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Doctor's Orders
Jessica Andersen
Experience the thrill of life on the edge and set your adrenalin pumping! These gripping stories see heroic characters fight for survival and find love in the face of danger.Hot-shot doctor, fearless bodyguardDr Parker Radcliffe never expected to see Mandy Sparks again…until she got a job at his hospital. Keeping their past relationship a secret was a challenge, especially once Mandy uncovered a medical conspiracy and became a killer’s target.Gorgeous Parker had a reputation as driven and unforgiving, making him Mandy’s perfect personal bodyguard. Pitting himself against a madman was dangerous but necessary if he was to achieve what he wanted: keeping Mandy safe and getting her back in his arms.And Parker always got what he wanted – even against a killer!

 She felt him before she saw him.

The weakness and the strangeness of their situation must have made her more vulnerable than she’d thought, because when she finally turned and saw Dr Parker Radcliff in the light, all she could think was, Hello.

Over the last month, she’d seen him more than she’d wanted to, catching glimpses of him as he’d gone from meeting to meeting, or when he’d swung by the front desk of the ER. She’d told herself she shouldn’t even notice him, that he was nothing to her now. And she’d almost convinced herself it was the truth.

But now, seeing him up close in his street clothes with a good dose of five o’clock shadow, she was suddenly too aware of the strong angle of his jaw and the masculine hardness of his body.

Too aware that he’d just saved her life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Though she’s tried out professions ranging from cleaning sea lion cages to cloning glaucoma genes, from patent law to training horses, Jessica is happiest when she’s combining all these interests with her first love: writing romances. These days she’s delighted to be writing full-time on a farm in rural Connecticut that she shares with a small menagerie and a hero named Brian. She hopes you’ll visit her at www.JessicaAndersen.com for info on upcoming books, contests and to say “hi!”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dr Amanda (Mandy) Sparks – Four years ago she left Boston General with her heart in pieces. Now she’s back and ready to prove herself. But when a killer sets his sights on her, can she turn to the man she once loved for help?

Dr Parker Radcliff – Running Boston General’s ER and consulting for the police force leaves Parker with little patience for emotions and no time for drama—until Mandy turns his world upside down again by getting mixed up in a dangerous case.

James Stankowski – The young police detective is Parker’s only close ally. Can their friendship survive betrayal?

Anabella “Cutthroat” Cuthbert – The CEO of Boston’s powerful UniVax Pharmaceuticals knows more than she’s saying about the strange deaths occurring near Boston General.

Jeremy Deighton – This young, enthusiastic politician is looking to clean up the streets of Boston. How far will he go to succeed?

Paul Durst – This brilliant scientist is on the verge of a huge breakthrough…if he doesn’t have a breakdown first.

Doctor's Orders
JESSICA ANDERSEN


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Denise Zaza and Allison Lyons for always
encouraging me to dig deeper.
Chapter One
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but Ms. Dulbecco died early this morning.” On the phone, the nurse’s voice softened. “Did you know her personally?”
Mandy Sparks gripped the handset tightly and turned her back on the chaos of the Emergency Services Department, so her coworkers—or one coworker in particular—wouldn’t see how badly the news had upset her. She looked down, and her long blond hair fell forward past her face, forming another barrier between her and the rest of Boston General. “I didn’t know her well. She was a patient, that’s all.”
But to Mandy there was no “that’s all” about it. As far as she was concerned, every case was special, every injury or illness a personal battle.
“She went peacefully,” the nurse offered, as though that made a difference. And in a way, it did. Mandy hadn’t been able to pinpoint the cause of Irene Dulbecco’s pain, but she’d been able to make the forty-something mother of two more comfortable. She’d gotten Irene stabilized, and had sent her upstairs to the Urgent Care Department, where her husband and kids could visit more easily. Then, Mandy had gone home and crashed for six hours of badly needed sleep.
Logically she knew the staff members in Urgent Care were the best at what they did, but now she wondered if things would’ve gone differently if she’d stayed.
“If there’s nothing else, Doctor…” the nurse said, drawing out the last word to indicate that it was time for her to move on to the next call.
It wasn’t just her, either. The prevailing motto at BoGen these days seemed to be “move ’em in and push ’em out, and don’t get emotionally attached,” which Mandy found more than a little disturbing. Or maybe she was painting everyone else with a brush that belonged strictly to the department head, Parker Radcliff.
As far as she was concerned, Radcliff pretty much embodied the word disturbing.
“That’s all,” Mandy finally said into the phone. “Thanks for—” She broke off when the nurse disconnected before she’d finished, but kept the phone pressed to her ear for a moment longer, in order to buy herself some time to regroup.
I shouldn’t have come back here, she thought, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to delay the incipient headache. Ishould’ve taken the job in Michigan.
Unfortunately the smaller hospital in Ann Arbor had lacked the clout of Boston General, and Mandy needed at least another eighteen months of top-flight E.R. experience and a solid recommendation if she wanted a shot at winning next year’s Meade Fellowship. With good E.R. openings in short supply, she’d been very lucky that her previous employment at BoGen had automatically moved her ahead of the other applicants.
Now, though, barely a month into her second stint at the hospital, she was starting to think she’d made a big mistake.
“Are you going to stand there listening to the dial tone all morning, Dr. Sparks?” Radcliff’s voice said unexpectedly from directly behind her, interrupting her thoughts with the sarcasm he seemed to save just for her. “Or were you planning on seeing patients at some point today?”
Mandy stiffened, but forced herself not to stammer and retreat. Instead she took a deep breath, tossed her hair back from her face and turned toward the man she’d once—in a bout of youth and stupidity—thought she loved.
Radcliff’s wavy, dark brown hair was tipped with silver at his temples, and faint creases fanned out from his dark blue eyes. Those small signs of mortality should’ve made him seem approachable, but the square set of his jaw and the coolness in his eyes formed an impenetrable barrier. He wore a crisp white lab coat, its breast pocket embroidered not with his name or title, but with two words: The Boss.
On any other man it might’ve been a joke.
On Radcliff, it was simple fact.
Four years ago, she’d been a lowly resident and he’d been the head attending, and ten years her senior. Now he ran the entire E.R., and spent more time on paperwork than medicine, which was lucky for her, because it had allowed her to avoid him since her return to BoGen. In turn, he’d limited their contact to snippy memos about increasing her patient turnover and keeping expensive tests to a minimum. On the few instances they’d been forced to interact face-to-face, they’d both made sure they were surrounded by a crowd of other staffers.
Until now.
Mandy’s heart picked up a beat. “I was discussing a patient with Urgent Care. I saw her yesterday, and her symptoms didn’t make sense to me. She passed away last night.”
Radcliff glanced at his watch, sounding almost bored when he said, “She didn’t die on your watch, which makes her Urgent Care’s problem, not yours. And your shift started ten minutes ago.”
Mandy couldn’t believe he could be so callous about a patient’s death. Sure, she’d heard the rumors that he’d only gotten colder over the past few years, but—

