Gateway Investigations: Complete Series: Gateway Investigations

By Clara Kendrick

The complete series containing over 249,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

Dive into this sexy five-book series that follows five security professionals in their quest for both justice and unexpected romance. Lots of suspense, mystery, and romance. No cliffhangers!

 

BOOK ONE: Altering the Ego

My boss told me to hire a psychiatrist to do an evaluation on a client. It should have been a simple thing. We were an investigative firm. Our client is most definitely not a serial killer. My task? Hire a shrink. Get her to agree that the client isn't a psychopath. Boom! Except the boom wasn't my task getting checked off my list. It was more like my life exploding into a million pieces because nothing is simple when it comes to Dr. Harley Seward. The woman is mental health dynamite and when I'm around her, there is no shrinking going on…

 

BOOK TWO: Cat's Claw

The world is full of a whole lot of sickos. That's no real surprise. Since I'm a private investigator by trade, I might be biased. But right now, I'm looking at a whole string of bodies and a justice system that wants to put the wrong man in jail. So pardon me if I'm not real impressed with the local detectives right now. And double pardon me if I have orders from my boss to get in their way and make myself a regular nuisance while I try to get these guys to do their job. Not that it's a hardship since the guy I'm following around happens to be the best-looking guy in the department. Of course, he's also a bit of an odd duck. He seems to be immune to my charm, and that is what I call a challenge…

 

BOOK THREE: Judge Not

Someone is threatening to kill my mother. Of course, it's not that I've never felt like the woman needed a few good threats, but I'm her daughter. That's sort of my right. See, my mother is a judge and someone really wants to sway her opinion on a case she's currently presiding over. So what better way to do that than to threaten her family? Of course, if the idiots knew her at all, they'd focus on my sister. She's the favorite. But me? I'm the tough one. My mother might be willing to turn down a little help from an outside private investigations company, but I'm not. If a super hot investigator named Zeke wants to help me find out who's threatening my family. I'm all in. No matter what it takes…

 

BOOK FOUR: Bending the Rules

I am sick to death of my job as a private investigator and ready for a change. Is there a man out there who doesn't cheat, lie, or completely wimp out when the chips are down? If there is, I can't find him, and that absolutely includes the parade of MMA fighters I've been dating recently. Of course, my search for Mr. Nonexistent will have to wait until after I deal with the joker that my boss has ordered me to work with on his current pet project. Not only does he live upstairs, but he's also a lawyer. The fact that he sort of fascinates me is irrelevant. Really. If my boss's daughter wasn't such a good friend, I think I would have walked away…

 

BOOK FIVE: When it All Falls Down

Letting my wife divorce me was probably the stupidest thing I ever did. I would never say that out loud though, and I'll deny it if anyone asks. Colleen is an amazing woman. I just wish she would stay out of the way and let me use every resource at my fingertips to find our daughter. Does the woman not understand that the city is a powder keg and we're running around out there with matches? I know what to do. I know where to look. I've got a crack team of investigators and I've assembled all the specialists I could ever want. In the end though, it's going to take both of us to find our little girl…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clara Kendrick
• Release date: Sep 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9798224556700

Clara Kendrick

Discover the captivating world of Clara Kendrick's romantic suspense. With her masterful storytelling and skillful blend of intrigue, romance, and passion, Kendrick draws readers in and keeps them hooked until the very end. Get ready to be swept away by her thrilling and steamy tales of love and suspense. Signup and follow at: Books2read.com/ClaraKendrick Facebook.com/AuthorClaraKendrick

Book preview

BOOK ONE: ALTERING THE EGO

Chapter One

The air was filled with the scent of honeysuckle and magnolia blossoms. The evening was winding down and the band was playing slow songs about love and longing. It was the perfect night for a wedding. The expansive lawns of the botanical gardens swept away from the makeshift dance floor like a smooth green carpet. A light breeze ruffled the caterers’ tents carrying the sounds of laughter and conversation.

Well it all went off without a hitch, despite your dire predictions of wedding disaster.

Mitch Pulaski turned and accepted a glass of champagne from the mother of the bride. Colleen looked beautiful in her pale blue dress. It was made of some kind of filmy material that hugged her legs and flattered her figure so that she looked twenty instead of forty-six. Of course with her willowy figure, golden blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, she had always been the most beautiful woman in the room as far as he was concerned.

Of course Mitch would never tell Colleen she looked good. She was his ex-wife and he liked his balls where they were, thank you very much. He raised his glass to her. Well done on the planning then, I suppose.

You paid for it. There was a mocking note in her voice.

He looked down at the penguin suit he was wearing. I don’t even want to know how much this uncomfortable outfit cost me. I’ll have to work until I die just to pay this off.

Please. Colleen gave a delicate snort. Your investigative firm was just featured on some daytime show the other day. You’re in demand all over the country. Gateway Investigations pulls in millions of dollars a year. One wedding isn’t going to put you in the poorhouse.

Mitch made a face and took in the over three hundred guests milling about. At a hundred and fifty dollars a plate, it might.

Shawna is your only daughter, Colleen reminded him. She just married the love of her life. A man who is also the oldest son of the owner and CEO of one of the most successful restaurant chains in the United States. Maggie’s Steakhouse is unbelievably successful. Jack was a great catch for Shawna. Colleen smacked him in the chest. Any other man would be ecstatic.

Mitch grunted because he didn’t want to tell his ex-wife that no man was good enough for his daughter; it didn’t matter how much Maggie’s thought their steaks were worth. Shawna had taken after her mother in looks, thank God. She had the same perfect figure, and the blonde hair, but her eyes were dark like his. Mitch had average dark eyes and dark hair. His height had always set him apart since he was six foot two. And of course he still had the build of a college football player although his joints certainly creaked a lot more these days.

Look at our girl! Colleen pointed to the dance floor. Aren’t they sweet.

Weren’t we like that? he taunted. You know, before you started throwing the dishes at my head and bitching endlessly that I was never home.

Okay. Do you really want to go there? She turned to glare at him. Shawna is better than us anyway. She’s going to do fine at this wife stuff.

