Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1) (17 page)

“Two months ago but none recently. Prince is trained to sniff out heroin, not tobacco.”

“Maybe you can bring in a K-9 unit that does tobacco?”
He’d promised Emma and those cigarettes were plain bad news.

“Okay. I’ll check with the others. I’m sure they’ll help out if they’re free.” Banding fastened a leash around Prince’s neck and marched off with a wave of his hand.

The ride back home took forever. Maybe he should have bought a place closer to the prison, but he’d always loved his parents’ old house. Maxim rubbed his eyes and sighed, wanting nothing more than to sleep. To dive under the covers, close his eyes, and drift off into oblivion.
No.
He had to be honest with himself. He wanted all the above, plus something else. Or rather someone else. And his foolish mind was already conjuring up images of her. Nothing risqué or inappropriate. Just her sweet body curved up next to his. He’d wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close, breathing in her light rosewater scent. His heart ached at the impossibility of it all.

His father had barely died. He should be mourning Pops, not pining after a contrary doctor. Maybe in a way his heart was finally recognizing what his brain had known all along. His father had been dead all these years already. His old man’s shell of a body had existed but his mind, his soul was long gone. Maxim had been grieving slowly all these years; the final death hadn’t been unexpected. He just never suspected it would come with peace and dignity, and he knew whom he had to thank for that.

Emma was perfect in so many ways. Just not for him. She didn’t even like him. The last man she’d ever want to date, she’d said. Too many reasons to count, she had thrown at him.
God.
He was such a fool. He should have kept it short this morning. Well, he knew better now. He wasn’t going to torture himself being near her, yearning for the impossible. From now on, he’d steer clear of her path.

Chapter 19

“I never felt more embarrassed in my life.”

“Don’t think about it. It’ll only make it worse,” Riley said over the car’s Bluetooth.

“Nothing can make it worse than it already is.” Emma groaned as she drove to work the following morning. “Oh God, Ri. I was all over him. Like a starving maniac. Even with John, I never acted that way.”

“He must have been one hell of a kisser.”

And then some.
Emma’s body shivered at the memory. The kiss was hard at first, almost punishing in nature. She’d been mad as hell at him and was about to push back but then his lips had turned soft, persuasive, gentle. She’d leaned into his embrace, soaking in the beauty of the moment. And then he’d lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a feather. He was all power and strength and it had driven her wild. She’d climbed up on him like a crazed woman, forgetting everything but the need to be closer to him. The man had cast some sort of spell over her. Lucky the phone had rung when it did or else she might have given herself to him right there in his backyard.

“So you had a passionate moment with the man. Nothing to be ashamed of,” Riley said.

“But he kissed me only to shut me up, Ri.” Even now, her face flamed at the memory. “How much more embarrassing can it get? I was all over him while he thought it was no big deal.”

“Didn’t you say he kissed you back?”

“Because I threw myself at him. Not because he cared one way or the other.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Come on, Ri. He dismissed the kiss like it was nothing.” Emma swallowed. “I was shaking all over and all he could talk about was going back to the prison.”

“You wanted him to go back, didn’t you?”

“I know. Of course I want the drug problem addressed.” Emma sighed. “But did he have to be so anxious to get rid of me? He rushed me out of the house like there was no tomorrow.”

“The man loves his job, Em. You already knew that.”

“But he didn’t have to be so blatant about it.” Emma glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen already. She was still two exits away from Albatross, which would make her at least ten minutes late.

“So how did you leave it with him?”

“I had to pretend it didn’t matter.”
And God how hard that had been, what with her heart still racing over that kiss
. “Especially after he told me it could never happen again. As if he was warning me to stay away from him. It was so humiliating. I had to pretend to misunderstand him, tell him I thought it was about me yelling at him, and not the other thing.”

“So he doesn’t suspect anything?”

“I hope not. I put on a pretty good show about how I could never imagine dating him.”

“Ouch. That must have hurt.”

“Hey. I had my pride to salvage.” Emma shook her head. “And Sam to think about. You know my brother would always separate us.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you should tell him about Sam.” Riley’s voice rose. “I know. Hold on a minute before you interrupt. The guy seems pretty decent. He may not be so down on your brother.”

“Yeah, right. He hates inmates, Ri.”

“Do me a favor and think about it, okay? I have to run. I just got to the hospital. Call me tonight.”

