Shocking Pink (25 page)

“G
ood morning, David.” Andie smiled at her patient. “How was your weekend?”

He jumped to his feet and began to prowl around her office. “How was yours?”

“Fine.” She noted his agitation. “Is there some reason you don’t want to talk about your weekend, David? Did something happen that we should discuss?”

“Is there some reason you don’t want to talk about yours?”

“We’re not here to talk about mine.”

“Of course we’re not.” He flung himself back onto the couch and gazed up at the ceiling. “I’ve been reading about you in the paper.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. That woman who killed her husband, are you going to get her off?”

“I’m not a lawyer, David. You know that.”

“Her husband sounds like he was an abusive bastard. Some men don’t have a clue how to treat women.”

She arched an eyebrow, intrigued with his comment, considering his own history with the fairer sex. “But you do?”

He met her eyes. “Of course. I love women. That’s the reason I’m here.”

“Is it? I thought you were here because you have a need to sexually conquer and dominate every woman you meet.”

He ignored that. “So,” he asked, sitting back up, “do you think Pierpont got what he deserved?”

“Do you, David?”

“I want to know what you think.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“But I want to know. Do you think he deserved what he got?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss this case.”

“But you must have an opinion.”

Some sessions David was like this, edgy and confrontational. Angry. He wasn’t the first patient to have reacted this way; he wouldn’t be the last. Therapy was an intense, penetrative process, it ripped away protective masks and broke down walls. Many didn’t give up those masks and walls without a fight.

“For me,” she said quietly, “guilt or innocence is rarely black or white.”

He laughed and shook his head, his expression disgusted. “That’s easy, isn’t it? It’s cheap.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it is. You never have to put yourself on the line, do you, Dr. Bennett?” He paused. “You’re just watching.”

Watching.
The word, the way he said it, the expression in his eyes, slid over her like ice water. “I don’t know what you mean,” she managed to say after a moment.

“Yes, you do.” He smiled. “Watching. Keeping a safe distance from the action. Observing life rather than taking part in it.”

“Is that what you think I do? Is that what you think our sessions are about?”

He laughed, the sound high and almost girlish. “You know what I think? That you get off on our sessions.” He laughed again. “My therapist, the voyeur.”

She held on to her calm despite the unease pulling at her. “That seems a rather odd word to use to describe your doctor. Is there something we need to talk about?”

“I’m from Thistledown, you know. I was here back then. I know about you and your friends. About that summer.”

“That summer?”

“The summer the police commissioner’s wife was murdered. As you can imagine, that was of great interest to me.”

Andie’s heart began to pound. “What do you know about that?”

“I told you. I lived here. I read the paper, listened to the news. You and your little friends got yourselves a real education, didn’t you?”

“Is that all you know, David?” she asked, looking him dead in the eyes. “What you read in the paper?”

“Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“It’s my job.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. “What’s your personal life like?”

“We’re here to talk about your personal life.”

“Watching again. No wonder you became a shrink.”

She stiffened, her cheeks growing hot. “That’s why you sought me out, David. Presumably, anyway.”

He saw that he had gotten under her skin and grinned, obviously delighted. Andie scolded herself for allowing that to happen and forced herself to relax.

She was in control here; what would his knowing a bit about her hurt? Besides, some patients liked to know a little innocuous personal information about her. It was comforting to them; it helped establish an open atmosphere of sharing.

But those patients hadn’t made her feel so uncomfortable. Those patients hadn’t made her feel like a bug under a glass.

Andie shook that thought off. She laid her notebook aside, leaned back in her chair and smiled at him. “All right, David, what would you like to know about me?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Of course he would go to that first. “No. Not now.”

“Why?”

“Not interested.”

“At all?”

“Not enough to get involved.”

He jumped on the word and pretended to jot it down in a notebook. She had to admit, she found that irritating.

“Do you enjoy sex?” he asked.

“That’s a little too personal.”

He ignored her. “Or do you just lie there, not getting
involved?
”

She worked not to show her dismay. It had been so long since she’d had sex, she wasn’t sure whether she had enjoyed it or not. She could hardly remember if she had gotten involved. She hoped she had, though something in her gut told her she had not.

She fought squirming in her seat. “There’s more to a relationship than sex, David.”

“There’s trust,” he said softly. “Sharing. Giving everything. If you were in love, would you give everything, Dr. Bennett? Or would you just…watch?”

That word again. Watch.

Her caller’s word.

