be having to fight me off. I promise that as difficult as it is, I’ll do my best to be a gentleman.”

His smile was dazzling and dynamite. Kay could feel it lighting a fuse at the base of her spine. And she could also feel his attraction for her registering happily—very happily—in every female cell in her body.

She let out another internal sigh. Why did it feel so good to know he was still attracted to her? Damn. This was totally illogical.

She took a deep breath and tried to keep her tone as even and professional as possible as she looked at his ruggedly handsome face.

“Sure, Damian. Not a problem.”

But, once again, the sound of his first name passing her lips set off a warm hum inside her mouth that made her self-conscious. She dropped her eyes to the papers on the table in front of her.

Damian smiled as Kay turned away. Always the careful lawyer. She assiduously kept her position on the professional side of the line.

If Damian hadn’t been trained to observe and interpret unconscious movements so well, he never would have noted her tugging at her right earlobe whenever he prolonged eye contact, or the way she crossed her legs three different times in succession whenever they sat in proximity to each other.

He knew he disturbed her on a subconscious level and the knowledge excited him. Still, he was content to leave it alone.

No, content was the wrong word. Reconciled was definitely a more appropriate choice. If he had needed an additional reminder as to why professional relationships had to remain professional, he’d gotten just that on Wednesday in that final confrontation with Dr. Priscilla Payton.

What a mess. Still, as angry as Priscilla was with him, he had a hard time believing she was behind that note he’d found on his car and the second note he’d found in the mail this morning. Surely a psychologist couldn’t be that petty and unstable? But if Priscilla wasn’t behind it, who was? And why?

“You do seem to be concerned about something,” Kay said as her eyes swept his face.

Damian deliberately unfurrowed his forehead and unclenched his jaw. He had no intention of burdening Kay with this. Still, he would have to watch his every facial expression around his attorney. She didn’t miss much.

“I’m not fond of waiting,” he said to mislead her.

She nodded, accepting his evasion. She’d been perusing the preliminary motion she’d forwarded to the judge earlier that week. She went back to her reading.

She was sitting to his right, looking cool and collected in a blue-mint linen suit. He was close enough to feel her warmth and inhale the light, sweet scent of her skin and hair. She was very alluring. A lot of men must make a play for her. Still, he doubted she had very satisfying or enduring love affairs.

If he had to guess, he’d say that the kind of men who pursued her soft and beckoning femininity soon found themselves unexpectedly coming face-to-face with the strong woman beneath. He also guessed it wouldn’t be a happy surprise.

There was just something about a man’s short, stubby Y chromosome that had a habit of short-circuiting his brain cells every time he found himself in the presence of such a delectable female. Made it hard for a male to think at all, much less think straight about the fact that the female could be appreciated in ways other than the physical.

Damian found himself staring at the honey-gold strands at the back of her slim white neck. Images of those glistening strands falling long and loose and free across bare, milk-white shoulders stole into his mind. She was so deliciously feminine, so tantalizingly close. He could feel his circuits overloading.

Damn that stubby Y chromosome. He rubbed his suddenly moist palms across his slacks beneath the table. He hoped they’d be able to put this legal suit to bed in the next few minutes.

To bed. Unfortunate phraseology. Freud would have been delighted with the slip and the immediate x-rated images it brought to mind.

Damian tore his eyes from Kay and let them sweep over the large lady clerk and thin lady court reporter, both of whom waited at their positions. Behind the court reporter stood a burly biceped bailiff with a stiff black smudge of a mustache and a grim look. The clerk, court reporter and the bailiff were the only others present in the courtroom.

Damian glanced at his watch, no longer needing to feign impatience. “It’s nine twenty-five. Any idea why Mrs. Nye and her attorney aren’t here yet?”

“They might be caught in traffic.”

Damian’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Traffic? May I remind you, it’s a sunny, seventy-degree Friday morning in June in Seattle. The only traffic to speak of is heading out to the recreational areas.”

She looked up and flashed him a small rueful smile. “You’re right, of course. I spoke without thinking.”

Damian liked the way she easily admitted her mistakes, almost as much as he liked her sunny, infrequent smiles. He found himself fascinated by these glimpses of genuine warmth beneath her cool facade. He wondered what she would be like if she ever stepped totally out of her legal persona.

