More Danger Than It's Worth

By Barbara Kurtz

Two psychologists work together to protect a woman from a sociopath and find justice for an accused drug dealer in this contemporary romantic suspense.
 
Jilly Maddox knows when a woman feels threatened. Trained as a psychologist, Jilly knows she must help the terrified girl she encounters in her new workplace. Teaming up with her alluring new colleague Ray Welton, she’s determined to track down the woman’s sociopathic stalker. When it comes to understanding the mysteries of human behavior, Jilly and Ray make a formidable team. But that doesn’t make managing the powerful feelings between them any easier. Now, as they race to stop a murder, all while keeping an innocent person from going to prison, they must decide if some risks are worth the reward.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Mar 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781639842971

Book preview

More Danger Than It’s Worth

by Barbara Kurtz

More Danger Than It’s Worth by Barbara Kurtz

Copyright © 2020. All rights reserved.

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Published by Pen It! Publications, LLC in the U.S.A.

812-371-4128   www.penitpublications.com

ISBN:  978-1-952011-42-9

Edited by Cassy Cochrun

Cover Design by Donna Cook

Numerology: The name Jilly - People with this name have a deep inner-desire to serve humanity and to give to others by sharing money, knowledge and experience, or creative and artistic ability.

CHAPTER ONE

The two up-tight, cranky owners of Sure Sales, Incorporated, a PR/Ad company, Alfred Stampf and Timothy McGerkin, were past retirement age, and believed the early 1950’s psychology of selling was the only way to conduct business. During each of Jilly’s preliminary client presentations, McGerkin squinted then nasally intoned, Now, are you absolutely positive  this is the top-notch, no-holds-barred, best, very best, technique for selling this product?

Jilly knew that question was coming long before it did. She prepared for it with deep breathing, a full ten minutes before meetings began. She also knew that Alfred Stampf would respond to McGerkin’s rude questioning with a whiny, slightly shaking voice, "Well, Tim, she’s done real well so far…all these years. And it does seem like the right idea."

Jilly would then paste on her professional smile, an expression that didn’t display sarcasm or lack of patience, only self-assurance.

"Our creative team came up with a stellar concept for our athletic shoe client, Running Hard. Research for this product indicates a young demographic of an eighteen to thirty-five-year-old customer base, responding best to ads with hip-hop dancing, preferably with young males spinning on their heads; slim, well-toned bodies of both sexes in as little clothing as possible, both singing and dancing suggestively to a well-known singer’s voice.

"The wonderful concept our team came up with is a take-off on Saturday Night Live’s Samurai skits. The dancers will all be wearing Running Hard trainers, and all the male dancers’ hair styles will be arranged in the Chonmage, the traditional Samurai topknot. The male dancers will also incorporate the Katana, the traditional Samurai sword characterized by a curved, single blade with a long grip to accommodate both hands, into their dancing routine. The female dancers will be wearing short kimonos, ending at mid-thigh, with white Geisha makeup, bowing often to their Samurai men as they dance hip hop combined with splits, summersaults, handstands, etc.

And last, the all-important campaign line ─ a play on words, since the client’s company name is Running Hard is, Hot Bods Run Hard.

McGerkin’s scowl was truly horrifying. His upper lip flattened as his jaw dropped, and his lower lip pulled down at both corners.

Jilly couldn’t help thinking, if it were possible to see a person’s soul, that disgusting expression is what he’d look like on the inside.

What’s society come to? Why, in my day young people obeyed their parents and prepared for their future…without all this music and dancing nonsense, McGerkin recited, yet again.

Stampf never tired of placating his partner or whining the same words of wisdom at each meeting.

I know she’s right though. That’s what they like these days. Remember Tim, we have to give them what they want.

Since they were both confirmed bachelors, Jilly wondered if their partnership entailed more than business as Stampf had always taken the subservient, calming partner role.

Jilly’s bosses were archaic thinkers, but she couldn’t complain as she usually was given a free hand in her work which proved consistently successful. Unfortunately, her long-held vocational comfort bubble wasn’t quite as reassuring lately. She noticed immaculately dressed men carrying Christian Louboutin and Yves Saint Laurent attaché cases arriving for meetings the last few days. Meetings with only McGerkin and Stampf behind closed doors, and no other company executives allowed.