Wife stuff? he grumbled. Maybe that’s why you never really settled into it.

Colleen had just opened her mouth to give him what was probably a sharp retort when there was a yell from about a hundred yards away. They both turned to stare. Mitch felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. There was something wrong. Very wrong.

Is that a SWAT team? Colleen grabbed his arm.

It was a SWAT team. They were coming down the hill in a standard formation with their rifles at the shoulder. Behind them strode a man that consistently made Mitch’s blood boil. Detective Robin Robertson was a caricature of law enforcement. Mitch had made a fool out of Robin more than once, but if the asshole was crashing Shawna’s wedding just to play out some stupid fantasy, Mitch was going to wipe the floor with him.

Stay back, he told Colleen. I’m going to go find out what’s going on.

Mitch left the hill and strode down toward the pavilion where the dance floor had been set up. The guests had now noticed the intrusion of black-dressed men in body armor and were gawking openly. The band’s music scratched to a halt and they just stared. Somehow the entire evening seemed to have gone from enchanted to embarrassing and it made Mitch’s blood boil.

As Mitch got closer to the dance floor, he saw several of his top investigators peel away from the crowd and fall into step behind him. It felt good to have them with him. Most had military or law enforcement backgrounds. One had even been NCIS for almost five years.

Robin Robertson! Mitch boomed. What in the hell do you think you’re doing crashing my daughter’s wedding? This is low, even for you!

Detective Robertson brandished his badge like some kind of shield of honor. He swung his arm around to show all the guests his credentials and establish his authority. Beside Mitch, he heard Frankie Joseph’s derisive snort. Frankie was a woman who probably could have taken the good detective to the floor with one hand tied behind her back. Robertson’s smirk suggested he had something serious. And the man could not have barged into a wedding without a judge’s signature.

My name is Detective Robin Robertson of the Saint Louis Police Department. Robertson sound like an old-time town crier. I have an arrest warrant for Jackson Handler Junior.

What? Mitch was close to an eye roll. You can’t barge into a man’s wedding to serve a warrant for a parking ticket. Get out of here before I report this as even more harassment.

Not this time! Robertson’s smug smile was grating on Mitch’s nerves. I have Mr. Handler on thirteen counts of murder one. The crowd gasped in collective horror. And, Robertson apparently wasn’t done raining on their parade, I have him on thirteen counts of suspected rape.

Jackson Handler Senior pushed his way through the crowd. What is wrong with you? This man is at his wedding and you’re busting in here harassing him with some bullshit trumped-up charges that don’t make any sense! My son is not a rapist or a murderer.

It was odd, but there was something Jack Senior’s voice that didn’t ring true. Mitch filed that away for later examination. For now he had to diffuse this situation. Fast.

Jack Junior stepped in front of his bride and stared at Detective Robertson as though he were a worm. You have nothing on me. No physical evidence. Nothing. I’ve never done anything like that in my life! I’m a pencil-pushing desk jockey who rides a mountain bike on the weekends to try and stay in shape. I’m not some murdering fiend on a spree around the city!

"So you say." Robertson waved his hand. Cuff him! he ordered the SWAT guys.

SWAT moved in quickly. There was a uniformed officer with them who grabbed Jack Junior and ripped him away from Shawna. Mitch was proud of his daughter. She shoved at the SWAT guys and grabbed hold of Jack.

"Back off, you assholes! Shawna snarled. If I want to give my husband a kiss I will. Do you get me? Or so help me God I will shove that rifle so far up your keister that you’ll never get it out!"

That’s our girl, Frankie muttered with satisfaction.

Shawna wrapped her arms around her groom’s neck and kissed him on the lips. Then she squeezed him tight and buried her face against his chest. Jack held her close and murmured something in her ear. Mitch’s heart was breaking for his girl. This was not how a wedding night was supposed to start.

What’s going on? Colleen bullied her way through the crowd. Mitch, what’s happening? Why are the police here?

Your son-in-law is a murderer, Detective Robertson said snidely. Although why that should surprise you I don’t know. After all, your ex-husband is one too.

Shawna pulled away from Jack and hiked up the long skirt of her dress. She marched over to Detective Robertson, hauled back her fist, and popped the guy so hard in the mouth that he doubled over and shrieked in pain.

You are the world’s biggest shit. Shawna planted the heel of her shoe right on Robertson’s instep. "Don’t you worry. When my husband gets out of jail, we’re going to pay you a visit just to thank you for all of your kindness and concern about our situation. And that is a promise."

You can’t threaten me! Robertson panted. You’re threatening me and I’m a law enforcement officer. You can’t do that!

I didn’t threaten, you moron, Shawna told him. I said I was going to thank you. You’re the pussy who’s afraid that everyone is going to kick his ass because he’s such a dick.

In spite of everything, Jack Junior was smiling. He put his arms around his wife and nuzzled her neck. You’re my girl and you’re not like anyone else. I love you baby. I’m sorry about this. But I promise, we’ll go to Bora Bora just as soon as I get these charges cleared.

Which will be tomorrow morning! Jack Senior was already dialing a number on his smartphone. I’m calling our attorney right now!

A drunken man suddenly pushed his way into the action. What’s going on here? Where’s the music? he slurred.

They arrested your brother, Jack Senior informed his younger son Cale.

Mitch watched the exchange with interest. Why wasn’t Cale looking shocked? Was it the liquor? The kid was barely twenty-two and he was already an alcoholic. Surely a few extras at the reception wouldn’t completely muddy his mind so that he couldn’t understand what was going on?

Someone lightly touched Mitch’s arm. He leaned down so that Adam could whisper in his ear. What’s with the younger brother?

Not sure, Mitch muttered back.

Juliet poked Mitch’s other side. We’re taking this case, right? I mean it’s obviously bullshit. We know Jack. There’s no way he’s a murderer.

Yes. Mitch sighed. We’re taking this case.

He could sense their satisfaction at that. If there was one thing that his investigators appreciated, it was seeing the right person go to jail for a crime. There were plenty of times when they were called in because the cops went in the wrong direction. This was going to be one of those times for sure. Robertson had already sprinted down the wrong path and was ready to jump off the cliff just for spite.