Her friend hung up, and now she was alone with her morose thoughts. The sad part was that she’d almost told Maxim about Sam last night. She’d wanted to trust him. Had thought that she could indeed trust him. He’d been rather wonderful the whole day.

He’d been attentive, feeding her all that delicious food, reassuring her he’d take care of the cigarettes, bringing her all the way to his mansion to take the comet pictures. How her heart had melted at the sight of him cuddling that poor misshapen cat. He was huge yet so gentle and caring to that tiny unfortunate creature. The cat was from the prison. He’d rescued it…the guy truly had to have a heart of gold. She’d wanted to tell him about Sam. Surely a man who cherished a deformed cat wouldn’t be too harsh on her poor brother.
Would he?

She’d been so tempted. Maybe they could finally explore this strange connection between them. However it had come about, she knew she was attracted to him. More than attracted, if she had to be honest with herself. She was drawn to him, drawn to his strength and power and to the underlying tenderness she glimpsed beneath his formidable exterior. And she thought he must have had some feelings for her. He’d called her gorgeous earlier. True, he was a little hesitant afterward but she’d seen his striking eyes following her around the garden. They had glowed with tenderness and something else she’d been too afraid to delve into.

But then it’d all fallen apart. He’d mentioned his housekeeper. He’d lied about the house. Which meant he could lie to her about other things. She couldn’t trust him. Not enough to share Sam’s secret.

And looking back, how could she have thought he was interested in her? He was a millionaire, for heaven’s sake. He lived in a huge mansion on a hill. Women probably chased him all the time. She was just a doctor, a good one but nobody significant in his rich and powerful sphere. They’d treated him like a king at the hospital the other night.

She didn’t belong in his world. Plus he didn’t even want her in it. He’d looked horrified when she’d pulled out of his arms. As if he regretted the whole thing. Emma’s face burned at the memory.
How was she going to face him now?
She dreaded seeing him again. Dreaded looking into those eyes and knowing there was no future between them. She had to be strong, had to stick to her guns and pretend the kiss meant nothing.
God, it was going to be hard.
Maybe, it’d be best to stay away from him. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that.

She arrived not ten but a full fifteen minutes late to the meeting. A brief glance showed her Maxim was already there, along with the other doctors. Emma braced herself for his rebuke, surprised when it never came. Luckily there were a couple of empty seats at the end of the table farthest away from him. Emma slid into one of them.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said to the table at large.

“It’s becoming a habit of yours,” Evil Knievel said from her usual seat by Maxim’s side.

There was nothing she could say to that, nothing in polite company at least, so Emma kept quiet.

“Okay, I have some news, everyone.” Julien gave her a sympathetic smile. “Today we’re going to try something new. Dr. Kaye and I have invited the psychiatrists to join our meeting. You know how a lot of our patients have serious mental health problems? Well, this is our chance to discuss those patients.”

“Sacramento set it out as a new requirement. We’ll focus on the patients who take more than ten medications,” Kaye added. “Let’s review their meds and see if we can wean some of them.”

“And it’ll help us understand our patients better.” Julien tapped his forehead. “You know how the mind always affects the body.”

The door opened and a young Asian woman and two men entered. One of the men she recognized as Sam’s psychiatrist, Charles Stewart. Today he had on tan slacks and a blue silk dress shirt coupled with a brown tie. His light blond hair was a little rumpled and wavy, giving him the perfect Adonis look.
Funny how his good looks didn’t affect her much, not the way one smile from Maxim could take her breath away.

“Emma,” Charles greeted her like a long-lost friend. “How are you? Mind if I have a seat?”

“Of course not.” She smiled at his friendly demeanor. “Good morning.”

Some chairs shuffled down where Kaye sat with Maxim. Hopefully Charles would behave today. She sure didn’t want any more trouble with his ex-wife.

Julien introduced the other two psychiatrists, Dr. Wu and Dr. Samuels. Dr. Wu began by talking about one of her patients, a thirty-year-old on twenty different medications.
Good. It was a SNY patient from up the hill.
Emma didn’t need to concentrate. Her mind was already frazzled enough with Maxim sitting there at the end of the table.
Must the man exude such raw magnetism?

“I’m sorry,” Charles suddenly leaned over and whispered.

“What?”