“Do you wish you were heading out to one of those recreational areas for a head start on the weekend, too?” he asked.

She quickly extinguished the smile, reestablishing her emotional distance and refocusing her eyes on her reading. “Not particularly.”

“To you, work is fun, isn’t it?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d...”

Her voice trailed off uncertainly. It wasn’t difficult for him to guess what she had left unsaid. “Understand?”

“Yes, that’s what I was going to say.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because, frankly, I didn’t think a psychologist could ever view work as fun.”

“I often view my work as fun, Kay. Exploring the mind is an exciting adventure. And helping people to get in touch with their happier feelings is the greatest high I know.”

Her eyes shone as she looked off into a mental distance. “I know that high. Sometimes when I’m addressing a jury, and I know the logic of my argument is indisputable, and I can see the understanding dawning on their faces, it’s like—it’s like my birthday and Christmas and the Fourth of July all rolled into one.”

“Looking for that high in your work is what makes you good at it.”

Her returning smile was small but possessed genuine warmth. Then she began to look uncomfortable at the prolonged eye contact and tugged at her right earlobe. Damn, it was an adorable earlobe and she looked adorable tugging at it.

“Is your first name really Kay, or does the K.O. stand for something else?”

“It stands for something else.”

“What?”

“Sorry, but I limit the number of people who know that secret to my three closest friends—all of whom have given me their solemn vow of silence in a blood pact.”

He grinned. “It’s that bad, huh?”

She chuckled. “Worse.”

“You were named after a mad aunt?”

Her chuckle deepened. “Good guess. Actually, I was named by a mad aunt.”

“I have to hear this story.”

“No. Really. I’d rather not go into it.”

“But you must. I insist.”

“Are all you psychologists so inquisitive?”

“Are all you lawyers so tight-lipped? Come on. You don’t have to tell me what the K.O. stands for. Just give me the rest of the story.”

Kay smiled in good natured defeat. “Okay. Edited version. My mother’s small like me. Her doctor warned her that there were bound to be complications in any pregnancy. She’s a medical researcher herself and knew to take the warning seriously. She planned me carefully, even scheduling her delivery for when my dad would be back from his engineering job in Saudi Arabia. Unfortunately, I decided to be born at seven months and threw off all her careful planning. Caught unawares and out of the range of immediate medical attention, she...lapsed into a coma.”

Her voice had dropped and gotten even softer than usual with that last detail. As if of its own accord, his hand covered hers. “But she did eventually get medical attention and you both came out of it all right?”

“Yes, but because of the delay, she was unconscious for several days. With my father out of the country, that left my aunt, Loony Luddie, the only one available to put a name on my birth certificate.”

“Loony Luddie?”

“Not that Aunt Luddie’s really loony, you understand. She’s actually a sweetie. It’s just that she has a very simple and rather lighthearted view of life.”

“So your name ended up reflecting that simple, lighthearted view?”

“You could say that.”

“Of course!” Damian exclaimed, catching on. “K.O. aren’t initials for a girl’s name. Your loony Aunt Luddie named you K.O. because you knocked out your mother when you were born!”

That small frown reappeared between her eyebrows. “Damn it, Dr. Damian Steele, you are entirely too clever.”

Damian chuckled at her peeved response to his accurate guess. “So, now that I know, will you rely on my discretion, or shall we cut wrists and join our blood in a solemn pact of secrecy?”

She smiled as their eyes met for the warmth of a moment. Then she withdrew her hand uneasily from beneath his and dropped her eyes again to the papers on the table, tugging at her right earlobe once more.

Damian could feel the residual warmth of her hand and her smile. She got more alluring by the minute, inside and out. Too bad things were the way they were. On the other hand, maybe it was just as well. Kay didn’t strike him as the casual kind, and he wasn’t interested in a commitment.

He resolutely rested his gaze on the burly bailiff, who was now pacing in front of the closed door to the judge’s chambers, as the second hand on Damian’s watch wound down to the half hour.

“Could this Croghan be attempting some legal tactic by being late?”

Kay kept her eyes on her papers this time. “Can’t think of what he could hope to gain. There are neither jury nor spectators present to impress. And if he ends up making his entrance after the judge, I very much doubt the kind of impression he’s likely to leave on His Honor will be a beneficial one. Ingle should emerge any second now.”