But nothing, her rational self interjected. Don’tthink you know him now because you had a fling.
Knowing that little voice inside her was right, darn it, she said, “Sorry. I’ll skip one of my breaks or make up the time after my shift.”
Whether she liked it or not, she needed Radcliff on her side when it came time for recommendation letters. Dr. Stewart Royal, chairman of the Meade Foundation, had warned her that the competition would be fierce. She was determined to win the all expenses paid year abroad, though. She’d dearly love to get her hands on the funding and support, which she’d use to travel to Shanghai and study traditional Chinese medicine—TCM—with the master of the art, Dr. Li Wong.
Rumor had it the foundation was getting ready to award this year’s Meade Fellowship, but she held out little hope for her application. She needed another year of solid experience in her field of E.R. medicine, and a glowing recommendation from a heavy hitter like Parker Radcliff.
Which meant no picking fights with the boss, no matter how much his policies irritated her. No matter how much he irritated her.
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes shadowed with suspicion, as if thinking she’d forget about making up the ten minutes the moment she was out of his range. Then, apparently deciding she was sincere, he nodded sharply. “See that you do. And stop bothering Urgent Care. They have more important things to do than make you feel better about losing a patient.”
“I wasn’t bothering anyone. I—” Mandy snapped her mouth shut on the protest, but it was already too late.
“Yes, you were.” He leaned in and reached for her, and for a mad, crazy second her heart thudded against her ribs at the thought that he was going to kiss her. Instead he plucked the phone handset from her fingers and hung it up with a decisive click. “Let it go.”
She told herself to nod and scram, but the rebellious part of her, the one that constantly courted trouble even when she was trying to behave, had her muttering under her breath, “You can tell me not to call, but you can’t keep me from caring.”
The words came out far louder than she’d intended. They hung in the air between them, recalling the night four years earlier, when she’d hunted him down in the doctor’s lounge at the end of a double shift to tell him she loved him, only to find that he wasn’t just on a different relationship page from her, but he’d been reading from an entirely different book, one entitled, Ten Steps To RecoveringFrom Divorce.
Step one, apparently, was to have a no-strings affair with someone the complete opposite of his ex-wife. Mandy, ten years younger, with California beach bunny looks and an easy, generous nature, had apparently fit the bill perfectly. Unfortunately for her, Radcliff hadn’t thought to share the plan; he’d just assumed they’d both been in it for some good times and no regrets.
He’d been wrong.
For a moment she thought he was going to say something about that time, that he was finally going to acknowledge their history, if only obliquely.
Instead he stepped away from her and his voice chilled to glacial. “I may not be able to keep you from becoming unnecessarily involved with your patients, but I can and do expect efficiency from my staff. Have you looked out in the waiting area? How about the curtains or the exam rooms? They’re all full of patients, Dr. Sparks.” He paused, then said, “Don’t you dare lecture me on caring unless you’re out there dealing with patients, and if you can’t do that, then start looking for another job. I won’t allow you to disrupt my E.R.” The words not again hovered between them, unspoken.
Temper sharpened Mandy’s tone. “Then why did you hire me? You know how I practice medicine, and how my ‘touchy-feely’—” she emphasized his long-ago sneer by sketching quote marks in the air “—methods drive you nuts. Surely you didn’t think I’d changed.” She paused. “You must’ve recognized my name when you saw the application.” Or did youforget me the moment I was gone?
And the hell of it was, the answer mattered to her when it absolutely, positively shouldn’t.

His expression flattened. “I think we both know it wasn’t my decision to hire you.” His lips twisted into a smile, though his dark blue eyes held no humor. “I guess you outgrew your vow to make it without your father’s help.”
“What does my father—” Mandy broke off when it suddenly made all too much sense. “Oh,” she grated through clenched teeth. “I see.” Damn him.
Part of her irritation redirected itself to a gut-deep frustration that hadn’t changed over the years. She wasn’t sure what piece of “stay out of my business and don’t you dare call in any favors” her father hadn’t understood, but she probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Dr. David Sparks, plastic surgeon to half of Hollywood, had always possessed very selective hearing when it came to his only daughter. More tellingly, he was occasional golf buddies with three members of Boston General’s board of directors.
He might not have any pull with the Meade Foundation, but he definitely carried some clout at BoGen.
Radcliff shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me whether you knew about your father’s involvement or not. The bottom line is that I’m stuck with you for the next year, and then I’ll be ‘strongly encouraged’—” now it was his turn to emphasize the words with finger quotes “—to give you a glowing recommendation.” He looked down at her for a long moment before he grimaced and dropped his voice to almost a conspiratorial whisper, “Look, I know you probably hate me for what happened between us, and maybe you’re right. I could’ve—should’ve—handled things better. But you’re the one who ran.”
Because you broke my heart, you bastard, she thought, but aloud, she said simply, “I’m back.”
He accepted the nonanswer with a nod, voice turning brisk. “We’re both adults, so I’d like to think we can manage to get along for the next year. But that’s going to mean you getting something straight—I don’t care what you do in your spare time, but when you’re on my clock, you’re working, and that doesn’t mean snuggling down for a series of bedside chats, or prescribing herbs and self-reflection instead of painkillers and blood pressure meds.”
Mandy gritted her teeth. He wasn’t the first to sneer at her use of non-Western medicine in a U.S. hospital setting, but his derision cut.
Unfortunately he also had a point. They needed to find a way to get along. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“I need you to process your patients faster. Do the basics. If you think there’s something more complicated going on, come to me or one of the other senior staff members before you order a nonstandard test, or even better, turf the case to another department.” He paused. “We’re the front line of medicine, not a long-term hospice. Our motto is triage, then treat what you can and ship out the rest. Let the family members, the interns and the volunteers waste time holding hands. The doctors have more important things to do.”
Which was just crap as far as Mandy was concerned. Emergency Services was where the patients needed the most reassurance, not the least, and the doctors were exactly the ones who needed to give that comfort.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one,” she said, trying to match the coolness in his voice. “But I’ll work on increasing my turnover rate.”
“Fair enough.” He gestured for her to get to work, but when she turned away and headed down the short hallway to the main desk, he called, “And, Mandy?”
Hating the shimmer that worked its way through her body at the sound of his voice saying her name, she paused and looked back. “Yes?”
“I want you to forget about Irene Dulbecco’s death. Leave it alone and move on.”
Mandy grimaced but said nothing as she turned and strode away from him, knowing she was better off retreating than arguing.
She was halfway to the front desk before she stopped dead and spun back around. “How did you know the patient’s name was—”
He was gone.

PARKER STRODE OUT of the E.R., grimly aware of staffers ducking out of the line of fire as he passed. Good call on their parts, because he was in a mood.

When he reached the Atrium at the main hospital entrance, where the lack of sensitive medical equipment and the bustle and foot traffic meant he could use his cell without being overheard, he dragged out his phone.
Ducking into an alcove filled with potted plants, he dialed Stankowski’s number. The moment the phone clicked live, he skipped the pleasantries and said, “One of my doctors is curious about the Dulbecco case.”
Granted, Mandy had only just learned of her patient’s death, but unless she’d changed drastically over the past four years—and he didn’t think she had—her next step would be to check the test results and look for similar cases, which would raise some serious red flags.
“Tell her to leave it alone,” Stankowski said in his trademark laid-back fashion, which camouflaged the fact that the young homicide detective had a hell of a sharp mind.
“I tried.” Parker grimaced. “Trust me, that won’t get very far. Mandy—Dr. Sparks is a pit bull on this sort of thing. Add in the fact that Dulbecco had a husband and two kids under the age of five—upping the sympathy factor—and she’s not going to give it up easily. Either I figure out how to distract her, or we’re going to have a problem.”
There was a pause, and a note of speculation entered Stank’s voice. “Mandy, huh? Is she cute? Maybe I could distract her.”