Shawna did not start crying until the uniformed officer put the cuffs on Jack. Mitch could tell his daughter was about to fall apart. Colleen had her hands pressed to her mouth. She was struggling to hold it together. As Jack was led off by the SWAT team and Detective Robertson−who was noticeably limping−Shawna ran to Mitch.

Mitch held his arms out and pulled his daughter close. He felt her shaking as she struggled to hold in the sobs. He looked around at his investigators. Get rid of this crowd. Be nice, but be firm. We don’t need to have them all here to commiserate with us. It’s time to end this thing and fast.

Got it, Boss, Adam said in a clipped voice. Then he turned around and started waving at the guests as though they were ducks or geese needing to be shooed back to the coop. All right folks, I think it’s time to go home and let the family process this in their own way. So many things to do you know.

Is he for real? Frankie wanted to know. She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled so loud that Mitch’s ears crackled. Let’s go folks! The show is over. Time to go home!

Mitch held his daughter close and let everyone else do the work for now. Don’t worry, baby, he told her softly. We’re going to figure this out.

He didn’t do it, Shawna insisted. Jack would never do something like that.

I know, Mitch told her. But inside he wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Everyone had secrets. What if Jack’s were just bigger than most?

Chapter Two

Doctor Harley Seward gazed at the man sitting in the chair only a few feet away and hoped like hell that her expression did not show how creeped out she was by this new patient. It wasn’t like Harley didn’t see crazy people on a regular basis; that was sort of the standard when it came to being a psychiatrist. But this guy was different. Her gut told her he was different. And in this case different wasn’t only not good, it was dangerous.

You just don’t understand, Dr. Seward. Clive. That was his name. Clive Zimmerman. People have no idea how appreciative they should be of my skills and contributions. I spend every single day just explaining myself because those around me are so idiotic that they can’t even understand the words I’m using. They are worker bees who have menial jobs and a low existence that makes them nothing more than genetic fodder! He smashed his fist into his hand.

Harley wrote notes carefully on the legal pad propped against her leg and hoped that he could not read what she had written. That would be bad. Because at some point during his tirade she had started printing the word NARCISSIST on her paper and had outlined it over and over again.

So I suppose what I’m driving at here is that I’m feeling depressed and anxious because I’m forced to live in a place surrounded by imbeciles. Clive gave an overdramatic sigh.

The guy was dressed as though he was making over a hundred thousand dollars a year. He wore expensive shoes, designer clothes, and a watch that probably cost her a week’s salary. His red hair was greasy from too much product and he stank of expensive cologne. But on his intake form, he had specified that he was unemployed and had serious financial concerns. Of course that probably meant he was going to sit here and whine at her for the next forty-five minutes and then tell her to send him a bill that he would never pay. Sometimes healthcare really sucked.

It must be so hard for you. She even managed to say it with a straight face. How do you feel about being unemployed?

Oh, I don’t really care. He shrugged. There are a few jobs around here that are a fit for my skills, but for the most part this city just really isn’t thriving. I’m so far above what’s available here that I just don’t even see the point in bothering to apply.

Uh huh, she’d heard that line a few times before. Funny how it was always the unemployed ones who... And what do you do for income? That must be so frustrating.

It really is. He groaned. I live with my mother because she’s old now and can’t really take care of herself. That’s a whole job on its own, you know? I feel like she owes me some things to at least get by since I’m basically doing everything for her.

Lived with his mother. Check. Harley could have guessed that one already. So let’s talk about what you’d like to change. You stated on your intake form that you are seeking psychiatric care because you’d like to stop feeling so depressed all the time.

Totally. He nodded. I just need some pills or something. You know. Maybe Adderall. That seems to help a lot of people.

Harley struggled not to bust a gut laughing. Adderall is for people experiencing focus issues because of an attention deficit disorder. It is not an antidepressant. Harley picked up her prescription pad. She wished there was a secret code on here to tell the pharmacist to dispense the placebo version of the medication. I’m going to give you a prescription for a low dose of Wellbutrin to start with.

Is that really enough? He leaned forward and gave her a look that sent a chill down her spine. I mean, I’m a complicated case.

Very, she agreed solemnly. But I don’t want to overload your system with medication. It might have the opposite effect of what you’re looking for. She finished writing the script and ripped it off the pad. She handed it to Clive and forced herself to smile. Please stop by the front desk and have my office manager set a follow-up appointment for you in two weeks. Ugh! I have to see this jerk again in two weeks. That’s just perfect.

Clive exited Harley’s office and she felt her own stress levels decrease exponentially. It was never particularly easy to sit with people who had genuine personality disorders that were almost impossible to cure. Narcissism was one of those things that could rarely even be openly diagnosed because the narcissist would simply use the diagnosis as an excuse for even worse behavior and the symptoms were only manageable if the narcissist wanted help, which they usually did not. Generally they were the sort of individuals that figured the problems belonged to everyone else and they were only having issues because people wouldn’t just do what the narcissist wanted them to.

If only that’s the way life worked.

There was a knock at her door. Harley frowned. That was unusual. She didn’t have any other appointments for an hour and her office manager knew to leave her alone to do her paperwork unless of emergency.

Come in? Harley said hesitantly.

Rachel poked her head inside the door. There’s a man here to see you, Dr. Seward. He says he’s with an investigative firm that wants to hire you for an evaluation.

Uh. Okay. Show him in, I guess.

Rachel exited and Harley tried to get herself together. Huh. How odd. She hadn’t done that sort of thing in ages. Since starting private practice she needed plenty of clients with nice manageable issues like Depression and Anxiety and ADHD. That way she could see them each for a half hour once a quarter, bill their insurance, and pay her own living expenses into the bargain. Evals and court work were costly unless you were one of those high-dollar special witnesses that sold their credentials to attorneys. Harley was not. She had some pride, thank you.

Most of the time.

The door opened again and Rachel showed a man into her office. Harley shot to her feet and took the hand he offered her, but she was pretty sure her mouth had stopped working. Or maybe it was her tongue. It wasn’t talking right now because it was too busy thinking about how she wanted to lick this man all over from head to toe.