Right on cue, the big bailiff straightened as the door to the judge’s chambers opened. The bailiff’s voice rose in a squeaky tenor, quite in contrast with his bulk. “All rise and come to order. The court of Judge Frederick I. Ingle III is now in session.”

Damian got to his feet beside Kay as His Honor exited his private chambers. Ingle wore the traditional black robe of his exalted position. But that’s all that he wore that was traditional.

On the judge’s feet were white tennis shoes with fluorescent orange laces. A gold loop dangled from his left earlobe, while a diamond stud flashed from his right nostril. A stiff, white mohawk bifurcated his otherwise shiny skull.

None of the courtroom personnel paid any notice to His Honor’s unusual appearance. They had, obviously, already been initiated. Ingle perched upon his chair with a black-winged sweep. He wore a defiant smirk as he sent Kay and Damian an amused, piercing stare, as though daring them to say something about his getup.

Damian had to stifle a smile. He heard Kay clearing her throat beside him and guessed she was having to do the same thing.

Kay had filled him in on the judge’s reaction to the critical reviews his novel had received. Damian understood that Ingle was probably attempting to put some color into his life with this unusual garb.

The judge’s eyes swung to the plaintiff’s table, which stood empty. “Where is the—”

“Right here, Your Honor,” an industrial-size voice yelled from the back of the courtroom.

Damian swung around to see the rear doors bang open as a large, barrel-chested man with a bubble of black hair and a neat-as-a-pin, full black beard crashed into the courtroom.

Crashed was definitely the word. The doors whacked against the walls, vibrating from the force of being shoved so violently apart. The newcomer strutted down the aisle like the ringmaster of a circus.

He looked every bit the part, too. He wore a red cape over an improbable double-breasted, three-piece white suit, from which dangled an enormous gold pocket watch and chain. Golden rings glistened from every finger.

His dress and manner were so startling that it took a moment for Damian to notice the woman the lawyer had in tow. She was plump, looked fifty-something, with a wide face, short neck, thin, straggly gray-brown hair and a somewhat bewildered look in her large, faded brown eyes. Damian immediately recognized Mrs. Fedora Nye from her interview on the evening news a few days ago.

“Your Honor,” the bearded man began as he proceeded to the front of the courtroom. “I am Rodney Croghan, representing Mrs. Fedora Nye, the plaintiff in this very serious matter before you this morning. Please excuse our slightly tardy entrance, but we were meeting with the press.”

“The press?” Judge Ingle repeated, his voice rising in obvious interest. His Honor had apparently missed the TV news coverage.

Croghan had reached the plaintiff’s table. He withdrew Mrs. Nye’s limp hand from the crook of his arm and beamed at the bench with a full set of flashing teeth.

“Yes, Your Honor. The press is very interested in this case.”

He paused to untie the string at the top of his cape and then to whisk off the garment with a dramatic sweep that set his gold pocket watch to swinging and clanging against his belt buckle.

Between this attorney and this judge, Damian knew he would be hard-pressed to decide which one displayed the most obsessive need to be different, to be noticed.

“The press is interested in this case?” Ingle asked.

“I was just meeting with a local station about the possibility of filming the trial and broadcasting it live,” Croghan’s all-too-loud voice announced.

Damian watched as the judge’s bushy eyebrows rose in even more interest. “Broadcasting it live, you say? Well, well. One of my cases on television.”

“Your Honor,” Kay interjected in a soft yet emphatic tone. “May I suggest that any discussion of press coverage is still premature? After all, there is still a pretrial motion I’ve filed on behalf of my client in this matter that must be addressed.”

Ingle turned to her, wearing the expression of a daydreaming schoolboy whose attention was being forcibly brought back to his class work.

“Yes,” he admitted somewhat grudgingly. “Defense has filed a motion to dismiss. Ms. Kellogg, I have not had time to review the lawyers’ briefs on this case. Please succinctly state your position for the record.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Nye is suing Dr. Steele for the wrongful death of her husband. In point of fact, however, her husband is not dead.”

Croghan pounded his fist on the table before him. “The plaintiff contends that Mrs. Nye’s husband is dead, Your Honor!”

Kay jumped, obviously startled. Damian certainly understood. He was more than a bit startled himself.

Ingle, however, simply raised his hand, looking more pleased than perturbed by the unprofessional pounding. Damian wondered if the judge was making mental notes to use Croghan as a character in his next book.