“She’s—” Parker broke off, surprised by the quick punch of anger that hit him in the gut at the thought of Stank getting anywhere near her. “She’s not your type.”
Actually, the long-legged, willowy California blonde was exactly the sort of type Stankowski gravitated toward—gorgeous, stacked and smart. She was also Stank’s age, both of them in their early thirties, and they’d look good together, like they’d just stepped from the cover of a magazine devoted to young, upwardly mobile professionals who played extreme sports on their days off.
There was no way in hell it was happening, though. Not over Parker’s dead body.
Four years earlier, fresh out of his divorce, he’d gotten involved with Mandy even though she’d been so wrong for him it had been laughable. He’d figured they could have some good times while it lasted, which had only proved his ex-wife’s point—he didn’t understand women, or their emotions. He hadn’t realized Mandy thought they were in love until it was far too late, and he’d dealt with the guilt by being harsher than necessary.
“I get it,” Stank said, a new note entering his voice. “She’s your type. Interesting. I was starting to wonder if you even had a type.”
“She’s nobody’s type,” Parker snapped.
“So if you’re not going to let me distract her, what do you suggest we do?” Stank asked.

Parker muttered a curse. “We need to move faster.”
“No kidding.” Stank paused, no doubt waiting for Parker to come up with a bright idea. When none were forthcoming, he sighed heavily. “Look, I think I might be onto something at this end. Just keep your doctor away from Dulbecco’s case for the next few days, and we might be able to finish this thing for good.”
“That’d be a relief,” Parker said. “Thanks.” But as he hung up, he wasn’t feeling particularly relieved because Stank was right—there was no way he could see to get around it.
In order to keep Mandy out of trouble, he was going to have to do something he’d been avoiding for the past month.
He was going to have to spend time with her.

MANDY DID HER BEST to keep her mind off Irene Dulbecco’s case during her shift. Her patients helped, providing the variety that was one of the biggest draws of E.R. medicine. Against the standard backdrop of sniffles and sexually transmitted diseases, sprains and lacerations, she dealt with one toy car-up-the-nose, two MVAs—motor vehicle accidents—that she sent straight up to surgery, and a pregnant teen whose only ailment was a serious attack of nerves.
Though she normally would have spent time with the girl, Mandy knew Radcliff was watching her turnover figures, so she handed the mother-to-be over to a social worker and sent a quick prayer that everything would work out for the best.
Finally, exhausted from a single shift that had felt like an eternity, Mandy signed herself off the board and headed for the staff lounge, which was a comfortable room with a TV, kitchenette and couches, along with a row of lockers where staff members kept their street clothes and other personal effects.
Her spirits lifted when she saw her good friend, Kim Abernathy, sprawled on one of the couches in the main room. The petite brunette was wearing street clothes, indicating that she’d finished her shift upstairs in the Neonatal ICU.
Kim had her head propped up with a pillow, and her eyes were closed, and for a moment, Mandy thought she was fast asleep. Then the corners of Kim’s mouth turned up. Without opening her eyes, she said, “Hey. You’re late.”
Mandy crossed to her locker, already shucking out of her scrubs. “Did we have plans?”
“Try checking your cell phone every now and then. The Wannabes are getting together down at Jillian’s. They’re expecting us.”
Which probably meant Kim had set up the party in the first place. She’d always been the glue holding together the dozen or so premed students who’d met in college and had stayed friends in the years since. Members of the gang had come and gone over the years as relationships and jobs changed, but the spirit had remained the same. It was a group of up-and-comers who wanted to be so many things—doctors, researchers, professors, successes…some had made it big right out of school, others hadn’t yet found their stride.
Mandy figured she fell somewhere in the middle. She’d met some of her goals, like finishing med school and separating herself—mostly, anyway—from her father’s influence. Other plans were in the works, like the fellowship. Still others, like finding love and starting a family, seemed further away each year.
At the thought of love and marriage, Radcliff’s image popped into her head, causing her to mutter a curse as she dialed the combination to her locker and pulled out her jeans and a sweater.
“Problem?” Kim asked, opening an eye to look over at her.
“No. Well, yes.” Mandy paused on her way to the changing area, her mind switching gears to the other thing that was weighing heavily. “One of my patients died last night. She had a husband, and two little kids, and yes, I know that shouldn’t make her any more or less important, but…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just not fair.”
It didn’t take a psych specialist to point out the parallels between Irene and Mandy’s own mother—both women in their early forties, both women struck down suddenly, leaving a family behind.

But while Mandy’s mother had been murdered in a home invasion gone wrong, Irene had died of a disease. But what one? She’d been healthy aside from the pain, which had sprung up suddenly out of nowhere. Mandy’s examination had turned up little more than a few bruises and a patch of healing road burn the patient said had come from having been mugged a few days earlier. None of it had explained the debilitating pain, or her death.
“Come on,” Kim said. “I prescribe bar food and some Wannabe love. It might not fix everything, but you’ll feel better. I guarantee it.”
“You’re probably right.” Telling herself she was overtired and feeling vulnerable, that was all, Mandy changed into her street clothes and pulled on a heavy parka, hat and gloves as protection against the fierce New England winter.
She and Mandy left the E.R. together and crossed the main Atrium, with its soaring ceiling, central fountain and nearly deserted coffee shop, and then pushed through the revolving doors to Washington Street.
Outside, Mandy squinted against a sharp slice of wind, wishing she’d worn another layer. When Kim turned toward the nearby MBTA stop, though, Mandy paused. She waved for her friend to keep going. “You head on over. I’m going to take a quick detour.”
Kim narrowed her almond-shaped eyes suspiciously. “Where to? You’re not trying to get out of having fun with the Wannabes, are you?”
“No, I just—” Mandy broke off, not really sure where the impulse had come from, or what she hoped to find. “I need to check something out. You go ahead and I’ll catch up. I won’t be long. Promise.”
Kim muttered a good-natured insult under her breath, but headed for the T station while Mandy hung a right and crossed Kneeland Street, headed for Chinatown.
It was nearly 10:00 p.m. and no moon was visible in the winter sky, but she felt safe enough. There were plenty of streetlights and passing cars, and her destination was at the edge of the Patriot District, an upscale historical neighborhood that had little in the way of serious crime.
“Strange place for a mugging,” she said to herself as she crossed the main street, headed for the alley where Irene Dulbecco had said she’d been attacked.
Mandy wasn’t even sure what she was looking for—a dead rat, maybe, or a spore growth that shouldn’t have been there.
Which just goes to show you’ve been watching toomany medical detective shows lately, she thought as she stopped in front of the intersection Irene had described. It wasn’t a street, so much as an alley between two tall brick buildings, creating a space of dark shadows that formed a stark contrast to the well-lit main street.

When nerves shivered down her spine, Mandy fumbled in her purse for her overloaded key ring, which held a miniature flashlight and a tiny can of pepper spray. She unclipped the pepper spray so she could hold it in one hand while using the flashlight with the other.
Feeling a little braver now that she was armed and semidangerous, she moved into the shadowed alley with only a slight quiver of fear, a faint sense that maybe this wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had.
Splashes of light reflected in from the main road, enough for her to pick out the general shapes of Dumpsters and darkened doorways on either side of the narrow space.
“Let’s see what we have here,” she said quietly, clicking on her tiny flashlight and aiming the weak beam toward one of the Dumpsters, where a puddle of something had frozen to a hard slick in the winter air.
Thinking for a second that it looked like blood, she stepped closer and crouched down to investigate. As she did so, her flashlight beam caught a glint of something caught behind the wheel of the massive Dumpster. Feeling partly foolish, partly adventurous, she wiggled the thing free and came up with a flat disk that looked like a CD only smaller.
When she shined her light on the minidisk, she saw that it was labeled “ID.”
Excitement worked its way through her. The letters could stand for Irene Dulbecco.

