But it was as a man that he was reacting. And when the wind conspired against him, suddenly gliding her hair against his skin, making all hell break out inside of him, he felt as if he was fighting a losing battle.

But curiosity and desire got the better of him. He gave in to the former, did his damnedest to reconstruct the latter—and kissed her.

There had been many missteps in Brady Coltrane’s life.

At night, he would lie awake at times and review them. Thinking how different the course of his existence might be if he had just done some things differently. Even one thing differently.

And now this could be added to the list. Because until he kissed Patience, he didn’t know. Didn’t know that this woman could break apart his carefully constructed fortress.

This RITA^® Award-winning author has written over one hundred and twenty books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

To

Patricia Smith,

who always knows how

to make me feel good

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

“C’mon, say yes. You know you want to.”

Patience Cavanaugh pushed her strawberry-blond hair out of her eyes and glanced up from the four-legged patient she was examining to the man who flirted with her.

Granted, there was a great deal to recommend him. Patrolman Josh Graham looked like every woman’s dream come true. Handsome, blond, outgoing with a killer smile, Josh filled out his uniform quite well. The very sight of him by her side would undoubtedly guarantee her the envy of every woman within a five-mile radius.

If she were into that sort of thing, which she wasn’t.

Besides, the uniform was the source of the problem and the reason why she was going to turn him down. Again.

Life for Patience was filled to overflowing with police personnel. From her brother, Patrick, to her two uncles right down to eight of her nine cousins. And even the ninth one, Janelle, was associated with law enforcement. Uncle Brian’s daughter was currently an assistant district attorney with a very impressive track record.

Patience thought of her father. He’d been a policeman as well.

And he had died in the line of duty.

Unlike the rest of the family, Michael Cavanaugh’s work had turned him into a bitter man. Looking back on her childhood, she could hardly remember a day when there hadn’t been some kind of unrest and turmoil within their small household. The job made him a hard man to live with. Night after night, she’d watch her mother hold her breath, waiting for her father to come through the door. Saw the tense interaction between her parents almost from the moment he walked in. Felt, along with her older brother who tried to take the brunt of it, the fallout of her father’s mounting frustration. Frustration that encompassed what he saw on the job as well as his own performance, but that she was to learn about later. What she knew firsthand was that he didn’t leave his work at the precinct. It gave him nightmares when he was asleep.

In a way, his work had haunted all of them.

Even before her father’s sudden death fifteen years ago, she’d made a vow to herself that when she finally decided to get serious about someone, that someone would not be associated with the police department. The best way to stick to that silent promise was not to get involved with a cop in the first place. Socially.

Professionally was another matter. As a vet running her own animal clinic, she treated the whole of the Aurora Police Department’s K-9 squad, making sure the force of five German shepherds was up on their shots as well as treating them for any injuries sustained on the job or off.

Which brought her back around to Josh Graham. He had started with the K-9 squad about eighteen months ago. He’d begun his campaign to get her to go out with him around the same time. She treated his persistent pursuit with the humor that was second nature to her as well as her shield. Josh took it all in stride, but he never quite gave up, either.

She went back to examining the dog’s ears. “You know my rules about that, Josh.”

“Right.” Josh moved in a little closer to the examination table—and her. “Those would be your rules of engagement.” She had delineated them with tact and force the one time when she perceived that he was seriously asking her out instead of merely flirting with her. He grinned broadly at her. “Haven’t you heard? Rules are made to be broken.”

With swift, sure movements, she worked her fingers around the animal’s back and hind quarters, checking for any new lumps. Usually, they represented fatty deposits that eventually disappeared, but she liked staying on top of everything.

She spared Josh a look. “Funny philosophy, coming from a cop.”

The grin never dimmed. “It’s because I am a cop that I know just when they need to be adhered to and when they need to be broken.” He moved as she did, slowly shadowing her path around the examination table. “Now, your rules are fine when it comes to other cops, like say Coltrane over there.” Emphasizing his point, he nodded at the door as another patrolman, Braden Coltrane entered with his four-footed partner, King. “Word is that the reason he’s partnered with one of the dogs is because no two-footed cop could put up with him.” She was finished feeling her way around the dog’s fur and Josh made it a point to be right in front of her again. “But me, well, your rule really shouldn’t apply to me.”

Humor curved her mouth. They both knew she wasn’t going to say yes. And they both knew he was going to push, just a little. It was a game at this point, and diverting. “And why’s that?”

“Because we’re soul mates, Patience. I can feel it.” He placed his hand over his heart.

Patience turned her attention to checking Gonzo’s teeth and gums. The former were turning a bit yellow. She was going to have to step up the cleaning schedule, she thought. “Well, I can’t.”

He cocked his head appealingly. “You would if you went out with me.”

She spared him a glance, suppressing the sigh. Another woman, she knew, would probably have been worn down by now. But another woman hadn’t held her comatose father’s hand in the hospital, praying that he wouldn’t slip away; that there would still be a chance for them to find a better footing. To finally be a real father and daughter instead of what they’d been: two hollowed-out shells with appropriate labels affixed to them. She’d needed more from him, wanted more. Surly or not, he’d been her father and she hadn’t wanted to lose him to a gunman’s bullet.

But she had. And no more restitutions were ever made. It made her feel cheated and angry. And guilty because she’d been relieved that the tension her father generated in their home was finally gone. The angry man who should have never been a cop was no more. She missed the idea of him, if not the man himself.