“Sorry for how I acted the other day,” he murmured
sotto voce.

“No worries,” she said.

Dr. Wu kept on talking. Soon it was Dr. Samuels’s turn to discuss his patient, a schizophrenic manic-depressive who also suffered from heart problems.

“Penny for them?” Charles whispered again a few minutes later.

“Shh. We’re in a meeting,” she whispered back.

Emma turned and met a familiar pair of silver eyes. Maxim looked tired, his hair a little disheveled, his tie crooked. Her heart lurched.
Didn’t he get any sleep last night?
Something must have shown on her face because Maxim hastily averted his eyes and busied himself with his notepad.

“My patient is a twenty-four-year old African-American man with PTSD.” Charles began talking in his pleasant baritone. He gave Emma a significant look. “His name is Sam Morris.”

“Morris?” Her heart lurched.
Had she heard right?

“Yes, Mr. Morris, the Urgent Care porter,” Charles answered.

The lurching escalated into a full gallop. Emma gripped the armrest of her chair.

“He’s only taking two medications,” Kaye said. “He can’t be that complicated. Let’s move to somebody else.”

“No. I want to talk about him,” Charles said, giving Emma another pointed look. “I think he’s very interesting. Previously, no mental health problems, incarcerated five years ago and never saw a doctor until he was assaulted and sent to the hole.”

“Get to the point, Stewart,” Maxim bit out. “We don’t have all day.”

Emma clutched her necklace and tried to focus on her breathing.
Her brother, discussed as a patient, exposed to everyone. Dear God, she hoped they didn’t suspect anything.

“All right, I’ll get there.” Charles flipped through some notes. “He had a broken jaw and broken nose. Was in the hole for three months.”

“Why was he assaulted?” Julien asked.

“It was a drug deal gone bad.” Charles tapped his pen on the table. “Morris was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got the crap kicked out of him. When he came out, he began to see things.”

“What things?” Emma blurted out.

“Dead people. Blood.”

Emma gulped down some water.

“And then came the nightmares and flashbacks. Any little noise would set him off. He had panic attacks regularly.”

Her poor brother.
Emma swallowed down the lump in her throat.

“Meds were started three months ago,” Charles continued. “He improved but still has the flashbacks and panic attacks.”

“Typical case of PTSD,” Dr. Wu said.

“And you’re bringing him up because?” Dr. Kaye asked with an impatient shake of her head.

“What happened to him?” Charles asked. “Why did he become like this? A totally healthy man suddenly afraid of his own shadow? I blamed the assault at first. But he told me that he’s been beaten before, by his dad no less.”

Emma stifled a gasp and almost dropped her glass of water.

“But he wasn’t afraid until now,” Charles continued. “Something happened recently that made his panic attacks worse. I don’t know what it is. He won’t tell me.”

“There’s nothing you can do then,” Kaye said. “Just leave him alone til he’s ready to talk.”

“Isn’t there some way you can encourage him to talk?” Emma slid her chair closer to Charles.
Her poor brother. How much suffering had he endured?
She must help him somehow.

“Yes. I’d like to do cognitive processing therapy,” Charles answered.

“CPT? No way,” Dr. Samuels said. “Too much time. Focus on his meds. That’s the best course.”

“He’s been getting them,” Charles said. “But he’s getting worse. CPT’s the next step.”

“What the hell is CPT?” Maxim suddenly spoke up from the end of the table. He was glaring at Charles as if the psychiatrist had just committed some great sin or other.

“It’s therapy to help a person focus on his or her current problems and how to solve them.”

“Sounds like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo nonsense to me,” Maxim said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kaye declared. “The state’s not paying psychiatrists to do CPT. Can’t you let the psychologists deal with it?”

“I’ve tried, but they don’t know how to do it well,” Charles said. “I’ve had special training in it and can do a really good job.”

“It’s experimental,” Kaye said. “We shouldn’t waste taxpayers’ money.”

“But it’s been proven to work,” Charles insisted. “It’s standard of care in the community. If the inmate needs it, he should get it.”

“It’s too time-consuming,” Dr. Wu chimed in. “We have a huge amount of backlog we’re already not seeing.”

“I agree.” Kaye glared at her ex. “With limited resources, we can’t do everything for everybody. We need to see as many patients as possible, not focus all our attention on one inmate.”