“Then again they might not,” she muttered under her breath. She flipped the disk over, saw that there was a long scratch on the opposite side and shrugged before she pocketed the disk and straightened away from the Dumpster. “Let’s see if there’s anything else.”
She squinted and swept the light from side to side, then focused the beam over into the far corner. The light was too weak to be much good, and she took two steps further into the alley.
A heavy blow hit her from behind without warning, driving her onto her hands and knees.
She screamed as she hit, heart locking on sudden terror. The key ring flew from her hand and skidded away as she twisted, rolling to her back just in time to see the darkened silhouette of a man leaning over her, holding something that glinted in the faint streetlights. For a second, she thought it was a gun. Then he shifted, and she saw that it wasn’t a weapon.
It was a syringe.
Chapter Two
Mandy screamed and tried to roll away, but her attacker grabbed her jacket with his free hand and pinned her arms by holding onto both of her sleeves at once. She thrashed wildly as he kneeled partway across her, forcing her torso flat against the unyielding pavement.
Panic poured through her, and adrenaline gave her struggles renewed strength, but not enough to budge the man. He leaned down, and as he did, a shaft of light reflected in from the main street, giving her a glimpse of his face.
She got the impression of bitter gray eyes hidden within the hood of a heavy black sweatshirt, and saw lighter material covering his nose and mouth. Then he shifted his weight, pinning her fully with his legs so he could grab her upper arm and hold it steady.
Without a word, he swung the syringe sharply downward, plunging the needle through her parka, but missing her arm.

Mandy screamed as her attacker cursed and withdrew the needle, then aimed it at the meat of her arm. Just as the syringe descended a second time, a dark blur erupted from the shadows and slammed into him, jolting him off to one side.
She lay dazed for a moment, hearing grunts and the sounds of a struggle. Then a familiar voice snapped, “For the love of—Run!”
Radcliff? The shock of hearing—and recognizing—his voice sent a new burst of adrenaline through Mandy’s system. Before she was even aware of moving, she’d scrambled to her feet and staggered back several paces. Then she stood, swaying, while the world spun around her.
In the dimness, she could make out the shapes of two men squared off opposite each other. The stranger wore a hooded sweatshirt and a light-colored mask beneath, along with what looked—oddly enough—like surgical gloves. Radcliff, on the other hand, wore dark jeans and a heavy leather jacket, and had a knit cap pulled over his ears.
The oddness of seeing him in street clothes rather than a lab coat created a disconnect in Mandy’s brain, one that had her hesitating for a second. Then the hooded man growled something and lunged at Parker, swinging the syringe in a deadly arc.
Mandy screamed, “No!”
“Get out of here!” Radcliff bellowed. He ducked low and caught his assailant in the gut with his shoulder, folding the guy and deflecting his aim. Then he twisted and sidestepped, and grabbed the other man’s wrist, fighting for control of the syringe.
Mandy wavered for a second, poised between running away from the fight and running toward it. Radcliff had ordered her to go, but as she watched, she saw his braced arm give under the other man’s weight, saw the syringe drop a few inches closer to its target.
Don’t be a fool, the cautious side of her inner self said. Go get help. Call nine-one-one.
But her cell was in her purse, which lay on the pavement just behind the combatants. There was no way she could reach it, no way she could get to her phone, and by the time she found help it might be too late.
Before she was aware of making the decision, the other side of her inner self—the one that was always making mistakes and getting her into trouble—had her launching into action. She lunged, not for the fight, but for the nearby Dumpster. Stretching her arm beneath it, she felt around in the frozen clutter, grimacing until her fingers found the tiny bottle of pepper spray. Heart pounding, she scooped it up and scrambled to her feet.
As she turned toward the combatants, Radcliff gave a low, bitter curse. The syringe hovered bare inches above his throat.
Before she could talk herself out of the mad plan, Mandy flipped the tiny safety off the spray and lunged, aiming the jet full in the other man’s face, above what she now saw was a surgical mask to match the gloves.
The stranger looked at her, his pale eyes locking on hers for a split second as the spray triggered.
At the last possible moment, the hooded man stepped back, relaxed his grip and yanked the syringe away. Radcliff staggered forward, twisting as he fell under his own momentum.
“Watch out!” Mandy cried as he sidestepped and righted himself right into the cloud of pepper spray.
Radcliff howled and reflexively grabbed for his face before redirecting and lunging for his opponent once again, but it was already too late. The masked and gloved man spun away, bent down to grab Mandy’s fallen purse and keys and bolted from the alley.
Streetlights silhouetted him briefly against the mouth of the alley as he skidded, hooked a right and disappeared.
Swearing, Radcliff lunged in pursuit, caromed off the Dumpster and spun into the opposite alley wall, where he doubled over, braced his elbows on his knees, and coughed through a string of bitter curses.
Mandy took two steps toward Radcliff and reached out a hand to help him, then froze again when she saw the spent pepper spray still clutched in her fingers.
His head came up. His watering eyes fixed first on the spray, then traveled up to lock on her. She expected him to bark at her, to snarl bloody murder as he might have done in the hospital.
Instead he exhaled in disgust. “Why am I not surprised?”
He shifted, leaned back against the wall, and reached inside his heavy leather jacket to pull out a cell phone. A single button connected him with whoever he was calling and his watery eyes remained fixed on Mandy as he said, “Stank? We’ve got a situation. Good news is that I’ve got some DNA for you. Bad news is, I’m not alone.”

THE NEXT HOUR or so was pretty much a blur to Mandy. The cops arrived a few minutes after Radcliff’s call, led by Detective James Stankowski, a handsome, dark-haired man whose youthful looks contrasted with his eyes, which were world-weary and cynical.
When Radcliff introduced them, the detective held her hand a moment longer than necessary and asked if she was okay, but before she was able to dredge up a coherent answer, Radcliff hustled her over to a team of paramedics and told her to stay put until he came back for her.
An hour, an ice pack for the bump on her head and a couple of ibuprofen later, she was feeling almost normal—except for the fact that she was surrounded by cops and flashing lights. She’d called Kim on a borrowed cell phone and halfway explained the situation. Only halfway, though, because she wasn’t entirely sure yet what exactly had happened. Who was that man? Why had Radcliff been there?
A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered near the mouth of the alley, and they peered in past a string of police tape. A crime scene team had set up powerful lights—the kind the road crews used for night work on the expressway—to illuminate the alley, which looked far smaller and seedier, somehow, than it had in the darkness.
Seated on the edge of an ambulance gurney she didn’t really need, Mandy watched the crime scene techs quarter and photograph the area. One stern-faced woman marked the position where the little canister of pepper spray had fallen when she dropped it. The woman picked it up and slipped it into a clear plastic evidence bag, and suddenly the entire scene took on a completely unreal shine.
“I’m dreaming,” Mandy said to herself. “I’m really back at work, crashed on one of the couches, dreaming about being in an episode of CSI: NewYork. This isn’t real.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but this is as real as it gets,” Radcliff’s voice said from behind the gurney, startling her.
Mandy turned, then winced and touched her temple when the motion made the world spin. The weakness and the strangeness of it all must’ve made her more vulnerable than she’d thought, because when she saw him in the light, all she could think was hel-lo.
Over the past month, she’d seen him more than she’d wanted to, catching glimpses as he’d gone from meeting to meeting, or when he’d swung by the front desk of the E.R. to leave annoying notes about productivity and cycle time. She’d told herself she shouldn’t even notice him, that he was nothing to her now. And, after having only seen him in his starched white coat with The Boss written across the front, she’d almost convinced herself it was the truth.
But now, seeing him up close in his dark-colored tough-guy street clothes with a good dose of five-o’clock shadow, she was suddenly too aware of the strong angle of his jaw and the masculine hardness of his body, too aware of the leashed anger in his eyes.
Too aware that he’d just saved her life.
She had the sudden, undeniable memory of how it had felt to be pressed against him years ago, how they’d come together in heat and need and joy, and how everything else had ceased to exist when they were with each other.
A flush suffused her cheeks when she finally admitted that she’d been lying to herself for the past month. She hadn’t been aware of him because he was her boss, or because of their history. She’d noticed him because of him. Despite how it had ended, their time together had been amazing, and she’d never found the same sort of connection with another man since, damn it.
The realization sharpened her voice when she turned away from him and snapped, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
He was silent for a moment, long enough to have her worrying that he’d seen the flare of heat in her eyes. But he made no mention of it, only saying, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He moved around to stand between her and the crime scene, and then touched her arm, urging her down from the gurney. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
“It’s about time.” Resenting the sizzle that sparked at his touch, she yanked away and jumped down off the gurney too quickly, then swayed when the world took a sudden dip to the right.
“Easy there. I’ve got you.” He looped an arm around her waist, and this time when she tried to pull free he merely tightened his hold. “Don’t be stupid. It’s okay to lean sometimes.”
Since when? she thought with a snort at the memory of long-ago conversations that were suddenly too fresh in her mind. But she didn’t ask the question aloud, because she’d be damned if she went back there. It was one thing for a few memories to break through in a stressful situation, quite another to acknowledge the memories to the man who starred in them.
So instead, she said, “Where are we going?”