Holy shit! Had she just thought that out loud? At least she hadn’t said it. That would have been humiliating. She cleared her throat. What had he just said? His name. Adam Fielding. Okay. She could do this.

Doctor Harley Seward. Did she sound too stuffy? She didn’t want to come off as stuffy. Wait. Why did she care? She wasn’t going to take this guy’s case anyway.

Dr. Seward, Adam Fielding said in a low voice that made everything below her waist melt into a puddle. We need your help.

My help?

He was not quite a blond and not quite a redhead. His hair was sort of golden and his skin was tanned from being outside. He was six feet tall and broad shouldered and had the sort of green eyes that made a girl want to swoon. He was so gorgeous that she felt a little punch drunk. This was the guy who had been massively popular in school. He’d been every teacher’s favorite because they were half in love with him. And he had gone on to college and been super successful. The only thing missing was a ring on his left hand. How odd.

Are you married? she asked suddenly.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. No. I’m not. Is that pertinent to this situation?

No, I’m sorry. She realized that she was behaving erratically. I suppose I was just curious because you fit a certain profile.

Ah. He nodded. That’s actually why we wanted to obtain your services. You wrote a wonderful paper about profiling and the pitfalls of psychological assumptions based on societal norms.

Her brain cleared a little bit. That didn’t help. I was in college, she said slowly. That was my dissertation topic when I got my PhD in psychology. But I went on to medical school and got my actual medical license to practice psychiatry so I sort of left the psychologist gig behind.

You mean the evaluations and research? He seemed to anticipate just about everything she could say on the topic of education or job choices. Weird.

Harley cleared her throat. What is your problem exactly? That might help.

I work for a man named Mitch Pulaski. He owns a company called Gateway Investigations. He paused as though he expected her to know what this was. She didn’t. So she nodded to make him move along. A few weeks ago, Mitch’s daughter’s wedding reception was crashed by a bunch of SWAT guys and Detective Robin Robertson. They arrested the groom on murder charges and suspicion of rape.

That Harley had heard of. She’d thought the story sounded tragic. I’m sorry to hear about that, but I’m not sure why you need my assistance.

We need you to do a full evaluation on Jackson Handler Junior. We need to be able to trust that the prosecution isn’t using one of their own lackeys who will say anyone is a serial killer because he’s paid to.

Ah. This made more sense. Except she didn’t sell her credentials. I’m not available for purchase to refute some guy’s assertions on paper.

We know that. His expression was deadpan. She could actually read the honesty on his face. It was...shit, it was hot! That’s why we wanted to hire you. If you find that he’s guilty, then we want you to present those findings. We investigate to find the truth. We don’t sugarcoat it. And we never assume that we’re in the right.

Well aren’t you guys weird, Harley muttered. I have to think about it, all right? I haven’t done this sort of thing in a long time and it’s not exactly easy to be stuck in the limelight of what will probably be a total media circus.

I understand that. He stood up.

Harley scrambled to her feet. She was wearing boots. They did not bring her anywhere near his height. He had to be taller than she’d first imagined. His golden hair was sort of curly. She hadn’t really noticed that right away. It curled around his neck and over his forehead in a way that was very distracting. She really wanted to brush it aside with her fingers, but that was out of the question.

Dating was not in Harley’s long term plan. She had a cat. That was plenty of love and affection. Plus the cat used his litter box and rarely made a mess in her personal space. Men were always making messes and leaving messes and basically acting like little boys who still needed their mommies around to take care of them. Harley had no patience for that sort of thing.

So. He produced a business card. You’ll call us when you decide?

Yes. She took the card and set it on her desk. I’ll call you.

Chapter Three

Adam Fielding sat in his car in the parking lot outside Dr. Harley Seward’s office building. He stared at the squat, square facade and tried to decide what he thought of Dr. Seward. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Although he couldn’t really say why he had expected what he’d expected in the first place; it wasn’t like there was some stereotypical psychiatrist in his head. Or maybe there was.

Running a hand down his face, he made a low noise of frustration. Maybe the whole problem was that Dr. Seward was not supposed to be so damn attractive. She was supposed to be homely, or maybe nerdy, or academic looking. Sack dress, big glasses, hair back in a bun and no sense of style whatsoever were some of the traits that came to mind when he thought about the word psychiatrist.

What Adam did not think of was a woman with a svelte figure, enormous brown eyes, and hair the curled softly around her shoulders. He didn’t think of curves and breasts that were perfectly sized for a man’s hands−for his hands. That was not what he thought of when he imagined a psychiatrist.

Somewhere in his ridiculous fantasy he became aware of another car parked outside the office building. The building itself housed more than one professional office so there were plenty of cars about. Dr. Seward had her own private exterior entrance with her name etched in white on the glass door. There was an odd little duck pond to one side of the building and a busy road out front. A cluster of cars was parked on the far corner, and there were plenty of people using the stairs to access the second story of the squat, square-shaped place.

This particular visitor to the property was sitting in his car with both hands on the steering wheel, staring intently at Dr. Seward’s door. Adam sat back in his seat and settled down to wait. He wanted to know how long this individual was going to sit here. Maybe he was waiting for an appointment, but it just didn’t feel like that. And Adam was good at his job as an investigator because he knew how to listen to his gut feelings. His gut feeling about this guy was bad news.

The afternoon wore on. Traffic on the busy street outside the office building increased dramatically as the five-o’clock rush came on. The parking lot began to empty as people from the other professional offices got in their cars and went home. Still that man sat in his car. It wasn’t a great car either. It was very nondescript. White sedan, compact sized, and it wasn’t one of those newer models either.

Adam jotted down the license number and then texted it to his contact over at the police department. He didn’t get an immediate response, but that wasn’t necessarily unusual. It wasn’t like Todd didn’t have other things to do besides chase down information for Adam.

The vehicle grew hot inside and Adam discreetly rolled down his window. His own vehicle was also nondescript, although it was a truck. The blue color was pretty much the same as every other redneck truck-driving bozo in the city. The Midwest was a mecca for trucks. Pretty much every man, woman, and child under the age of fifty had one.

