Cavanaugh Justice: Alone In The Dark Part 8

"To keep men from beating up on women."

That was the most telling remark of all, she thought. Except for once, her father hadn't hit her mother. The marks he'd left had been on her soul. "That's not narcotics," she pointed out.

"In some cases, that's the start."

"Your father's?" The question was out before she could stop it.

He'd already told her way more than he'd intended. He didn't like sharing himself, didn't like feeling exposed. "Maybe you should transfer from being the police vet to the police shrink."

"Sorry, I thought we were on a roll here."

It was more of a case of her operating a steamroller, he thought.

"You were, I wasn't." He looked at King, who was still patiently watching them eat. "Speaking of rolls, any more egg rolls left?"

"Got some here I've been saving." She pa.s.sed him the half she'd cut earlier. Brady in turn offered it to King. The piece was gone in less time than it took to pa.s.s the plate.

Patience knew she shouldn't question him further, no matter how much more she wanted to learn about him.

Brady stayed another hour, then prepared to leave. "You sure you'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine. Thanks." She brushed her lips against his.

He caught himself before he could take her into his arms. He'd already gone too far this evening by letting her know bits and pieces about himself. Kissing her in this state was not a good idea.

"Lock your doors," he instructed, then left with King bringing up the rear.

She could lock her doors. The trouble was, she couldn't lock down her brain. Her thoughts about the evening, about Brady, replayed themselves through her mind. Brady, more than any threat of a stalker, kept her from getting a good night's sleep.

Curiosity nibbled away at her. Yes, he'd allowed her a glimpse into his life, but Brady'd left a great deal unsaid, things she wanted to know about the man who was her brooding protector.

By midmorning the next day Patience decided to do something about all the unanswered questions ricocheting in her brain. She took her questions to the one person who wouldn't be tempted to talk to anyone else in the family about her query.

She called Rayne, Uncle Andrew's youngest daughter.

The one-time h.e.l.lion now had the distinction of being the youngest detective on the Aurora police force. Closing the door to her tiny office, Patience punched in her cousin's cell phone number.

Six rings went by before she heard anyone answer.

"Cavanaugh."

"Rayne, it's Patience."

"Talk fast, cousin." Rayne sounded breathless, as if she was hurrying somewhere. "I'm late."

So what else was new? Patience thought. Rayne's oldest brother, Shaw, liked to say that Rayne had been born several days past her due date and had been late ever since. It wasn't far from the truth, although lately, Rayne had been improving. A little.

"What do you know about Braden Coltrane?" Even as she asked, a sliver of guilt p.r.i.c.ked at her conscience. "He's with the K-9 squad."

"I know who Coltrane is," Rayne told her. "And as for your question, not much." Interest peaked in her voice. "Why?"

"I just get vibes off him." She didn't know how else to put it.

"Vibes? What kind of vibes? This sounds interesting, Paysh."

Ever since her cousin had hooked up with Cole Garrison when the latter had returned to town to prove his younger brother innocent of a murder charge, Rayne had become a completely different woman. Her focus had changed, too. Where before she'd just storm-troop through life, she now took a vital interest in everything around her. Such as her cousin's romantic life.

Patience wanted to set Rayne straight. "He sounds like he might have had the kind of upbringing that Patrick and I had."

"Sorry, I don't know," Rayne confessed. Patience heard the sound of a car being started up. "But I can look into it for you."

For a moment Patience was tempted, but it felt too much like spying.

Or stalking.

This was a bad idea. Brady needed to tell her about his background himself, not have her find the information out by going behind his back. "Never mind. Thanks anyway."

"Hey, it's no trouble. I know someone in Human Resources-"

Patience laughed. It was no secret that Rayne had gotten around when she was younger. That included periodically running away. Half the force knew her on sight because they were always bringing her back to Uncle Andrew. "You know someone everywhere, Rayne. No, I shouldn't be prying."

"Okay." Rayne had always been a strong believer in privacy. But she was also a strong believer in satisfying curiosity. "Offer's open if you change your mind."

"Thanks, I'll remember that."