“The Chinatown police station. We’ll need to go over your statement.” The growl in his voice made Mandy aware of a subtle tension that vibrated through his body.
That, combined with too many other things not lining up, brought latent suspicions flaring to life. A slew of questions suddenly jammed her brain, but she held silent as he led her out of the alley and over to an empty patrol car and ushered her into the backseat, then motioned for her to slide over so he could climb in.
The moment he shut the door, a uniformed officer climbed into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine and pulled away from the scene, without a word spoken between the two men. The silent orchestration made Mandy nervous, made her feel as though some unclear fate had already been decided for her.
None of it made any sense. Why had Radcliff been following her? Why the massive police response for a mugging?
And why did the head of the BoGen Emergency Services Department have a police detective on speed-dial?
Making a desperate stab at organizing the questions that spun through her already rattled brain, she said, “Radcliff, what the—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off midquestion. “Not yet, okay? Stankowski will do a better job explaining. He’s meeting us at the station.”

But though there was a certain logic to that, she got the impression it wasn’t the real reason he’d cut her off. When his eyes flicked over to her and away in the glow of passing streetlights, she thought she saw a stir of something in his normally chill expression, making her wonder if he’d felt the faint shimmer of attraction sparking between them back in the alley.
Right. And he’s really been pining for you all theseyears, too, snapped her more rational side. Grow up.
Those last two words resonated from the memory of their last night together, making her lean away from him and stare out the window as she fought to reorient herself, knowing that no matter how much she might’ve wanted to romanticize what had happened between them, he hadn’t really wanted her in his life back then any more than he did now. That was fine with her, too, because he was firmly entrenched in the city and its largest hospital. She, on the other hand, was out of there the moment the Meade Fellowship came through.
“We’re here,” he announced as the officer pulled the patrol car to the curb outside the Chinatown police station. “Come on.”
Once the officer opened the rear door, Radcliff climbed out, then held out a hand and waited for her, as though he thought she might collapse, or maybe make a run for it. But she did neither, ignoring his proffered hand to climb out of the car under her own power and stalk up the carved granite steps leading to the police station, leaving him to follow at her heels.
She paused when she reached the main lobby, where a cross-section of Bostonians waited on padded benches, some chatting or reading dog-eared magazines, others glaring off into space.
“Through here.” Radcliff led her across the lobby, waving to the two uniformed desk officers, who were attending to a straggling line of people from behind the safety of a chest-high desk and a slab of clear, bulletproof Plexiglas.
The thought of someone walking into the lobby and shooting up a police station didn’t seem nearly as far-fetched to Mandy as it might have only hours earlier, and she suppressed a shiver as she headed down a short hallway in Radcliff’s wake.
Nearly to the end of the hall, past a rest room and several offices, Radcliff paused, opened a door and ushered her through into what proved to be a small conference room. The walls were lined with file-stuffed bookshelves, and a large table filled the center of the space, surrounded by a dozen or so utilitarian chairs. An American flag hung in one corner, adding a patriotic dash to the functional space.
There was a second door in the far wall, and before Mandy had gotten her bearings, it swung open and Detective Stankowski strode through.
As before, her first impression was of a darkly handsome man in his early thirties, maybe two or three years older than her. This time, though, she noticed that when his eyes flicked from her to Radcliff and back, the world-weariness in them shifted ever so slightly, giving her the feeling that she was missing something when he took her hand and once again held it a beat too long before guiding her to a chair. As she sat, he said, “Are you sure you’re up for this, Dr. Sparks? Parker says you took a pretty good crack to the head back in that alley.”
“She’s fine,” Radcliff broke in. He stepped in front of Stankowski to pull out the chair beside hers, forcing the detective to give way. “Let’s get on with this.”
Deciding to ignore the brittle undercurrent between the two men for the time being, Mandy waited until Stankowski had taken a seat opposite her, where he arranged a stack of folders and then popped open a slim laptop computer and tapped a few keys. Turning toward Radcliff—she wouldn’t think of him as Parker because that was a name he reserved for his friends and she was feeling far from friendly—she narrowed her eyes. “Okay, we’re here, so let’s have your explanation, and make it good. How about starting with why you followed me tonight?”
Radcliff leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got it backward—I didn’t follow you. I headed for the alley after work for the same reason you did. Lucky for you, we were on the same schedule.”