It was now five o’clock on the dot. Adam checked the clock in his dash. The guy in the car was getting impatient. Adam knew it was true because the little man was shifting back and forth in his seat. His hands would sit on the steering wheel, and then disappear, then reappear, and then he would start actually bouncing in his seat.

Adam didn’t have long to figure out what was happening. About five seconds after this behavior reached an apex, the building door opened and two women stepped out−Dr. Seward and her office manager Rachel. The women were leaving, locking up and going home in the same way they probably did every single night.

Shit.

Adam didn’t know why, but he willed the creepy little guy in the white sedan to follow Rachel. Why that was his immediate thought, Adam had no clue. It wasn’t like it would be better if poor Rachel had a stalker. It was more that Adam didn’t like the idea of someone behaving that way with Dr. Harley Seward.

Unfortunately−or fortunately for Rachel−Dr. Seward was the obvious target of the little admirer. He nearly leaped out of his seat when Dr. Seward walked past his car to head for her own. The little shit was actually parked one row over from Dr. Seward’s Jeep.

Adam could not help but wonder why a psychiatrist would not be more aware of her situation. Did she not realize that there was a creepy little man in a white sedan sitting there every day when she got off work? It wasn’t like the guy was trying to hide. Plus there was no doubt in Adam’s mind that the creepy stalker guy was there every day. It was just a given, in light of his behavior. To further test his theory, Adam got out of his truck and approached Dr. Seward as though they had agreed to meet.

Excuse me? Harley? Her first name should not have felt that good sliding off his tongue. Can I speak with you for just a second?

She turned to face him with a look so startled that one would have thought he was walking up to her with a gun in his hand. Then she seemed to recognize him and drew back in surprise. Mr. Fielding? I thought I agreed to call you when I had decided something. I really don’t take kindly to being nagged.

Adam grinned. He could not help it. Her manner was so indignant and so stiff that he almost felt like she was faking it.

I fail to see how any of this is funny. Harley was now glaring at him.

Adam purposefully put himself between her and the white sedan so that the man inside could not see Dr. Seward at all. I want you to look carefully at that white sedan parked sort of behind me, Dr. Seward. Please?

I’m sorry, what? Two lines appeared between her graceful eyebrows. She shrugged her heavy bag farther up onto her shoulder. What are you talking about?

There is a white car parked almost directly behind me, he said patiently. Do you see it?

Yes. So what? It’s parked there every single night. It belongs to the custodian. If she could have had him committed, she would have.

Does he always sit inside it and watch you? Adam asked. He could not believe that this person was for real. Not after seeing how visibly excited he’d gotten from watching Harley come out of her office door.

Uh, I’m sorry? Did you ask if he always sits inside the car? Of course not! Her expression faltered though. Then she peeked around his shoulder. Oh God, he is sitting inside. Isn’t he?

Yes. He’s been there since before I left your office. Adam realized that they did indeed have a problem. Interesting. He wondered why he was running through things that he could do to help her out. This was her deal and not his.

Wait. Those lines were back between her eyebrows. "You’ve been sitting out here long enough to watch him?"

Yes. Adam pursed his lips. This was going to be awkward to explain. In my line of work, we learn to observe everyone around us. It’s just what we do. So when I came out and got into my vehicle I noticed that he was basically putting your office under surveillance. Then a few moments ago when you walked out, he practically had an orgasm right there in his car.

Okay, that is hardly appropriate to say!

She sounded embarrassed. Why? It wasn’t like he had accused her of masturbating in her car or something. Although the idea had a certain appeal.

Adam had to mentally restrain himself. Thinking about Dr. Harley Seward and masturbation was probably not a great idea. Soon he would be suggesting that they just hang out in his truck and have sex so that her stalker would get a clue and realize that she wasn’t interested in him.

I don’t recognize that man, Harley whispered. And I’m pretty good with faces.

Right. At least Harley was still on the right track even though Adam had slipped completely off the rails. Soon enough he would be talking about sweaty sex and how some no-strings-attached fun would be an extremely satisfying addition to his life right now. Maybe it was because she was in mental health that he had this weird desire to just tell her everything. He wasn’t necessarily so chatty with everyone else.

"Mr. Fielding? Adam!" Harley hissed. Are you paying any attention?

Yes. I was just thinking of possible solutions.

Solutions to what? She sounded irritated instead of frightened. That was new. "I have a freaking stalker. I really don’t have time for this shit right now. Do you get me? Now I have to go to the police and file a report. Then I have to wait until he actually does something totally creepy or inappropriate before they’ll act on it. I swear the whole stalker thing is way more trouble than it’s worth. I’m tempted to just leave him be and forget I saw him."

You can’t do that! Adam protested. What was she thinking? That would be the worst thing she could do. The only thing that is consistent when dealing with a stalker is that they escalate. It can take years, but sometimes its fast.

So basically you’ve sped up the timeline considerably because you’re talking to me in front of him. She gave him a dirty look. Thanks a lot!

That wasn’t my intention. He was taken aback. Was she really going to blame him for this whole thing? And we should really just get out of the parking lot altogether. Are you hungry? I’m starving. It’s dinnertime and I’ve been sitting out here for over an hour. Let’s run around the corner and have some dinner at the pub.

Dinner? She was openly gaping at him now. You want me to have dinner with you after you basically pissed off my stalker and put me in danger?

Sure. He shrugged. It’s the least I can do. Right? I mean I made things difficult for you, so I’ll buy you dinner to say that I’m sorry. Maybe we can also discuss how you want to handle your problem.

You want to talk about handling my stalker? She seemed to be having excessive difficulty understanding what he was suggesting. Why is this any of your business?

I suppose it isn’t. He was feeling impatient now. But I’m hungry. It’s dinnertime. And I’m not leaving you here alone with this guy. Plus, I don’t think you want to go home in case he follows you.

Shit! She muttered the word and made a face. Personally, he thought it made her look adorable. You’re right. I hate it when people like you are right.

People like me? He was actually kind of offended. You mean people who go out of their way to be nice because they know that having a stalker is probably an occupational hazard for someone like you? Or do you mean men in general?