On a Friday, the close of the first week of lawyerly, important businesspeople invading the office, a hint of worry began to tickle the furthest reaches of Jilly’s awareness. The tiny suspicion blossomed into a fully developed, unwelcome realization. Her bosses were selling the business. She suddenly had an uncomfortable sensation, not unlike falling during a dream. Jilly wanted to grab onto something to prevent the inevitable bone-crushing impact, but nothing was there to prevent disaster.

****

The following Monday morning, the heads of all departments were called into the executive conference room. In his grumpiest tone, McGerkin intoned: You’ve all done a fine job, but we’re selling the business. Sorry, but the new owners are bringing in their own people and won’t need you. Two weeks from today will be your last day. Best of luck.

Alfred Stampf stood cowering in a corner of the room. His eyes never left the floor.

Jaws dropped all around the conference room table. A total of two hundred people just lost their jobs. Jilly knew she should have heeded her belief system years ago −− There’s no such thing as a safe job; always keep looking.

The shock waves were still traversing the room as the two owners were halfway out the conference room door. Jilly went to the ladies’ room to calm down.

I’m only forty-one; I can still find employment through long-time friends in the business, or headhunters. If nothing works out, my psychology degree will work equally well with patients as it does in the PR/Ad business…and two options are certainly better than one.

My references from Sure Sales will be excellent. I’ll interview in both PR/Ad firms and established psychology practices, and maybe even hold counseling sessions at home, if necessary.

Jilly returned to her large corner office, determined there was no need to panic. She looked at her watch, realizing it was lunch time.

****

Jilly headed for the lunchroom’s refrigerator. Despite the morning’s unsettling news, she was anticipating the first bite of chicken salad Veronique, the tasty dish she discovered while watching the food channel.

Jilly admired the female chef who considered herbs to be godly; the secret to all culinary success. And she was right, because the combined ingredients of fresh, chopped Tarragon leaves, diced celery and sliced green grapes struck all the right notes.

Jilly only had one mouth-watering, delectable forkful, when the company’s twenty-year-old British receptionist, Storm, hurdled into the break room.

Her face was contorted in a clown’s frown. The tears running down her cheeks left dark rivulets of mascara. She was still wearing the switchboard’s wireless Bluetooth headset, but had pushed the earpieces toward the sides of her head.

Usually Storm spoke the Queen’s English, proper and dignified. Obviously, however, her formative years’ orientation must have been pure Cockney which surfaced whenever she became enraged.

That bloody, cock-up arsehole! she exclaimed, louder than necessary. As if that loser had anything at all going for him! I wasted the whole of eight months of my life on that bloomin’ idiot…only to learn he’s shaggin’ my American cousin Chrissy. She’s nothin’ more than a skinny, low-life, lap-dancing tart.

Storm’s display of anguish wound down as she laid her crooked left arm on the breakroom table and lowered her head into it with hiccupping, heaving sobs.

Storm had no idea Jilly held a psychology degree − the reason Jilly landed this job and had done very well for the last fifteen years at Sure Sales, Inc. The agency hired Jilly Maddox soon after she earned her Doctor of Psychology degree. Jilly was a born natural, using precisely the right words describing products and services, encouraging perspective customers how much better their lives would be taking her ad’s advice. A talent which earned her the title of Senior VP after seven years of employment.

Storm picked her head up for a moment, finding it necessary to emphasize her next point eye-to-eye with Jilly.

Chrissy likes lap-dancing so much, she gives some of ‘em as freebies to the cute blokes. The bird is an out and out nymphomaniac, I tell ‘ya. Her face then returned to a frustrated mask of misery as fresh tears sprung from her eyes.

What am I going to do now? Storm pleaded.

Jilly could see why the owners hired Storm. British accents sounded so polished and theatrical, even if all the caller heard was ─− A lovely good morning to you; Sure Sales, Incorporated…how may I direct your call?

Oh hell, technically I’m not treating her…as in a doctor/patient situation. There’s no harm in setting this young woman straight, and certainly nothing illegal about enlightening her. Besides, I’d love to get back to this chicken salad.

Storm, can you honestly say your boyfriend is everything you’ve ever hoped for, and wanted as a life partner?

Storm’s features suddenly presented a blank stare. Her tear-stained eyes opened wide, then traveled to the right and upward, while contemplating the question.

Blimey! You’re right! Apollo never has ten pence to his bloody name and he’s always scroungin’ off me. Says he’s gonna’ make it big as a front man in his band, but anything that moves knows he’s full of it.