“You—” Mandy broke off, confused. “Why would you care about that alley?”
“For the same reason you do—because that’s where Irene Dulbecco was attacked a few days before she died.”
“You read my notes?”
He nodded, expression still giving nothing away. “I was in a meeting when she came in, or I would’ve grabbed her case. As it was, I didn’t hear about her until it was too late.”
A chill chased its way down Mandy’s spine as she began to add it up.
“You’ve seen something like this before.” She glanced at the detective, who was watching her as if expecting—what? What sort of response could she possibly have? “You’re working together,” she finally said. “But why? Radcliff isn’t a cop. At least he wasn’t back when—”
“I’m not,” he interrupted quickly, making her think he didn’t want the detective to know about their past history. He continued, “I dug a bullet out of Stankowski here a few years ago. Ever since then, he’s called me when he gets a case that involves something medical.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s a nice change from grant writing. But I work very hard to keep this stuff separate from BoGen.”
“Until now,” Stankowski said. He spun the laptop around to face Mandy. On the screen was a computer-generated sketch of a figure wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt and a surgical mask. Above the mask, his eyes were light gray and coldly calculating.
Or maybe the calculation was in her mind, borne on the shiver that started in her gut and worked its way through her body, squeezing the air from her lungs until she was almost unable to breathe. “Oh God. That’s him. That’s the man who attacked me in the alley.” She closed her eyes, trying to blot out the fear of memory. “But you already knew that.”
When she opened her eyes, the detective had closed the laptop. He nodded.
“How many other people has he attacked?” she whispered through a suddenly dry throat.
“Four including you,” Radcliff said, his voice resonating with the deadly sort of calm she’d heard from him only once before, when he’d told her it was over between them. “Of the other three, two are dead and one is missing.” He paused a beat. “You know what that makes you?”
Fear spiked, followed by numbing disbelief, but she nodded, glancing from Radcliff to the detective and back. “That makes me your star witness.”
“As far as we’re concerned, you’re a witness,” Radcliff said. “As far as the killer is concerned, you’re a liability.” His voice changed, roughening. “Damn it, why didn’t you listen to me? I told you to leave the Dulbecco case alone.”
“I couldn’t,” Mandy whispered. Her breath backed up in her lungs when she remembered the syringe, and that terrible moment when the man had held her down and aimed the needle. If he’d managed to inject her with the clear fluid…
She thought of Irene, who’d writhed in pain despite heavy doses of morphine, and the battery of tests she’d run, only to have all the levels come back within normal limits. Her brain spun with terrible questions, like what in God’s name was in that syringe? What would have happened to her if Radcliff hadn’t gotten there in time to save her?
More importantly, what was going to happen next?
Chapter Three
“I want you out of here starting now,” Parker said. “Take a couple of weeks off. Go someplace nice and chill out.” He managed to dredge up what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll clear it with your boss.”
But instead of jumping at the chance, as any other member of his staff would have, she shook her head, her face set in familiar stubborn lines. “Not on your life. I’m a doctor and Irene Dulbecco was my patient. If there’s any way I can help figure out what was done to her and prevent it from happening to someone else, then that’s what I need to do.”
And there it is, Parker thought on a bite of temper. He’d once warned her that her damned wide-eyed idealism was going to get her in trouble. He hadn’t figured on being there to watch it happen, though, and he hadn’t expected the trouble would be of the life-or-death variety.
Maybe he should’ve known better. Mandy was the sort of person who attracted controversy and chaos—heck, as far as he could tell, she went looking for it. Why else would a prominent surgeon’s daughter become the sort of doctor who’d rather prescribe acupuncture than antibiotics? And that was only the latest incarnation of her hidden rebellious streak as far as he was concerned. Back during her rotation through Boston General, she’d driven him crazy by…well, that was just it. She’d driven him crazy at a time when he’d needed to concentrate on himself, and the job.
Now, she was just plain crazy herself. Only a whacko would’ve gone into that alley alone. If he hadn’t been there—
His mind locked on the image of Mandy hospitalized, writhing with a pain he couldn’t control, couldn’t cure, and the hell of it roughened his tone. “The time off wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. I want you out of here, and I’ll see that it happens if I have to load you on a plane to California myself.”
“Why California, so I can hide at my daddy’s place?” Instead of looking angry or defensive, or any of the half-dozen other emotions he’d been trying to provoke, she rolled her eyes. “You’ve always been far too impressed with my father and his reputation. Why is that, I wonder?”
Parker gritted his teeth. “What part of you couldbe dying right now do you not understand?”
“I understand it just fine. I’m just not letting it chase me off.”

Her words might be defiant, but she paled as she said them, and the pallor brought out the dark smudge of a bruise high on her cheek.
Instead of marring her classic beauty, the injury only enhanced it, reminding Parker that she might be tough enough to stand up to him in the hospital, but she was no physical match for a madman determined to do her harm.
Knowing it, he stood up and leaned over her, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair and crowding her with his body until she leaned back to avoid him. “You’re too smart to be this stupid, Mandy. You saw Irene Dulbecco. Do you really want to end up just like her?”
In the wake of his shout, angry silence vibrated in the room.
Stankowski finally stepped in. “Okay, that’s enough. Parker, sit down and stop being a jerk. And you—” he turned to Mandy “—don’t try to be a hero. Parker and I have this under control, and we’ll have a better chance of finding this guy if he’s not worrying about your safety.”
She snorted, but didn’t contradict him, instead saying, “I know it’s probably no use telling you guys not to worry about me, given the circumstances. But you’re not considering the other option.”
“There is no other option,” Parker said flatly.
“Of course there is,” Mandy countered. “In fact I see two.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “One, you let me help you. I assume you’ve tested the bodies for the most common pain-inducing toxins?”
Parker nodded reluctantly. “Yes, we have. That doesn’t mean we’re looking for an herb, though.”
“Aha!” She stabbed a finger at him. “That means you’ve thought it might be a botanical, or you wouldn’t even mention the possibility. Since I know far more than you do about traditional medicine, I can help, and I’m darned well volunteering whether you like it or not. It’s my job to heal my patients, and if possible prevent them from becoming patients in the first place.”
Parker wanted to argue the point but couldn’t, because that was pretty much what he’d told himself when he’d first started taking time away from his duties at BoGen in order to help Stankowski. That, and it had appealed to his sense of duty. He’d never wanted to be a cop like his mother had been, but somehow he’d wound up in that world accidentally, and had found he liked it. It had filled a void, offering a challenge he hadn’t known he was looking for until it had appeared.
But that was him, not Mandy. She didn’t belong in this world any more than he belonged in hers.
“You said there were two options,” Stankowski said cautiously. “What’s the second?”
“It’s simple,” she said, though Parker noticed that she’d knotted her fingers tightly together in her lap. “You said it yourself, I’m unfinished business. I’ve seen the killer’s face, at least some of it, and he has my purse and keys. You want to catch him, and there’s a pretty good bet he’ll come for me sooner or later. Why not use me—and my apartment—as bait?”
Mandy braced herself for Radcliff to erupt. Instead the very air around him seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature. He gritted his teeth and growled. “Not. An. Option.”
Under any other circumstance, with any other man, she would’ve snapped at the dictatorial tone. As it was, she found herself hesitating.
The Radcliff she remembered hadn’t possessed such chill control. He’d been loud and domineering, but she’d quickly learned that a big chunk of it was a shield, that beneath the prickles and bluster was a man of fiery temper and a rare but wonderful humor. At the time, he’d said that wasn’t the real Parker Radcliff, that she’d brought out something in him that he couldn’t explain. Before things between them had fallen apart, she’d tried to help him believe that the other, warmer man was the real him.
Now, she realized she’d been the one living in a delusion, or maybe he’d made his belief into a reality, because there was no warmth in the man looking at her now. There was no fire, practically no life in his cold, dark eyes.
A huge shiver crawled up the back of her neck, but she kept her voice even. “I’m not leaving. I think you know I can be as stubborn as you. You can either accept my help, or…” She trailed off, then said simply, “Please let me help. I want to do this. I need to do this. I know how it feels not to have answers.”
Though there had been plenty of evidence in her mother’s death, the LAPD had been unable to make an arrest. Eventually they—and her father—had just let it go.
Mandy, however, still saw her mother’s body in her dreams.
Stankowski held up a hand. “Okay, let’s take a time-out here.” He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “It’s nearly midnight and I came on shift early this morning… The crime scene techs will let me know if they get anything from the alley. We’re still waiting on some of the tests from Dulbecco’s body, but so far the info from her hasn’t added anything we didn’t already know.” He exhaled a frustrated breath. “I’m tired, and I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere tonight. I vote we call it a night and sleep on things, then reconvene in the morning and make some decisions about Dr. Sparks.”
“Call me Mandy, please, and that sounds like a plan to me.” Relieved by the prospect of rest, but more determined than ever to be part of the investigation, she said, “I’d like to take a look at the other victims’ medical files tonight, if that’s okay. Maybe I’ll see something that you guys missed.” If she could prove her worth, she thought, maybe Stankowski would overrule Radcliff’s objections to her involvement.
Why are you so determined to put yourself in themiddle of this? her insidious voice of reason asked.
Mandy gritted her teeth and told herself that Irene’s husband and kids deserved to know what happened. More importantly, she couldn’t just let other people die if there was some way she could help prevent it—she knew how it felt when a family member was murdered. But those answers rang vaguely false because she knew there was a good chance she’d be endangering her own life in the process, making her wonder exactly why she wasn’t already halfway to Logan Airport.
She glanced at Radcliff’s set profile, and a hard knot gathered in her stomach at the suspicion that she wasn’t doing this despite him, but rather because of him. Because she felt excited and completely, totally alive for the first time in the four years since she’d left Boston.
“What do you think?” Stankowski asked Radcliff now, seeming immune to his steely-eyed glare. Apparently taking the lack of response as an affirmative, he nodded. “Fine. Mandy can take the charts with her, and we’ll meet back here at nine tomorrow to see if she’s come up with something we missed.”
Mandy exhaled a breath of relief mixed with nerves, and started to rise. Then she hesitated. “Oh, heck. Where am I supposed to stay tonight?” She turned to Stankowski. “Can you have some men watch my apartment?”
“Don’t even think of it,” Radcliff growled.
“I already have two men on your place,” the detective said, ignoring him, “but I don’t want you going home, at least not until we have a real plan.” He glanced at Radcliff, and a glint entered his tired eyes when he said, “I’ve got a spare room. You’re welcome to bunk with me for tonight.”
“No.” Radcliff stood. “She’s coming home with me. End of discussion.”