I don’t have a problem with men. She folded her arms over her chest. Fine. If you want to go get dinner, I’ll come with you. But only because it’s unwise for me to go home until I’m sure if this guy is really following me or not.

Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart, Adam said with a chuckle. You go ahead. I’ll follow. I want this idiot behind me and not you.

Chapter Four

Harley was disgusted with herself. She was weak. She was silly. She was sitting in a bar with a man. Not just any man either, but the best-looking guy she had seen in a decade. Crap. Had it really been that long since she’d been out? That was pathetic.

The pub was actually a really nice place. Sometimes she and a few of her colleagues would meet here after a particularly long day, or after they’d gone to a conference or a clinical presentation. It was simply called Fox & Hound and it was supposedly in the British style although it was more the American version of the British style. The big square pub was filled with booths tucked along the walls. There were a few bigger tables in the center of the room that often held hordes of college-aged students watching some ball game or another on one of the sixteen televisions hanging around the bar, but Harley had always liked the big six-person booths. They were nice and roomy and did not require her to sit too close to anyone.

Adam slid into one side of the booth and she slid into the other. A waitress appeared moments later and gave them a cursory once over. Hey, welcome to Fox & Hound. I’m Ashley. I’ll be your waitress...

It was almost as if the waitress had suddenly gotten a good look at Adam. Her whole demeanor changed from bored to solicitous. She offered him a brilliant smile and tossed her dark ponytail over her shoulder so she could stick her boobs out.

No matter how many times Harley observed this sort of behavior, she was always amused by it. The mating rituals of humans were just as ridiculous as every other member of the animal kingdom. Humans just always seemed far more determined to make straight-up fools out of themselves.

Hey Ashley, Adam said politely. I think I’ll have a beer. Whatever local you have on tap. And for you? He raised his brows at Harley. What would you like?

Sangria, Harley told the waitress. The berry.

Any food? Ashley was staring at Harley as though she could not figure out what anomaly of human interaction had allowed Harley to have a date with Adam.

I’ll have the pub-grilled chicken sandwich and potato salad, Harley said sweetly. And please don’t forget to make sure the lettuce is fresh.

No problem. Ashley gave Harley a dead icy stare. Then she turned her brilliant smile on Adam. And how about for you, Sugar? You want a burger?

No. Adam jerked his head at Harley. Double that.

All right then. The freshest ingredients just for you. Ashley threw one last smile over her shoulder and then left them to go fill their order.

"Well that was entertaining," Harley muttered.

Adam could not quite put his finger on what had just happened. Girl politics were ridiculous and most of the time they were absolutely illogical and insane in nature. Women were even worse.

So what was that all about? Adam asked Harley. He sat back in his seat and let his hand lay over the back of the booth. You’re the psychiatrist. Perhaps I can finally get a decent explanation for why women act the way they do.

So you’re assuming that because I’m a mental health professional, I can explain away the idiosyncrasies of human behavior? She cocked her head to one side and gave him a look of pure exasperation. That’s impossible. Although I can explain my perception of what just happened.

And that would be? he prompted. I’d really like to understand.

Oh you would? Her dubious stare was mildly insulting. Because you don’t look in the mirror?

What does that have to do with it? He was confused. Was she referring to something in his expression? Or was she trying to say that because he was a not ugly male, that he should know why women acted the way they did around him? "I look in a mirror every day. I see a guy that finally managed to leave braces, pimples, and a scrawny, lanky teenaged body behind. That is what I see."

Suddenly she burst out laughing. I don’t believe it! Her dark eyes sparkled and she looked so breathtakingly beautiful that he could not imagine why she was throwing stones at him for being somewhat attractive according to modern convention.

Believe it. He chuckled to himself. I was the biggest dork in middle school.

Ah! She pointed at him just as Ashley came strolling up with their drinks. But I bet you were a total hottie in high school.

Ashley set the drinks down. She beamed at Adam. You’re a total hottie now, so I agree with her. I bet you were totally hot in high school.

Adam sat back in his seat. He stared at Ashley and tried to figure out why she was hitting on him. How old are you? he asked her finally.

Twenty-three.

When I was in high school, you were in preschool. He watched to see how she would react.

He was not disappointed. Ashley drew back in surprise and then awkwardly cleared her throat. Your food will be out shortly, she said before turning and walking away.

Adam looked back at Harley. "Didn’t expect that, did you?"

Can’t say that I did. It certainly surprised me. But I can explain what happened a moment ago, like I told you. She sipped her sangria. "She found you attractive. She finds me to be unattractive. In her mind she finds herself to be very attractive. She’s one of those women that seem to be born with a hardwired confidence that isn’t shaken by rejection or anything else. And thanks to the human male’s propensity for chasing after any sort of female, even one that’s only mediocre in looks, like our friend Ashley, and who has almost no substance to her personality..."

That’s harsh, he interrupted. You don’t know what she’s really like. Maybe she’s an honor student.

At her technical college? Harley quipped. Perhaps.

Harley was having a good time. It was rather shocking. She certainly hadn’t expected to have a good time with Adam at the pub. She had expected him to be a semi-interesting conversationalist, but shallow and without any real depth. The idea that she would be enjoying a discussion on human behavior hadn’t even entered her mind.

As I was saying, she told him, sticking her tongue out. She didn’t understand why a guy like you would be here with a woman like me.

A woman like you? Adam’s expression was troubled. "I’m really disturbed by the possibility that you don’t own a mirror."

Me? Harley was taken aback. I’m perfectly aware that I look every moment of my age, dress like an old hag, and don’t really give a shit about my hair.

"And yet men who are not shallow and have a little bit of substance to their personalities look at you and see a woman who is extremely intelligent, well spoken, and also hiding her looks."

Hiding them? She self-consciously tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. I’m not sure why you think that. This is how I look.

You look that way because you don’t want clients getting overly attached to you. You’re hiding behind glasses and dresses that don’t flatter your curves because it’s safer that way. I totally get it, but to me you’re just wearing a costume. That’s all.

A costume, hmm? She felt suddenly uncomfortable in her own skin. And what makes you think that this costume isn’t both my work wear and my personal wear?