Storm wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her hand.

Let that turd Chrissy have him, I say! She deserves a manky bloke like Apollo…even if he does toss a bird a right and proper shag.

That’s the attitude, Jilly smiled happily, while piling up a large forkful of her incredible lunch.

****

At the close of work that Monday, Jilly had just stepped outside the office building, heading for her car when a young, blonde girl who worked in Sure Sale’s filing and copy department approached her.

Hi, I’m Violet, the girl said, her voice shaking slightly. Storm told me how much you helped with her personal problem. Without taking a breath, Violet plowed on.

I saw on some of the stuff I Xeroxed that you’re a psychologist. Could I see you…as a patient, I mean?

Violet was so thin and fragile. Her large blue eyes had a pleading quality, as if she was scared out of her wits. She kept looking at the street, as if expecting a ride.

Sure, Violet. I’ll be more than happy to do whatever I can, but it wouldn’t be ethical for me to see you as a patient until our employment here has ended in two more weeks.

Jilly opened her purse and took out her card.

This has my cell and home phone numbers. You can call me on the evening of our last day of work.

Violet took the card, then glanced at the street again. An ancient Chevy had pulled up to the curb a few moments before Jilly handed Violet her card. Violet turned back to the street as she opened the front zipper of purse and placed the card inside.

Your help means so much to me. I have to hurry now. That’s my mom’s boyfriend. He picks me up and takes me home every night. He hates to be kept waiting. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this.

Jilly turned her head, taking careful note of the car Violet ran toward. It was a dilapidated, rusted brown Chevy Impala, circa 1980’s. Violet hopped in the front seat and the car took off so fast, Jilly never saw the driver.

Talk about being shown a sign! Jilly’s new career was beginning effortlessly. But only in the sense of being there for someone in need. It would only be fair to treat Violet as a pro bono patient.

CHAPTER TWO

Jilly was in the lunchroom, as usual at 12:30 P.M. on the last day of her employment at Sure Sales, Inc. No other employees were in the room when Violet appeared.

Hi Jilly, sorry to bother you again, but the strangest thing happened. I know, for sure, I placed your card in the front zipper pocket of my purse the day you gave it to me, but I can’t find it. I looked for it this morning since today’s our last day here, but it wasn’t there. I always know where everything is because I’m very careful.

No problem Violet. We all misplace things. Here’s another card. I’ll be home by seven tonight. Call anytime this evening, but it would be a good idea to phone me when no one else at your home can listen in.

Okay, I promise. Violet replied in the same shaky voice and fearful demeanor as the first time they talked.

Jilly’s danger radar was like a red strobe light, signaling something unhealthy was happening in Violet’s life.

****

At 7:30 that evening Violet called Jilly.

I’m in a bad way, Violet began. I think I’m pregnant.

How old are you Violet?

I just turned eighteen four months ago.

Does your mother know?

Not yet. It’s not that she’d slap me around, or anything like that. The problem is it’ll break her heart to find out about this. We’re too poor for me to quit work. I’m only three weeks late, so it’s still very early. If my mother finds out about this it would be really, really be bad though. I’d rather not tell you the whole story. I’ll be scared to get an abortion, but I think it’s the only way. I’ve learned my lesson now, and this will never happen again. Well, at least not until the right man comes along.

Since you’re willing to have an abortion, I’ll do some research for you, making sure it’s a reputable facility and doctor with an excellent reputation. I should have an answer for you sometime tomorrow. Call me back around four tomorrow afternoon. And don’t worry. I’ll take you to the clinic on the day of the procedure, and I’ll bring you home. Until you’re healed, you can tell your mother you have the flu and have to stay quiet and rest.

Relief was evident in Violet’s voice.

Thanks so much Jilly. This whole sorry mess would be terrible trouble if my mom found out. It’s…complicated.

Much later, when Jilly learned the entire sordid story, she was terribly disappointed and angry with herself for not catching the obvious clues, the ones that should have woken her senses like the sum of neon lights on the Las Vegas strip.

****

The hyper-organized compartment of Jilly’s personality swung into action the day she learned Sure Sales had been sold. Pertinent question number one ── which career would be more fulfilling and make her life happier…working for another PR/Ad firm, or as a psychologist?