OF COURSE it wasn’t the end of the discussion, because Mandy had to protest that she didn’t need a babysitter, while Stank kept offering his spare room. Parker figured the detective’s insistence was partly designed to annoy him, and partly because, as he’d suspected, Mandy’s California blond good looks were right up Stank’s alley.
Not liking the gleam in the detective’s eyes any more than he liked the idea of Mandy spending the night in her own place, Parker finally snapped, “Either we do it my way or we spend the next hour arguing. Personally I’d rather grab some dinner and hit the sack.”
That pretty much ended the conversation, which should have been a relief. The only problem was that once he’d won the argument, Parker was left with a prize he didn’t want.

Or rather, one he shouldn’t want, but did.
He tried to work it out in his head as they caught a cab and rode to his place in a tense silence broken only by the strains of Mozart coming from the driver’s radio.
It made logical sense for Mandy to come home with him. He had a spare bedroom that was far nicer than the closet-size guest room in Stank’s place, and he’d be nearby if she had any questions on the medical charts or the tests that’d been run on the victims so far.
He didn’t want her involved in the case, but he had to admit that her knowledge of herbal medicine was far greater than his, and he was certain they weren’t dealing with a garden-variety toxin of the sort typically used for murder, such as warfarin, cyanide or arsenic.
Besides, even if Mandy was safely stashed at Stank’s place, he’d still be worried about her…and that was the problem.
He didn’t want to worry about her, didn’t want to care one way or the other about her, but blind rage had hit him the moment he’d realized what was going down in that alley. Hell, he’d felt the jolt earlier in the day, when he’d gone toe-to-toe with her in the hallway at work. Then again, he’d never been able to control his responses around Mandy. They weren’t good for each other, but they’d been damn good together. Now, with the prospect of spending the night in close quarters, he knew one thing if he knew anything: he was going to have to keep his hands to himself.

With that vow firmly in mind as the taxi driver pulled up to the curb in front of his Beacon Hill town house, he got out and paid the driver.
“Come on.” He scanned their night-quiet surroundings as he gestured for Mandy to precede him up the brick walkway, but there was nothing suspicious about the well-lit area or the passing cars. Still, he didn’t relax until he got the front door unlocked and checked the security system, which was green across the board.
He reset the system and locked the door, expecting to feel a sense of relief that they were home safe. Instead his disquiet only increased as he turned toward Mandy, who stood just inside the door, swaying on her feet as though she was about ready to drop from exhaustion and the stress of the day.
She caught his eye and deliberately looked away, scanning his town house.
He’d had the whole place done over when he bought it a few months after his divorce was finalized, and the result was three levels of late eighteenth century period-correct hardwood floors, exposed beams and horsehair plaster, offset with modern touches of marble, chrome and glass. The decorator he’d hired had gone with greens and blues, and from the entryway the splashes of color were visible both on the second floor, which was level with the front door, and the upper level, which had been partly cut away to form a balcony of sorts surrounding the cathedral ceiling of the sitting room on the second floor.
He’d left the bottom floor untouched and used it as his gym, but the main floors practically screamed “understated opulence,” which was what he’d been going for.
Now, though, he wondered what Mandy saw when she looked around. And, realizing that her response mattered far more than it should, he realized something else.
She was the first woman, other than the decorator and the cleaning lady, that he’d invited into his home.
“Nice.” Mandy hummed a note under her breath. “Very nice.” But there was something guarded in her voice when she said, “Did you bring the files on the other victims?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You can have a look at them, let me know if you see anything we missed.”
But he didn’t hand them over, didn’t move except to draw in a deep breath, one that brought her scent to him, a mix of shampoo and woman he’d told himself he’d forgotten long ago. Now, though, it was inescapable, and it triggered memories he could’ve sworn were gone forever, memories of heat and chaos, and a blond-haired girl who’d—both then and now—stirred him up more than had been comfortable, or wise.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” he said. “You and me working together on this…it’s just not a good idea.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because of this.” Before she knew what he intended, hell before he was conscious of making the move, Parker crossed the distance separating them.
And kissed her.
Chapter Four
Mandy froze in shock the moment Radcliff’s lips touched hers.
The first thought that flitted through her mind was a panicked sort of relief that the attraction she’d been feeling with increasing sharpness throughout the day wasn’t one-sided.
Her second thought never materialized; it was lost beneath a wash of heat when his mouth slanted across hers.
She parted her lips and kissed him back, her body responding before her mind had a chance to catch up. Warning buzzers sounded dimly in the back of her brain, but she couldn’t bring herself to care just then. She was awash in sensation, suddenly drowning beneath a wave of need.
The stubble of his faint beard rasped beneath her fingertips when she lifted a hand to touch his jaw, urging him closer. She closed her eyes and tried not to go boneless when his tongue touched hers and every neuron she possessed flared to life simultaneously on a shouted thought: Finally!
Finally he held her close, his touch arrogant and possessive, like the man himself. Finally his body pressed against hers and his scent filled her nostrils—a poignantly familiar blend of hospital soap and the spiciness that was his alone.
She melted against him, curled herself around him and hung on for a kiss that began at the point where their mouths fused, but then spiraled outward, becoming far more than itself.
What started as taste and touch quickly became heat and need. Desire had her sliding her hands down his neck to his upper arms, where she dug her fingers into the heavy leather of his jacket until she felt the tight muscles beneath. Lust coiled, hard and demanding, warning her that she’d been lying to herself for the past month, and maybe for the four years before that.
She’d told herself she’d gotten over him, but she’d been wrong. Otherwise, it would’ve taken more than a kiss before she was right back in the same place she’d been before, half-blind with desire, and ready to give up anything to be with him.
This time when the warning buzzers shrilled, she heard them loud and clear.
She froze in his arms, then pulled her lips from his. They were twined together in an intimate embrace, with her back against the entryway wall, one of his thighs wedged between hers, and her fingers digging into his arms as though he was the only thing keeping her on her feet. “Wait,” she said, her voice coming out thin and breathy.
In the hallway light he’d flicked on when they’d come in, she could see his pulse pounding at the side of his neck. A dark, indefinable emotion gleamed in his eyes momentarily, one that looked very much like anger and had nerves fisting in her stomach. Then his expression blanked and he stepped away from her, leaving her to lean against the wall for support.
“Like I said, this is a bad idea.” His voice was thick, rasping with desire. “I can’t work with you.”
His words cut deep, but still the memories crowded her, brought by the taste and feel of him, and by the lure of the illicit, the sense that they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing. Unfortunately she was enough of a grown-up now to admit that the forbidden aspects had always been part of the lure.
You’re better than that, she told herself, and meant it. You’re stronger and smarter than you were before.Believe it.
Because she believed it, she lifted her chin and met his dark-eyed stare. “Why won’t it work, because we’re attracted to each other? Please. That didn’t stop you from kicking me to the curb four years ago. I’d like to think I can return the favor now by not letting it get personal if we’re forced to work in close quarters for the next few days.”