“You’ll have a chance to speak, Mr. Croghan. Go on, Ms. Kellogg.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Kay said. “Before you is a copy of a name change approved by a Seattle court. As you can see, the man previously known as LeRoy Nye, the man to whom the plaintiff was married, legally changed his name to Lee Nye three years and five months ago. Lee Nye is very much alive. If necessary, the defense will be happy to produce him to prove that fact. As I said before, there is no basis for a wrongful-death suit, since there has been no death.”

“Your Honor—”

Ingle held up his hand. “A moment, Mr. Croghan. Give me a chance to review this motion.”

Ingle quickly scanned the documents that Kay had pointed out. A frown cut into his forehead. “Ms. Kellogg appears to be correct about this name change. Mr. Croghan, I fail to see—”

“Your Honor, the defense attorney is trying to mislead this court. She knows perfectly well that we’re dealing with a dual-personality individual. The truth is that even though the body that Roy Nye once possessed is still walking on this earth, Roy’s personality—what distinguished Roy Nye as a man like you or me—is dead. He was killed by Dr. Damian Steele.”

Ingle leaned over his bench, his interest clearly piqued. “Mr. Croghan, am I to understand that Mrs. Nye is suing this psychologist because he did away with her husband’s half of a dual-personality patient?”

“Exactly, Your Honor. You’ve stated the matter perfectly.”

Ingle leaned back, his smirk returning. “Hmm. Nothing mundane about this cause of action,” he mumbled as though to himself. “Is this true, Ms. Kellogg?”

“Your Honor, Lee Nye—not Roy Nye—was the patient who came to Dr. Steele for treatment. The Roy manifestation was only a dysfunctional personality fragment that—”

Croghan banged on the table, interrupting once again. “Your Honor, I protest! That man’s attorney just called my client’s husband a dysfunctional fragment!”

“Your Honor,” Kay began again, “Mr. Croghan’s outbursts are disruptive to—”

Croghan’s fist hit the table yet again. “Disruptive nothing! We have a right to be furious! This so-called psychologist thought of Roy Nye as only a dysfunctional fragment. We have it on record now!”

“Your Honor,” Kay said in a voice that sounded as if it was rapidly losing patience. “I appeal to you. It is very difficult to state the defendant’s position while the plaintiff’s attorney continues to interrupt with these pounding theatrics. I respectfully ask the court to admonish Mr. Croghan—”

“Yes, yes,” the judge interrupted. “A little less noise, Mr. Croghan,” he said without any real enthusiasm for the censure.

“Now, Ms. Kellogg,” the judge continued, “do I understand the defense’s position correctly? Is it your contention that Roy Nye was only a dysfunctional personality fragment and, therefore, Dr. Steele had a right to eliminate him?”

“Your Honor, I am not a psychologist, so it would be inappropriate for me to make any such contention, just as it would be inappropriate for this court to attempt to do so. The real issue—the legal issue—facing us this morning is whether or not a man has died. I have presented documentation to show that he has not.”

“Roy Nye is dead, Your Honor!” Croghan bellowed again. “Dr. Damian Steele psychologically murdered him!”

Ingle nodded appreciatively, his dark eyes as shiny as fresh fountain ink waiting for the dip of a feathery writing quill. “A psychological murder, eh? I like the sound of that. What do you say, Ms. Kellogg? Did your client psychologically murder Roy Nye?”

“Your Honor, despite the natural human titillation and intellectual draw of such a question, it is clearly not one that can be answered by lawyers. A debate over whether a man can be psychologically murdered, as the plaintiff claims, does not fall within the purview of the legal system.”

Again Croghan shouted. “Your Honor, I protest! Defense counsel is trying to cloud the issue.”

“No, Mr. Croghan, you are the one filling the air with the foggy fumes of rhetoric in order to try to block out the clarity of reason,” Kay said quietly, but firmly. “This is not a legal matter and you know it.”

“It is a legal matter! If a medical doctor’s malpractice results in death to his patient, the avenue of financial redress for the family is the court. This is no different. Dr. Damian Steele is a psychologist who deliberately performed psychosurgery to cut Roy Nye out of his own life. Mrs. Nye’s only course of redress for the loss of her husband is this court. Her case deserves to be heard!”