She changed the subject. “Did you see your special someone this weekend?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to, okay!” He jumped to his feet and began to pace. “Can’t you ever leave well enough alone? Pick, pick, pick. I hate that.”

Andie watched him a moment, thinking suddenly that she understood. “Were you with more than one woman this weekend, David? Is that what this is all about?”

He froze. One moment became several, then he turned slowly. He met Andie’s eyes. The expression in his took her breath—that of a tortured soul. “I don’t want to hurt her, Dr. Bennett. I don’t want to hurt her the way I’ve hurt other women.”

Mrs. X. Hands bound, blindfolded. Hanging from her neck, dead.

The blood rushed from Andie’s head, leaving her light-headed, dizzy with fear. She began to sweat, to shake. He meant hurt emotionally. He did.

Andie told herself that, over and over, even as the image of Mrs. X played in her head.

David stopped in front of her. He got on his knees and gathered her hands in his. “Help me, Dr. Bennett,” he begged. “You have to help me. I don’t want to hurt this girl, I don’t. I love her.”

A
ndie’s thoughts were chaotic as she pulled into her driveway later that evening. Her session with David had lingered with her like a chill that wouldn’t go away. She had found herself glancing repeatedly and nervously over her shoulder, the feeling of being stalked so strong that several times she had felt it as a prickling sensation at the back of her neck.

You just watch, don’t you?

I think you get off on it.

Her obscene caller had said almost the same thing. Could it be they were one and the same person? The coincidence of two different people, within a matter of weeks, saying such similar things? She didn’t think so; the coincidence was too great.

Andie turned off the engine, took her key from the ignition but didn’t make a move to get out of the car. She glanced toward her house, seeing instead David’s tortured expression as he looked up at her.

I don’t want to hurt her, Dr. Bennett. I don’t want to hurt her the way I’ve hurt other women.

Andie brought her fists to her temple. That couldn’t mean what she feared it meant. David Sadler was a sexual predator; he used women, he had an unhealthy need to control and dominate them. But he wasn’t a killer.

Was he?

I don’t want to hurt her.

Help me, Dr. Bennett. You’ve got to help me.

Andie shuddered and glanced at her cell phone, mounted on the car’s console. She didn’t want to be alone tonight; maybe she and Raven could go out to dinner. Scolding herself for being a wuss, she flipped open the phone and dialed Raven’s office. When she got no answer there, she tried her house. Again, no answer.

She hung up without leaving a message, started to dial Julie, then, figuring she would be working at the club on a Friday night, gave it up.

Alone it would be. Ignoring the sinking sensation in the pit of her gut, Andie collected her briefcase and the patient tapes she had brought home to transcribe, opened the car door and climbed out.

Tonight, she decided, she would let herself wallow in neuroses. She would put on her jammies and eat something ridiculously fattening but completely comforting. She smiled to herself, feeling a hundred percent better already. What was it about fatty, sugar-laden food that could turn a girl’s mood around, just like that?

She went up the walk, noticing the begonias and marigolds for the first time in days, enjoying the soft twilight shadows and the smell of freshly cut grass. She shook her head, amused at her own behavior. All day she had tried to talk herself out of being unsettled, the moment she had faced her feelings, they had all but gone away. She should practice what she preached more often.

Andie climbed the stairs to her porch and crossed to the front door. She inserted her key, then reached for the mail. She leafed through it, stopping on a catalog from her favorite clothing outlet, then tucked the bundle under her arm and twisted the key.

She heard the music a moment before she swung the door open. The almost hauntingly erotic melody spilled over her, memories with it. Of the potent sounds and smells of the summer night. Of the breathlessness of youth. Of innocent curiosity and of the way it had mushroomed into shocked disbelief, then icy fear.

Mr. and Mrs. X’s music.

With trembling fingers, Andie pushed the door the rest of the way open. She stepped inside, heart thundering. Shadows gathered in the corners and at the edges of the room, full of dark possibilities.

Someone had been in her house. Someone who remembered Mr. and Mrs. X.

Someone who wanted her to remember, too.

Her briefcase slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a thud, the package of cassette tapes with it. The mail scattered.

Andie crossed to the stereo; she turned it off and popped out the compact disc. The silence was sudden and complete. From somewhere in the house came a stirring; the creak of a floorboard, the quiet whoosh of a breath being expelled. She froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

She looked over her shoulder, toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Again, she heard a sound, this time like a carefully placed step.

The oxygen left her body in a rush.
She wasn’t alone.