“I hardly call what we just did ‘not getting personal,’” Radcliff said without an ounce of humor. “Personally I call it a hell of a distraction, and I’m not in a position to be distracted right now.”
Mandy was far from feeling casual, but managed to interject a hint of boredom into her tone. “So control yourself. You kissed me, not the other way around. It’s not like I took two steps inside your door and started stripping.”
She had once before, though, in a different time and place. They’d slept together one time, and he’d tried to end it, saying he wasn’t in a good place, that she deserved better. Thinking him overly noble, she’d invited herself over and seduced him. The memory of it crept into her brain, bringing a warm flush to the skin of her face and arms.
From the glint in his eyes, she wasn’t the only one taking a little trip down memory lane. That guess was confirmed when he said, “No, but you weren’t exactly complaining just now.”
“I can enjoy locking lips without letting it mess with my head these days.” She raised an eyebrow. “I should probably thank you for that.”
“Don’t.” He turned away from her suddenly, and yanked off his jacket in a surge of motion that was at odds with his usual rigid control. He looped the jacket onto a rack of hooks near the door and held out a hand for her parka. “Let’s go sit down. I think we need to talk this through.”

She handed over the coat, but stood her ground. “Let’s not. We kissed and we enjoyed it—that’s no surprise. Sex was never the problem between us, was it?” She shook her head, answering her own question. “No, our problems were partly the gap in our ages and experiences, and partly a difference in expectations, so let’s deal with both of those things right up-front. One—” she ticked off the point on a finger “—there’s no more experience gap. I’ve learned what I needed to know—and then some—over the past four years. And because of that experience, I don’t expect anything from you except a fair shake when it comes time for you to write my recommendation letter.”
He hung up her parka, movements deliberate, as though he was buying himself a moment. When he turned back to her, she read nothing more than faint impatience on his face, making her wonder if she’d imagined the darker, stronger emotions there before, whether she’d once again been projecting her own feelings onto him.
Not again, she told herself. Four years earlier she’d vowed to never again get herself caught in that sort of trap. Since then, she’d spelled out the terms of each relationship ahead of time, so there would be no surprises, no disappointments.
The system had worked before. It would work this time, as well.
“I know you don’t want me involved with you and Detective Stankowski on this case,” she said. “And I can’t say I blame you…but I’m also not willing to step aside. You said it yourself—this guy has my ID and my keys, and the likelihood is that he’s not just going to walk away and forget about me. That makes it my best interest to help you catch him.”
This time, she let the silence draw out between them.
Radcliff broke first, shaking his head and turning away. “We both know that’s circular logic, but I’m not going to waste energy trying to talk you out of it. Come on into the kitchen. I’ll fix us something while you go over the files. That way I’m in shouting distance if you have any questions.”
Without another word, he grabbed his soft-sided briefcase off the table where he’d dumped it when they’d first come in, and strode into the main living space of the town house.
Mandy stood in the entryway, rattled by his change in tactics. And that, she realized quickly, had been the point. He wanted her off balance and guessing, because if she wasn’t in control of the conversation, then that meant he was, and if there was one thing that hadn’t changed about Radcliff over the years, it was that he liked to be in control of the things—and the people—around him.
Muttering under her breath, she followed him to the kitchen.
The town house was a narrow structure that was three levels tall and only one room wide, with the rooms on each floor arranged in a line, shotgun-style. She passed through the first room of the middle floor, where tall ceilings, cream-colored walls and polished wooden beams gave the impression of lightness even though it was dark outside and few lamps were lit. To her left, one staircase descended below street level and another climbed to a third story, the spaces overlapping so the treads of the upper staircase soared above the lower stairs, all in warm, burnished wood that spoke of age and permanence. The load-bearing walls had been turned into arches and pillars, so two of the three rooms that had originally made up the main floor had become one large sitting area.
There, reproduction couches and chairs gave the look of antiques with modern lounge-about comfort, and were nearly buried beneath cushions and boldly colored blankets. A fireplace flanked one side of the room, a wide plasma TV hung on the opposite wall. Startling color and vibrance came from a profusion of green plants that hung in pots, sat on shelves and grew from wide clay buckets on the floor, all looking green and healthy, some even with blossoms—delicate pink and fire-engine red—though it was January.
Mandy automatically cataloged the plants, noting that many were varieties that needed daily care.
The thought of Parker Radcliff puttering around checking soil pH and moisture was so jarring she immediately knew he had to have a plant service, and probably rode them as hard as he did his staff. There was no way he took care of the greenery himself. Frankly she was surprised he’d bothered to install them in the first place. No doubt the plants were thedecorator’s doing, Mandy thought, feeling a hint of amusement at the contrast between his place and her inexpensive apartment.
Most of her possessions were still in boxes, and her decorating efforts had been limited to hanging a few framed art posters. His place, on the other hand, was practically a showpiece.
When she reached the kitchen, she saw that the hardwood floors gave way to blue-green tilework, which added a splash of color to the cream paint and warm wood cabinets. The expensive fittings and appliances were brushed steel and the counters black marble, but additional touches of blue and green made the room feel warm rather than cold.
The man inside the kitchen, though, looked anything but warm. Frustration had deepened the hard lines beside his mouth and tightened the skin between his brows, making his expression thunderous and forbidding.
Any sane woman with an ounce of self-preservation in her soul would’ve backed away.
Mandy stepped forward, crossing the wide kitchen until she stood just opposite him near the sink. She lifted her chin and forced her eyes to match him chill for chill. “You left before I was finished with the ground rules.”
“I know.” He turned and crossed to a granite-topped island, and busied himself with the cold cuts he’d laid out, assembling sandwiches with precisely controlled motions. “We don’t need rules here because there’s nothing to legislate. I’m keeping an eye on you for the next day or so, that’s all. If you can give us something new from those—” he nodded to the medical files he’d laid out on a small table in the corner “—all the better. If not, we’ll figure out something longer term for your protection.”
Irritation flared, even though she knew his rundown wasn’t all that far off the reality of the situation. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Or have you conveniently forgotten laying one on me a few minutes ago?”
He glanced at her, his eyes darkening with a flash of heat that was there and gone so quickly she might’ve missed it if she hadn’t been feeling it herself.
“It’ll be a long time before I forget kissing you again,” he said. “But that just proves my point. There’s no way we can work closely together without remembering what we had together, and being tempted to go there all over again.”
Mandy gritted her teeth. “I’m not a green intern anymore, Dr. Radcliff. I’m an experienced E.R. physician who can hold her own, regardless of the situation.”

“We’re not exactly in a typical E.R. scenario right now, are we?” Emphasizing the point, he slid one of the sandwiches he’d made onto a plate, and handed it to her, then jerked his chin toward a pair of stools set into the intimate corner breakfast nook. “Have a seat.”
Their knees bumped as they settled into the niche, sitting too close together. Mandy was just about to suggest they move out into the main room when he caught her eye and lifted one eyebrow in challenge, as if to say, you think this won’t be an issue? Prove it.
So she settled into the breakfast nook and told herself not to notice how nice it felt to have her legs pressed up against his beneath the table, or how much warmer and safer she felt now than she had an hour ago, back at the police station.

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