Ingle ran the palm of his hand over his mohawk appreciatively. “Hmm. I like your analogy to a medical doctor.”

“Except that logically and legally it doesn’t hold up,” Kay quickly interjected. “No medical definition has ever recognized death as occurring with the removal of a dysfunctional personality part—”

“The defense attorney is wrong, Your Honor! Brain-dead is legally dead!”

Kay turned to Croghan. “You know perfectly well that Lee Nye is not brain-dead. He is a functioning—”

“But he is not Roy! It is not a man’s body that defines him, but his thoughts, his emotions!” Croghan’s arms made great circles around him, building momentum before pointing accusingly at Damian. “Roy Nye’s essence is gone—murdered by that man!”

“Your Honor, there are absolutely no legal grounds—”

Ingle’s hands came up. “Yes, yes, Ms. Kellogg. You are right about there being no legal precedent for Mrs. Nye’s unusual cause of action. But it’s a damn interesting cause of action, you must agree. Hell, I can’t wait to see what the cri—uh...I mean, the jury will make of this one.”

Ingle picked up his gavel and held it high. “Motion to dismiss due to lack of cause denied.” He rapped the gavel once, its vibration bouncing ominously off the walls of the mostly empty courtroom.

Damian felt the legal blow of the judge’s decision. But Kay seemed amazingly calm and collected in its wake. Without hesitation, she walked up to the judge’s podium, papers in hand.

“Your Honor, this is a motion to dismiss Mrs. Fedora Nye’s suit based on the fact that the plaintiff’s petition for redress was filed a month after the three-year statute of limitations.”

Croghan was instantly shouting again. “I protest, Your Honor! Washington’s wrongful-death statute does not contain an express statute of limitations.”

Kay’s soft voice retained its elegant calm. “Your Honor, Mr. Croghan is in error. The statute of limitations is provided in the Washington Revised Code, which sets forth time limitations for commencing various forms of legal actions. A three-year statute of limitations is applicable to a personal-injury suit. Lee Nye legally eliminated the Roy part of his name three years and five months ago, yet it wasn’t until four months ago—a full month after the three-year filing deadline—that Mrs. Nye commenced her personal-injury suit against Dr. Steele for the wrongful death of her husband.”

Ingle’s forehead frowned under the clear logic of Kay’s thrust. He glanced at Croghan hopefully. Croghan couldn’t have missed the fact that the judge was rooting for him. And he was ready with his rebuttal.

“Your Honor, Mrs. Nye did not discover that her husband—I mean, Lee Nye—had changed his name from LeRoy until at least six months after the fact. That puts the filing of her suit well within three years of learning of the legal name change.”

Damian caught Fedora Nye looking up quizzically at Croghan. She obviously was surprised to learn that she didn’t know of the name change until six months after the fact.

Kay shook her head much like a tired but patient parent. “Your Honor, I gave the official name-change date as the last possible time that Lee was still in any way identified by the Roy name. In truth, the plaintiff’s husband officially divorced her in court four years ago, giving as his reason the fact that the Roy personality no longer existed and he wished to legally sever all ties to the man’s life. As Mrs. Nye officially learned this in their divorce proceedings four years ago, how can her attorney claim she didn’t know that her husband was gone until nearly a full year later?”

“Because my client’s religion does not recognize divorce,” Croghan rebutted in his louder-than-life voice. “In the eyes of God, Fedora was still married to Roy and hoped for his return to her and their children. It wasn’t until she learned of the legal name change—months after it took effect—that she realized Roy was gone forever from her life, a victim of that man.”

Croghan was back to dramatics, pointing his finger in Damian’s direction. Ingle once again picked up his gavel.

“Applying the discovery rule to this case, I find that the statute of limitations for filing the wrongful-death action did not commence until Roy Nye’s statutory beneficiary, Mrs. Fedora Nye, discovered all the elements for her cause of action, to wit, that her husband’s name had been changed. Motion to dismiss based on a tardy filing denied.”

A second rap and it was official. They were going to trial.

Damian was surprised to realize that he was as disappointed for Kay as he was for himself. He had no doubt that her arguments had been legally sound, and the only reason they were going to trial was that this judge was determined to gather material for his next novel. Still, as Damian glanced at his attorney, he was equally surprised to see that no defeat marred her face.