He cocked his head to one side. Personally, I believe that your personal wear was somehow affected by an event that happened at some point in your history. It’s part of your personal narrative.

Oh my God! She burst out, laughing and feeling ridiculous all at once. Don’t use that psycho babble on me! My personal narrative? Really?

Yes! he insisted. At some point you were in a relationship with some guy who probably told you that you were ugly or some shit like that because he’s an ass and felt intimidated by you because you were probably a million times too good for him and every time you opened your mouth you proved to him over and over again that he was stupid.

Wow. She bobbed her head just as the food arrived on a tray. Ashley was not the bearer of their food. This fact made Harley want to laugh all the harder. You totally hurt her feelings.

Good, Adam snorted. The girl needs to stop hitting on guys that are lightyears too old for her.

The waiter, a guy probably in his thirties, was smirking. I’ve got a double order, so I’ll just assume you both ordered the same thing.

Thanks. Harley beamed at him. Could I get another sangria too?

Of course. The guy glanced at Adam. Want another beer?

Water please.

Got it.

Adam watched waiter amble off and thought about the difference in the two waiters. When they were alone again, he looked at Harley with a new appreciation. This is why you do what you do, isn’t it?

You mean, is watching ridiculous people and wondering why they do the things they do what made me interested in psychology? Yes. It did. My mother had a personality disorder and living with her growing up was sort of like trying to love a ticking time bomb. Some days I was cute and cuddly and she was oh so proud of me. And the next day no matter what I did I was a horrible little brat who was ruining her life.

I’m sorry. Adam could not imagine such an existence. That sucks.

It kind of does, but it taught me how to be self-sufficient and to never depend on other people’s opinions to tell me if I’m worthwhile or not.

He didn’t speak his mind about this. But there was a big part of Adam that could not help but think that she had allowed some man at some time to define a good part of her. And whoever that jerk had been, he’d scarred her in ways she hadn’t bothered to acknowledge yet.

Since we’re here, she said before taking a bite of her chicken sandwich. Maybe we should discuss the details of this case you’re wanting me to accept.

The case. Right. Adam should have been thinking about that all along. Mitch was going to be grilling him tomorrow to ask why he had spent the entire afternoon and evening with this woman and hadn’t managed to get her to agree to take their case.

Why are you so convinced that this man is innocent? Harley wanted to know. "Maybe he really is a murderer."

Actually, we don’t know. Adam dragged a fry through the pile of ketchup on his plate. That’s kind of why we’d like your opinion. My boss’s daughter fell in love with the dude. He’s not our family or anything. We don’t really know what to think. The evidence is piling up, but it’s all circumstantial.

So you guys are thinking that there’s a possibility that this guy is a murdering rapist and yet managed to lead a double life and get your boss’s daughter to fall in love with him? She looked truly skeptical. I have to say that it would be very, very unusual for that to be the case. Most of the time people who have sociopathic tendencies don’t form lasting real relationships. She looked thoughtful. He let her mull it over while she took a few more bites of her sandwich. Finally she looked at him and nodded. I need to talk to her, not him.

Her?

Your boss’s daughter.

Oh. Adam hadn’t really expected that. Shawna? I suppose I could ask Mitch.

It’s a condition of me taking the case, she said slyly. Tell him that too.

Adam could not help but like her spunk. Sounds like I have no choice but to take that deal.

Sounds like, she agreed.

Chapter Five

Harley arrived home feeling more than a little relaxed and happy after her evening out. It had been a long time−okay, conceivably forever−since she had enjoyed herself so thoroughly with anyone, much less a man.

There was a plaintive meow when she walked through the front door. Her cat was sitting on the small entry table just inside the door. Harley passed him a dirty look, but reached over to scratch behind his ears anyway.

Pavlov, you’re not supposed to be up there, she scolded. Give me five seconds to set all of this stuff down and I’ll be happy to feed you.

She had only named the cat Pavlov because he seemed to have the same inclination for learned pattern behavior as the infamous dogs belonging to the famous researcher. Besides, she enjoyed the bit of irony she received from her colleagues when they discovered what she had done. It was lame, but the little things in life were what mattered. Right?

With a sigh, Harley set her heavy messenger bag and her purse down on the counter in her small kitchen. She loved this house. She had loved it from the moment she had set foot inside it. The house was older and was located a good thirty minutes from her office. For the most part, the narrow full-brick house with the gingerbread details on the exterior was far enough away from her office that she didn’t have to worry too much about being bothered by clients at home. Well, other than the patients who habitually called her phone at all hours to inform her of every single detail of their lives. But that was just an occupational hazard.

Harley hummed as she picked up Pavlov’s bowl and filled it with kibble. The orange tabby appeared in the kitchen with a loud meow. He jumped up onto the counter, which he wasn’t supposed to do, and then hopped back down when she put his bowl on the floor.

You are a bad kitty, she told him affectionately. Really bad. You’re not supposed to be getting on the tables and countertops! What do you do all day while I’m gone? Do you just throw a party and dance on all the furniture?

The idea of her cat purposefully putting kitty prints on her furniture all day long amused her. Continuing with her humming, she gathered up the garbage and headed out the front door to put it in the bin.

She moved down her front stairs with more spring in her step than usual. The trash would come tomorrow. That meant she had to drag her trash bin to the curb. Somehow this did not annoy her as much as usual. Generally she dreaded trying to wrestle the oversized green plastic can out of the alcove beside her front porch. Tonight she felt equal to the task.

Flipping up the lid, she shoved the latest batch of garbage into the foul-smelling depths of the trashcan. Then she closed the lid and started to wiggle the thing side to side. The wheels finally came unglued from whatever substance had dripped onto them−she didn’t care to know what that was−and the bin popped out of its storage area.

She was in the middle of dragging it down to the curb when she spotted a white sedan sitting across the street about half a block away from her house. No, she whispered.

Suddenly the night was not pleasant anymore. The sky felt ominous and the neighborhood seemed on edge. She didn’t feel safe on her quiet little street. She felt exposed. She didn’t like the way all the houses looked in the dark. The orange and yellow lights in the windows seemed suddenly suspect. What if they were staring at her too?