She would excel at either vocation, but the challenge of advertising, and pleasing just about every client she’d ever worked for, was Jilly’s first love. If job hunting for her first choice didn’t pan out, choice number two would be the ticket.

Jilly searched online, finding many sources for seeking jobs in both of her choices. CareerBuilder, Glassdoor, Monster, LinkedIn, Ladders.com and Indeed all presented worthwhile leads right in her own town ── San Diego, California.

After learning about Violet’s situation, Jilly also contacted a few acquaintances she’d met at marriage family and child psychology seminars, asking if they could recommend reputable abortion clinics for a patient of hers. It was logical that some of these psychologists had patients in the same predicament.

One of the women psychologists Jilly spoke with was more friendly and compassionate than the others, referring Jilly to the best doctor and clinic with a sterling reputation. The woman’s kindness prompted Jilly to tell her about her job situation.

I know of a wonderful psychology practice in Orange County that currently has a job opening, the woman said, and gave Jilly the contact information.

Orange County was an hour and a half drive from San Diego and would require Jilly to move to another city if she was offered the job, but she decided to email her resumé and see what materialized. The response was quick ── the next day an email arrived asking if she was free for an interview the following day.

The interview was set for one o’clock, giving Jilly plenty of time if she left San Diego at 10:00 o’clock the morning of the appointment. Ideally, the drive should take an hour and a half, but traffic was congested with maddening stop and start driving the entire way. Only halfway there Jilly remembered how much worse freeway traffic between California cities had become in the last decade.

Frazzled and not at all in the mood for an interview, Jilly entered the psychology practice at 12:53 P.M. A matronly woman sat at the reception desk. She questioned Jilly the moment she walked up to her.

Are you Ms. Maddox? she asked appearing worried.

Yes, I am, Jilly responded pleasantly.

Good, I’m so glad you’re on time, the woman exhaled her words as if in a hurry.

Mrs. Hastings, the wife of one of the owners will be interviewing you. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

Between the nerve-wracking commute and the terse, cold greeting she’d received, Jilly had to apply all her psychology training to make the right impression.

The receptionist told Jilly to follow her as she walked quickly to the back of the office, rapping on a door marked ‘CONFERENCE ROOM.’

Come in, a voice barked angrily.

The receptionist’s mouth was set in a tight line as she swung the door open, gesturing for Jilly to enter.

It was a large room with twenty chairs around an oval, mahogany table. A woman in her sixties with black hair slicked back into a bun sat with her hands folded on the table. A few neatly stacked papers lay in front of her. She was very pale and wore no makeup except for dark black/purple lipstick, lending a severe, unpleasant appearance.

The woman didn’t introduce herself, didn’t smile, and shot a question at Jilly as she entered the room.

Why would you want to switch to seeing patients after fifteen years with a PR/Ad firm?

Jilly was put off by the woman’s rude behavior and answered in the same terse tone she had been spoken to ── Because I think I would do equally as well in either environment.

Mrs. Hastings didn’t waste a moment with the next question of her unpleasant interrogation.

How much time would you spend on an unusually difficult patient with whom you knew you were wasting your time and energy?

Mrs. Hasting’s voice was louder than necessary and held an accusing nuance. Whatever this woman’s problem was, her interview techniques were absurd.

Jilly took a moment, while keeping her eyes trained on Mrs. Hastings, then responded, Until the usual protocol of exercises and steps were taken with that patient, I wouldn’t have any way of knowing whether my time was being wasted. After treating the patient for some time, if the patient wasn’t cooperating, I would reinforce the need for the usual homework to be done in between visits. If I suspected the therapy I advised was still not being followed, I would ask the spouse or close family member to confirm all medications were being taken and if they would monitor the patient to be certain home exercises were accomplished according to my direction.

Jilly knew she should stop there. Anything further would be inappropriate. But she didn’t appreciate Mrs. Hastings’ bullying technique. So, she deliberately added, Also, I wouldn’t consider any patient unworthy of my time or energy.

Mrs. Hastings visibly bristled at Jilly’s out of place response, obviously meant to indicate the question was in poor form.

Before giving Mrs. Hastings the satisfaction of dismissing her, Jilly reached for her purse and simply said, Thank you for your time.

Jilly turned about-face, left the conference room and the building, imagining steam would be escaping her ears if that were possible.

What in the world is wrong with people? I put up with that horrid McGerkin for fifteen years which was bad enough, but to be insulted