In The Enemy's Arms. Pamela Toth
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made a beeline for her office. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it as the tears finally spilled over. For a few moments, she indulged her sorrow and frustration with her knuckles pressed to her mouth to stifle the sounds of her defeat.
Gradually her weeping slowed and she regained control of her emotions. Blindly she grabbed the box of tissues on her desk and blotted her face. When she cried, her nose always got red and her skin turned blotchy. Her eyes probably looked as though she’d been on a three-day bender, so she would have to hide out here for a little while longer.
Someone knocked on the door. Before she could speak, it opened and Bryce leaned in. “You okay?”
“Get out,” she snapped.
Instead of complying, he shocked her by coming in and shutting the door behind him. “We need to talk.”
Was he blind or just indifferent?
Mari reached for her phone. “I’m calling security,” she warned as she lifted the receiver.
Dr. Bingham’s threat didn’t stop Bryce, who had faced down worse than an unarmed woman holding a wad of damp tissues. It was the sight of her hazel eyes, awash with tears, that froze him in his tracks like a gun trained on his heart.
Were the tears a ruse by a lawbreaker desperate for time? Or was her devastated expression that of a compassionate healer? So many of the people he had interviewed insisted the latter was true.
“Please, Mari.” He extended his hand. “Don’t call anyone, okay?”
He wasn’t sure if it was his words or his tone that stopped her, but he had no intention of giving her time to reconsider. Nor did he intend to offer comfort, but an impulse he couldn’t control propelled him forward, arms open. Wrapping them around her, he pulled her close.
Prepared for a struggle, he tucked her head under his chin. As he inhaled the scent of her lemon shampoo, a flood of images flashed through his mind. Caught off guard, he did his best to ignore the unwanted memories, as well as his own spontaneous reaction.
Her slight body stiffened, palms braced against his chest. Barely breathing, he waited for her to jerk away, but instead she sighed, going limp. Before she could sink to the floor, he scooped her up into his arms.
He was shocked at how little she weighed. Had the investigation and his pursuit done this to her?
She slipped her arms around his neck, distracting him, and clung like a child as she cried softly against his chest. The feel of her softly rounded breasts sent awareness pumping through him like a drug. For a moment, he shut his eyes and cuddled her close, wanting to absorb everything about her like a giant sponge.
He struggled to keep his head clear, to keep his lungs working. What the hell was he thinking? Where had his objectivity gone? She was a suspect and he was here to question her, not to hold her in his arms while he mooned over her like a teenager.
His silent lecture wasn’t taking hold.
“Shh, baby,” he murmured, ignoring his own tap-dancing pulse. “It’s okay.”
The sound of his voice jerked her head up. Her dark lashes were clumped together. Her eyes were reddened and wet, the skin beneath them blotchy and waxen.
When her lips parted on a tiny sound of protest, his mouth went dry and a giant fist squeezed the breath from his lungs. As they continued to stare at each other, his entire being hummed with awareness.
Neither of them moved, neither blinked. He tried to reason out why kissing her would be a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.
“I think you’d better put me down now.” Her voice cracked the silence. Heat of a different type filled his cheeks, but the rest of him went cold at the thought of what he’d nearly done.
“Of course.” Gently, he stood her on her feet while he scrambled to regain control of the interview—and his own professionalism.
Her chin went up as she circled the cluttered desk. After putting the unmistakable barrier between them, she sat down with her hands neatly folded.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” she asked coolly, as though nothing earthshaking had nearly happened.
Bryce was angry at his own weakness, as well as with Mari’s ability to manipulate him. Years of professional experience told him she was more likely to slip up and reveal the truth while she was tired and emotionally drained. He couldn’t give her the chance to lock her defenses back into place.
“You’ll have to come down to the station with me,” he replied, deliberately hardening his heart against the sight of her tear-streaked face and dark, wounded eyes. “There are some questions I need to ask you about the drugs being stolen from your clinic.”
Chapter Two
It took Mari a moment to process what Bryce had just said. A moment ago, she had thought he might attempt to kiss her.
“You want me to what?” she asked, shocked by his statement. Thank God she was already sitting down or she would have fallen.
“Listen, Mari—” he began.
“Dr. Bingham,” she corrected coldly, cutting him off. “What do you expect me to do about my patients, Detective? I have appointments and responsibilities. I can’t just walk out of here because you snap your fingers.”
His frown deepened and a muscle twitched along his jaw. “I’m sorry, but I’ve already been here for too damn long.” He stabbed his finger at her. “You’ve got two choices, Doctor. Have someone else cover for you or reschedule your patients, but I’ve been waiting long enough. Either way, you’re coming with me.”
As though he had cinched a noose around her neck, his statement made the muscles in her throat tighten. She could barely speak.
“Am I under arrest?” she croaked. She should have seen this day coming and consulted with an attorney to find out about her rights.
How could Bryce shift so easily from acting like a human to being a robocop? Why had he bothered to comfort her if his intention was to drag her through the clinic in handcuffs?
His eyebrows rose, as though her question had surprised him. “No, I’m not going to arrest you. There are just too many interruptions here for an interview.”
As though to prove his point, the phone on Mari’s desk chose that moment to ring. It made her flinch. Out of habit she reached for the receiver, but then she snatched back her hand.
“My voice mail will take a message,” she said, and then she bit her lip. What did he care? “Interrogating me would be a big waste of time,” she argued forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “As I told you before, I don’t know anything about the missing drugs. Why can’t you believe me?”
“You may know more than you think.” His expression was impossible to read, but then he had always been good at hiding his feelings from her.
What information could she possibly give him that he didn’t already have? And how could she convince him, once and for all, of her innocence?
A chill went through her. What if he was lying about not arresting her?
“Should I call my attorney?” she asked, shoving her trembling hands onto her lap so they were hidden by her desk.
He leaned over her, his gray eyes chilling in their intensity. How could she have ever thought his gaze was warm? He was probably searching for some sign of her guilt. “Do you need a lawyer?”
Feeling trapped, Mari opened her bottom drawer and took out her purse. She glanced down at the phone as she weighed her options. If she said yes, would that make her look guilty?
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Of course not.” His face remained unreadable.
“I need to call and make arrangements from