She knew enough to realize that her brain was giving into some kind of anxiety, but it was very hard to stop the spinning thoughts of worry and fear. She very deliberately put the trash bin in place on the curb and then retreated inside her house. She forced herself to walk slowly, as though she were still feeling that carefree sense of security that had consumed her only fifteen minutes ago.

Once inside, she shut and bolted the door. She ran to the side of the house and tried to peer through the window to see the white sedan. She wanted to see the driver. She hadn’t been able to get a decent enough view of him in the parking lot at her office building to make an identification. She wanted to know who it was. Stalkers were not necessarily unusual in her profession; she just needed to know what category the stalker fell into. Was it a person she had pissed off because one of her evaluations had caused the breakup of a relationship? Or was it some patient obsessed with her because she had made him feel better?

Oddly enough, those were probably the most common and the scariest version of stalker. They would do anything to make themselves feel that sense of self-satisfaction or fulfillment that they’d experienced in the session. Even if it meant taking drastic measures against their mental health professional.

Where are you? she muttered. It wasn’t like she owned any binoculars.

Finally she spotted the car in the small window of her guest bathroom, but there was no way to tell who the man behind the steering wheel was. She could see only enough to determine that there was a man behind the wheel staring at her house. What she had no way of knowing was how many nights he had sat there, or how many times he had watched her through her windows or had seen her leave. The thought of being watched like that was beyond unsettling. She felt unsafe in her own home and that was a violation that did not fade easily.

Adam pulled into his typical parking space at Gateway Investigations and got out of his truck. The office wasn’t located in the city. It was in Saint Louis County near the Missouri River in an area that had been completely under water during the big flood. With the new levees in place the area had grown up to include tons of shopping, places, to eat, and corporate buildings that reached into the sky.

The morning air was hot and humid. In fact, by the time Adam walked from his truck to the front door of the building he felt drenched in sweat. Then he pulled open the double glass doors and felt a blast of frigid air conditioned air that left him with the urge to shiver like a tiny dog.

Once in the elevator he leaned against the cool wall and allowed himself to think for just a few minutes about the wonderful evening he’d had the night before. Of course, part of the reason he was thinking about that was from the necessity of being able to explain himself to his boss. Mitch was going to want to know what the hell was going on with Adam Fielding and the woman who was supposed to be nothing more than a professional witness in their case.

The elevator doors whooshed open and Adam stepped into the busy offices of Gateway Investigations. Shawna was their office manager as well as Mitch’s daughter. At the moment she was on the phone. He could hear her patiently taking down someone’s information and had to admire the way she had managed to hold it all together while her personal life was falling down around her ears.

Shawna spotted Adam and began waving a pile of pink phone message notes at him. Adam snagged the messages and gave her a smile and a wave, which she returned without missing a beat on the phone.

Adam headed down the hallway to his office and wondered if there was a possible way to completely miss talking to Mitch this morning. It was possible. Or rather it would have been possible if the entire office was not currently embroiled in the save Jackson Handler Junior effort.

Adam! Mitch boomed.

Shit. Adam turned around and waved at Mitch.

Come into my office, Mitch urged. He waved Adam toward the office at the end of the hallway with the stellar view of the green fields of the river valley that still stretched from the edge of the developments toward the wide banks of the mighty Missouri River.

Sure. Let me just put my stuff on my desk and get my notes, Adam said lamely. He tried to remind himself that he had actually gotten an agreement of sorts from Dr. Harley Seward. She was just a little more headstrong and stubborn that Mitch had been anticipating.

Adam dumped his stuff on his desk and then headed into Mitch’s office with a sign. He left the door open on purpose. For some reason it was appealing to have a quick exit strategy handy. Not that Mitch wouldn’t be able to stop Adam from leaving if he took the notion.

So, Mitch said eagerly. What did you find out? Were you able to hire Dr. Seward to do a psych eval on Jack?

In a manner of speaking, Adam said slowly.

Mitch’s smile died. What does that mean?

It means that she doesn’t actually do this sort of thing anymore. Adam suddenly realized that he was defending Harley. Or rather he was about to. Apparently she’d gotten further under his skin than he’d initially thought. She’s strictly private practice.

Just pay her more money. Mitch shrugged it off.

Actually that’s sort of the problem, Adam mused. Harley is an interesting creature. The money thing makes her feel as though you’re trying to purchase her credentials. She doesn’t want to be bought and she takes her integrity and professional opinion very seriously.

Mitch raised his eyebrows and stared at Adam for a moment. You really like this woman.

Actually, yes. Adam decided there was no reason to hide this. He hadn’t done anything wrong. I do like her. She’s funny. She’s incredibly intelligent, and discussing human nature with her is fascinating. She has a lot of ideas that really make you think about the reasons that people do the things they do. I think she’d be really useful around here actually, but I know she takes her private practice pretty seriously.

Mitch’s mouth was now hanging wide open. "Oh my God! You don’t just like her, you like her."

What are we? Middle schoolers? Adam snorted and shook his head at Mitch. Stop being ridiculous. I did get her to agree to take the case, but she’s more interested in talking to Shawna than Jack.

Excuse me? Mitch’s smile disappeared and Papa Bear came out with a roar. Shawna’s been through enough. She doesn’t need some shrink poking at her.

First of all, Adam said roughly, Harley would never do anything to hurt Shawna. That’s not the type of person she is. Secondly, the good doctor makes a valid point when she says that people who display sociopathic behavior rarely have the ability to lead an honest double life. Harley thinks that if Jack is really sociopathic enough to rape and murder thirteen women, then he probably set off a few warning bells in Shawna’s head that maybe she didn’t listen to because she had no context for them.

Mitch opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it. He stood there for a moment thinking hard. Adam could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, Mitch sighed. You’re right. Or rather your Dr. Seward is right. I’ll talk to Shawna.

Shawna, who just then stuck her head into Mitch’s office. Excuse me, Adam? There’s a woman named Dr. Harley Seward here and she really wants to talk to you. She seems kind of upset.

Mitch