“Your Honor,” Kay said. “I respectfully request a two-week continuance. As I have only received Dr. Steele’s case this last Monday, I am hardly prepared to—”

“Save your breath, Ms. Kellogg,” Ingle interrupted. “I’m not going to let your client’s dissatisfaction with prior legal representation delay this trial. I’ve had defendants play that game with me before. They change counsel every week and each new attorney demands a continuance. No. We will begin jury selection in this matter Monday morning.”

Once again, Kay spoke up. “Your Honor, the defense formally requests that all cameras and live media coverage be barred from the courtroom for the duration of this trial.”

“I protest, Your Honor,” Croghan immediately countered. “Trials are meant to be free and open to all the citizens—”

This time it was Kay who pounded her hand on her table, much to the surprise of Croghan, the judge and Damian—who joined the other men in openly staring at her.

In that resulting shocked silence, her soft voice carried very well. “Your Honor, I will not allow the plaintiff’s lawyer to turn this courtroom into a three-ring circus for live-action news. Dr. Steele’s spotless reputation and professional standing will be protected. Because if they are not, I promise that when we win this case—and we will win it—we will be filing a lawsuit against Rodney Croghan, his client and any and all other parties who would dare sanction such slander.”

Kay had made it clear that she meant Judge Frederick I. Ingle III as one of those other parties. Damian was amazed at the real threat that gentle voice could portray. And, he was even more amazed when he watched her smile sweetly at the judge after making her threat. The lady behind those bright blueberry eyes was just full of unexpected dimensions. He had yet to find one that disappointed him.

Judge Ingle didn’t seem all that disappointed, either. He looked at Kay as if with new appreciation for her fighting spirit. Then he raised his gavel, once again.

“No filming inside the courtroom,” he said simply. He followed his proclamation with a short rap.

“But, Your Honor—”

“Come now, Mr. Croghan,” Ingle interrupted. “With the kind of sensationalism this case will engender, you won’t be able to keep the news hounds at bay. Now, you two, listen up, because we play by the Marquis of Ingle’s rules in this court. I want a good fight, a clean fight. You’ll get no interference from the bench for surprise punches, but keep them in the legal zones. Nine o’clock Monday morning we’ll begin to impanel the jury. By ten o’clock Tuesday morning, I expect each of you to be ready to come out from your corners swinging your introductory remarks. May the best lawyer win. Court’s adjourned.”

* * *

“DAMN INGLE and his sudden need for literary acclaim,” Kay lamented. “His allowing the case to be heard was always a possibility, but his accepting Croghan’s feeble argument to extend the statute of limitations for filing was ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous. He’s just looking for colorful grist for the milling of his next novel. This case should never be going to trial.”

Kay threw the words over her shoulder as she charged down the King County Courthouse stairwell, doing her best to physically work off her anger. They had seven more flights to go and she knew she was going to need every one.

She heard Damian’s reply from behind her as he kept pace with her downward plunge. “At least you got the media barred.”

“From filming in the courtroom only. They still can have reporters flooding the spectator area. And you can bet Croghan is going to make sure they do. This is just the kind of unusual case they love to sensationalize. In addition to everything else, we’re going to have to be prepared for the press.”

“Are you really not ready to start Monday?”

“It’s certainly not when I would have chosen to begin. But we’ll manage. What will be critical is lining up defense witnesses in time.”

“How can I help?”

“You could start by contacting those two psychologists you told me about earlier this week, the ones you consulted with on Lee’s case. See if both will be available to appear in court next week.”

“What day?”

“Soonest would be Thursday. As you heard, Monday will be taken up with jury selection. Tuesday and Wednesday will most likely be the days when Croghan will be presenting the plaintiff’s case. He gave me a long list of potential witnesses, one hundred in all.”

“A hundred witnesses? You must be kidding.”

“No, but he is. It’s a ploy to try to overwhelm us, to use up all our energy tracking down these people to find out what they could possibly have to say. He probably won’t be calling more than a handful. Still, we have a full weekend ahead preparing even for that handful.”

“How can we know which ones will be included in that group?”

“We can’t know for certain. That’s why he made the list so long. Try to see if the two psychologists can keep Thursday and Friday open.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Croghan has a psychologist on his witness list, a Dr. Upton Van Pratt. I doubt he’s a red herring. Recognize the name?”

“Upton Van Pratt is a past president of the American Psychological Association.”