Rayne disconnected the call. Patience let the receiver drop back into its cradle. If she was going to find things out about Brady, it was going to be the old-fashioned way-by having him tell her.

She had the feeling that he'd almost told her something last night, then backed off, as if the subject wasn't to be handled. Had he been beaten as a child? Humiliated? Abused? Had he seen his own mother abused? She doubted if there was anything he could tell her that she couldn't relate to from her own past. But she wanted him to feel like he could talk to her. And that, she knew, was going to take time.

There were no flowers.

Each day, Patience held her breath, waiting. First one day pa.s.sed and then another, and no roses were left on her doorstep, no poems showed up in her mailbox, the way they had the last time Walter Payne had set his sights on her.

Each day she felt a little more confident.

She was beginning to think she was in the clear. Maybe whatever had prompted Walter to act had faded, an emotional blip he'd ridden out.

She said as much to Brady when he called the afternoon of the third day to check on her.

"All's clear on the western front," she kidded in response to his inquiry about the recurrence of any flowers or other signs of unwanted attention. "I think this was a momentary flare-up and he's thought better of it." For lack of a suspect, she'd decided to agree with Brady that the sender was most likely Walter.

"We'll see."

She heard the skepticism in his voice. Maybe it was childish, but she wanted him to say something rea.s.suring, to tell her that it was over. "You're supposed to be more encouraging than that."

"I don't deal in encouragement." He sounded annoyed. "I deal in reality."

"Right." And the reality, she knew, was that she wasn't completely out of the woods yet. But she chose to think that she was. She wanted to celebrate. And to thank Brady for being there for her. She could have turned to Josh if she'd wanted to avoid her family, but somehow Brady made her feel safer. "Does dinner sound real enough for you?"

"Come again?"

"I thought you and King might want to stop by for dinner-unless you have other plans."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. So long that she thought maybe he'd hung up. And then she heard him.

"No."

Again she waited, but there was no follow-up. Conversation with this man was definitely a challenge. "No, you can't come or no, you don't have other plans?"

"The latter."

She bit back a laugh. She didn't want him thinking she was laughing at him. "Good, then stop by. Tacoma is going through King withdrawals. She keeps looking at me when I close up the clinic at night, as if she's asking me why isn't King here."

"So this is about King."

Was that humor in his voice? Maybe the connection was fading. "Yeah, but you can come, too, Coltrane. We're friends, remember?"

"I thought we decided to downgrade that."

No, that was definitely humor there. My G.o.d, the man was human. "Don't remember any such decision being made. Look, I made a huge lasagna and I can't eat it by myself. I thought we might give King a new taste treat."

And then he thought better of it. It was best to stay out of temptation's way. "I'll take a rain check," he finally told her.

"Up to you. The lasagna'll be there if you change your mind."

After hanging up, she exited the closet-like room humming. Things were definitely looking up.

As she entered the reception area, she saw the back of Shirley's head. Lunch was obviously over.

"First patient is in room one," Shirley announced, handing her the file as she walked by her desk.

Patience nodded. Opening the file as she opened the door, Patience stopped dead in the doorway.

There was a c.o.c.katiel in a brightly polished bronze cage on the examination table. A slight, balding man stood beside it, his face a wreath of agony.

Walter Payne.

"Help me," he implored.

Chapter 8.

Her mind whirled. What was Walter Payne doing in here?

As if in tune to her thoughts, the c.o.c.katiel fluffed up her wings. The bird was obviously ill. Walter must have called in for an appointment. Shirley wasn't aware that Walter had once been guilty of subjecting Patience to unwanted attention. Unwilling to endure the barrage of questions Shirley always asked, she'd put off telling the receptionist to refer Walter to another veterinarian.

Walter's thin features were all but distorted with worry. "Mitzi's sick. She's really sick." He gestured toward the cage helplessly. "Her feathers have been ruffled up like this for over a day and I can't get her to eat anything. I didn't know what to do." His eyes pleaded with her. "Please. You helped her before."