Her heart stopped and she inched backward, toward the door, her gaze on the dark corridor, fear a living thing inside her.

A shadow moved.

With a cry of distress, she turned and ran.

R
aven hummed under her breath as she made her way down the apartment building’s long corridor to Julie’s door. She should have called her friend first, but it was Friday night, she had been passing by Julie’s building and, knowing her friend had the night off, had figured she would be eager to go out and do something.

Just like old times, Raven thought, stopping in front of her friend’s door. They would pick up Andie and hit the town, the three musketeers on the prowl again.

Raven lifted her hand to knock; Julie’s door flew open a moment before she did.

“Rave!” Julie exclaimed, looking surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Friday night. I thought we could get some dinner and drinks and go from there.”

Julie peered past Raven, down the hall. “Where’s Andie?”

“Don’t know. She didn’t answer at home or her office, so I left a message. We can swing by her place and get her on the way.”

“Oh.” Julie shifted from one foot to the other. “Didn’t you have a date tonight?”

Raven smiled. “Canceled it. The guy was a geek. Besides, I thought it would be more fun to be with my best friends. Just like old times, Friday night, time to howl.”

“I’m not doing that anymore. Remember?” Julie shifted again. “No men.”

“Who said anything about—” Raven lowered her gaze. Julie was dressed for a night out—short denim skirt, tight white T-shirt, fuck-me pumps. Her purse was slung over her shoulder, her full lips lined and painted.

She was dressed for a night out, all right. But not for one out with the girls.

Heat crept up Raven’s cheeks. “Where are you going, Julie?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere,” Raven repeated, the blood thundering in her head. “Dressed like that?”

Julie flushed. “I was going…into…work.”

“I thought you had the night off.”

“I did…I mean, I do.” She wet her lips. “I mean, I told Joe I’d come in, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Raven snapped. “He needs a blow job?”

Julie paled. She looked guilty as sin. Raven felt as if the top of her head was going to pop off, she was so angry. After everything she had done for her friend, Julie repaid her like this? By sneaking around? With lies?

“So, Julie,” she asked, “who are you fucking these days? Joe? Someone else? Everyone else?”

“How can you say that to me?” Julie cried. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“How? History, babe. I know you.”

Julie wrung her hands. “That’s not it. Joe expects a big rush tonight. Because of some golf tournament at the club. He was afraid he’d be shorthanded, so I said I’d come in. If it’s busy, I’ll work. If not, I’ll go.”

Raven took a step closer to her friend. “You made a promise to me. You made a promise to Andie. No more men. No more cruising. A promise, Julie.”

“I know, Raven.” She let out a trembling breath and backed up a step. “I owe you guys everything. I wouldn’t… I’m not cruising. I’m not.”

Raven narrowed her eyes, studying her friend, unconvinced but wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt. Wanting to so badly it hurt. Julie was her family; she loved her.

“You’re being straight with me, Julie? You’re not screwing around?”

“Of course I am—” She flushed. “Being straight with you, I mean.” She smiled tremulously. “I love you, Rave. Gosh, without you, I don’t know where I’d be.”

Raven smiled. She reached out and tucked an errant lock of Julie’s silky blond hair behind her ear. “Your hair’s pretty tonight. Did you do something to it?”

“Lightened it.” Julie’s lips lifted at the compliment. “You really like it?”

“I wouldn’t have said so, if I didn’t.
I
don’t lie, Julie.” Raven dropped her hand. “You probably need to go?”

Julie checked her watch. “I should.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Julie locked her apartment door, and they started down the hallway. Raven slipped her arm through her friend’s. “So, the job’s good?”

“I like it. I’m making good money and everybody’s real nice.”

“Not too nice, though?”

“No.” Julie shook her head. “Not too nice.”

They chose the stairs over the elevator, and moments later stepped out into the evening. The soft black sky sported neither stars nor moon, not yet anyway. The friends crossed the parking lot, stopping beside Julie’s car.

Raven let out a long breath. “I wish you could come. It’d be like old times.”

“I know. I do, too.” Julie jiggled her car keys, obviously anxious to take off. “I’ll bet Andie’s home by now, though. She’ll be able to go with you.”

“Sunday morning for coffee?”

“Great. Not too early, though. I’m closing Saturday night.” Julie climbed into her car, stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. The car sputtered to life. “Have a good time.”

“I’ll call.”

“Great. See ya.” She smiled at Raven, waved and started off.

Only problem was, she headed away from the country club.