“Damn. That alone will give him clout in the jury’s eyes. What else do you know about him?”

“If memory serves, I believe he’s retired now. I’m surprised he’s willing to testify in a case like this considering his standing. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“That’ll be helpful. I’ll also need a list of any books or articles he might have written.”

Kay checked her watch as she continued her trajectory down the last flight of stairs. “I have to talk to Lee Nye right away. This afternoon, if possible. Tomorrow, at the latest. Can you set it up for me?”

“Today is probably impossible. I’ll see what I can do for tomorrow. Your office?”

“Yes. The psychologists are important, but at the moment, Lee is our key defense witness. You’re sure he’s willing to testify on your behalf?”

“Last time I spoke to him. I can’t imagine anything that would have changed his mind.”

“How does he come across?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you think a jury will consider him a credible witness?”

“That’s hard to say.”

Kay came to an abrupt stop on the stairs and whirled. She hadn’t realized how closely Damian had been following her until they collided. He grabbed her shoulders to steady them both.

Kay felt the warm strength of his hands. She smelled the exciting clean scent of his after-shave. He felt good and he smelled good, and she knew the sudden breathlessness in her body had absolutely nothing to do with her rapid descent on the stairs.

They were so close, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her forehead. He was looking down at her, his thick, rich, dark brown hair haloed by the subdued overhead lights, the strong planes of his face shadowed, his eyes mere glints of green.

The blood began to beat far too loudly against her eardrums, silencing her fading thoughts. She drifted closer to him as though drawn by the insistent pull of some invisible magnet, her senses swimming with the drawing heat and scent of him.

Then, suddenly, the door to the upper floor was pushed open and voices rushed into the stairwell as the echo of several pairs of feet clattered above them, climbing to the next floor.

Kay started at the noise. The rational part of her mind came to as though it had been in a trance. She was surprised and shocked to find herself so close to her client.

She immediately leaned back, slipped her shoulders from beneath his hands and descended the next step. He did nothing to stop her retreat. Nor did he advance. He just stood there watching her with those glinting eyes.

Kay looked away and tried to collect her jumbled thoughts. Damn, what had they been discussing? She had to think. Ingle was making the case go to trial. She had to have everything ready by Monday. The press. The psychologists. Lee. Yes, that was it. Lee.

She looked back at the man waiting on the stair above her and schooled her voice into its most professional aplomb.

“You’re being deliberately evasive about Lee. Why?”

He leaned his elbow against the stairwell banister and smiled down at her, displaying all the relaxed composure she was currently missing within herself.

“You’re right, Kay. Possibly, I should have told you this sooner, but I’d hoped for the suit to be dismissed this morning and, in that event, I believed telling you wouldn’t be necessary.”

As always, Kay did her best not to succumb to the infectiousness of his smile and to concentrate instead on the import of his words.

“What have you kept from me?”

“Lee Nye is a bit...unusual.”

“Unusual? How do you mean, unusual?”

“I don’t want to prejudice your thinking. I’d rather you met him and made up your own mind.”

Kay turned to descend the final few stairs. A bit... unusual. She didn’t like the sound of it. She didn’t like the sound of it at all.

* * *

THE ATTIC BEGAN to lighten a bit. Lee Nye, the little boy who had been sleeping for such a long time, opened his eyes and realized that something was nudging him awake. He didn’t quite know what it was, but the gentle mental poke was unmistakable. He yawned and stretched and got out of his nice warm bed to pad over to the narrow attic window. He perched his chin on the sill to see what was going on.

The objects were even clearer than last time. The colors even more vibrant. He’d never felt so...close to the world below before.

When he’d first looked out his attic window, it had been so fuzzy. The objects and people moved as though they were simply dark shadows against a gray sheet. But not today. Today things were so clear, so real.

He stepped back from the window. Sometimes, the realness disturbed him. He wasn’t certain he wanted to look.

He remembered a long time ago he had looked out his attic window and a little boy with a sad face had looked up at him as though he were asking him to come out to play. He didn’t think anyone down there could see him until that little boy had looked directly up at him.

That, too, had been too real.

He hadn’t gone down to play, of course. He didn’t know the little boy. And why would he have wanted to leave his attic, anyway?

He moved toward the window again, pressed his nose against the pane. Once again, the world below flashed clear and close.

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