Patience hadn't taken a single step into the room. Had Walter made the bird ill on purpose so he would have an excuse to see her again? It could have been as simple a matter as leaving the c.o.c.katiel exposed in a draft. Birds caught colds very easily, often with fatal results. If that was the case, then Patience had a great deal to worry about. She knew Walter really loved the bird. If he put Mitzi's life in jeopardy, then he had really gone over the edge.

The folder tucked under her arm, Patience shoved her hands deep into her pockets. Her gaze never wavered from Walter's drawn face. "I can give you the name of a veterinarian who specializes in birds."

He shook his head at her offer. "Whoever it is won't know her like you do," Walter pointed out. "Please. I know you probably don't want me to be here." She'd made that rather clear the last time he'd been here. "And I wouldn't be, but she's sick." His small brown eyes misted behind the rimless gla.s.ses. "Mitzi's all I have."

Try as she might to bank it down, Patience could feel sympathy stirring within her. Each and every member of her family would tell her to have the man removed, and from their point of view, they'd be right. But Walter looked so pathetic, pleading with her to save his pet, to ease the bird's suffering. And she was a veterinarian. She was bound by her oath, not to mention her honor, to help the bird in any way that she could.

Patience stifled a sigh. "All right, I'll see what I can do." She saw hope enter the man's eyes. "First I need to run some tests." He took a step forward. She stopped him in his tracks. "But I want you to go into the waiting room and stay there until I come out to talk to you." Even if he were harmless, the last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, yes." Walter's head bobbed up and down, much the way Mitzi's did when she reacted to the vibrations of a song. "Thank you." His voice cracked. Before leaving the room, he paused by the cage. "The doctor's going to take good care of you, Mitzi. She'll make you well. I promise."

Patience deliberately moved out of the way before he could pa.s.s her, then shut the door the second he'd crossed the threshold.

She blew out a slow, shaky breath. This had to stop. She couldn't allow herself to get unsettled like this. What was the matter with her? The man had never even attempted to touch her. But what had touched her were newspaper stories about other women in her situation. Semi-formed scenarios and half-realized fears preyed on her mind. She had to stop doing that to herself.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the unhappy c.o.c.katiel. "Okay, let's have a look and see what's wrong with you, Mitzi."

When she walked into the reception area forty-five minutes later, several people were waiting with their pets. Walter seemed oblivious to all of them. The second she entered, he popped to his feet like an old-fashioned jack-in-the-box. His small eyes nearly bulged out of his head with antic.i.p.ation.

"How is she?" Crossing to her, Walter grasped her wrist, then realized what he'd unconsciously done and released her.

"Mitzi has a cold," Patience said. "I gave her some antibiotics." She took a small container of pills out of her pocket, gingerly offering it to Walter. "See that she gets these every six hours, chopped up in her food." She knew how fussy some birds could be. "Mix them in with her fruits and grains, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference. If there's a problem, the medicine also comes in liquid form. Call Shirley if you need them and she'll have some for you at the front desk. You can use an eye dropper to get them down Mitzi's throat. Keep her warm and be sure she stays out of any cross ventilation."

Because there was no other way around it, Patience turned on her heel and led the way to the examination room. Mitzi was in her cage, waiting for her owner.

All the while, as he'd been taking in the information, Walter's head continued to bob up and down. "But she'll be all right?" he asked eagerly as he followed her to collect his pet.

Once on the other side of the examination table, Patience turned to face him. "If you're faithful with her medication, she should be."

Walter made a few cooing noises at the c.o.c.katiel, who seemed to listen to them disdainfully. "Do you want to see her for a recheck?"

Ordinarily, Patience would have said yes. She liked to keep tabs on her patients. But in this case, the less she and the bird's owner interacted, the better off she knew her nerves would be. "That shouldn't be necessary."

He beamed at Mitzi, very obviously relieved. "She looks better already. Must be your healing touch."

"It was the antibiotic I gave her," Patience informed him crisply. She nodded at the empty box that had contained the syringe she'd used. "If you forget the instructions, look at the paper that Shirley is going to give you when you go out front again."