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’d just rather stick to the rules right now, Josh, if you don’t mind.”

“‘Right now,”’ he repeated. “Which means you might not later.”

She supposed this was what was meant by a never-say-die attitude. “Which means I’m being polite.” She picked up the dog’s chart and made the proper notations. She was aware that both dog and master were studying her every move.

“I’m not giving up, you know,” Josh told her the moment she laid down the chart.

Patience sighed. “Yes, I know, but you are wasting your time. Really. I’m flattered, Josh, but I’m also serious.”

“We’ll see,” was all he said, flashing her a grin that he’d used to melt kneecaps at forty paces.

She merely laughed and shook her head. “Gonzo’s ready to go,” she told him. “He’s fine and fit for duty.” Because the dog nudged her, she petted the animal and was rewarded with a big, sloppy kiss. Delighted, Patience ruffled the dog’s fur.

“Never thought I’d envy a mutt. Down, Gonzo.” The dog obediently jumped down.

She patted the animal’s head. “On behalf of Gonzo, I take offense at that.”

Josh never missed a beat. “You could plead his case over dinner.”

She shook her head, laughing. “Go.” She fairly pushed Josh out of the room and into the hall. “You have a beat to patrol.”

With that she looked out into the waiting room. It was early, before the official start of her day. Her clinic was open from eight until five, but she made exceptions for the police department, having them bring in the canines before office hours so that they didn’t have to spend any time in her waiting room.

She made exceptions for any emergency that might come up, as well. Like people, animals didn’t always come down with something during prescribed business hours. More than once she’d been on the receiving end of a frantic call that came to her in the middle of the night. Never once had she turned down a sick animal.

Which was how Walter Payne had come into her life. The meek software technician had called her, beside himself over his prized cockatiel. The bird had become ill at two in the morning. She’d never asked what he was doing, keeping company with the bird at that hour. Looking back, she thought perhaps that had been her initial mistake.

Because Walter’s effuse gratitude had turned into something more. The flower he’d claimed came from the bird swiftly became bouquets left on her doorstep. There were poems and candy, all of which she politely but firmly declined, saying that payment of his bill was all that was necessary. But it wasn’t all that was necessary from his point of view. The visits, with and without the accompanying cockatiel, increased until she’d begun to feel as if she were being stalked.

Not that Walter ever really worried her. She’d felt that the man was harmless in his adulation. But she couldn’t get a case her father had been investigation out of her mind. She’d been ten at the time and maybe that was why it had left such a chilling impression on her. There’d been a young woman who’d been repeatedly stalked by a man she’d hardly known. He’d wound up killing her.

Patience had tried to tell herself that Walter and the other woman’s stalker were nothing alike. Walter was a sad little man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but she’d struggled against ghosts from the past and at times it wasn’t easy not to give in to the fear. Just to play it safe, Patience had made sure that the group photograph of her entire family, all in dress uniform—save for her and Janelle—was prominently displayed where Walter could see it.

It was a silent warning and, evidently, he got it. His attentions faded. Which was a good thing because she’d been certain that her big brother, Patrick, was just inches away from nailing the computer enthusiast’s skinny hide to the back door. She’d made the mistake of mentioning it to him in passing and he’d been ready to take her in to file a restraining order against Walter. It had taken a lot of talking on her part to make him give up the idea; she’d known Patrick had been thinking of the same case her father had had.

Shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her white lab coat, Patience stood in the waiting room doorway and looked at her only other K-9 patient for the day. The other three had come by yesterday.

“Brady, you’re up next.”

“Don’t forget to give him his distemper shot,” Josh cracked, nodding at Brady as he passed by the tall, solemn dark-haired man.

Gonzo and King remained oblivious to one another as if they were wearing blinders. Brady gave a slight nod of greeting in response. His mouth never curved in the slightest.

Brady followed Patience into the examination room. “Graham giving you a hard time?”

Not looking in her direction, Brady gave King the command to get on the examination table. The sleek three-year-old German shepherd glided on as effortlessly as if he were a mere ten-pound puppy instead of the one-hundred-and-twelve-pound dog that he actually was.

Patience raised a shoulder, letting it drop again dismissively. “He’s just being Josh. Persistent,” she added when Brady didn’t say anything. Not that he would. In all the time that she’d known him, she’d found Brady to be just a little more talkative than a sphinx. “I just think it’s hard for him to believe that any woman would turn him down.”

Brady said nothing for a couple of seconds, letting her lay out her instruments and get to work. “And did you?”

“As always.” It was no secret how she felt about dating policeman. Everyone knew. She smiled at Brady. “Like I told Josh, I have my rules.”

“Otherwise you’d go out with him,” Josh answered.

Since he’d actually volunteered a sentence, she thought for a moment. “Maybe.”

There was no question that she did find Josh almost as charming as the patrolman found himself. He had an engaging personality and she saw him frequently enough, either for the dog’s routine exams or whenever her uncle Andrew, the former police chief of Aurora, threw a party. Her uncle did that with a fair amount of regularity and he usually invited half the police force. Josh was among that half.

As was Brady, from what she’d heard, but the latter never turned up. Word was he preferred his own company to that of others.

She glanced at Brady before she turned her attention to the dog’s examination. Josh and Brady were as different as night and day, beginning with their coloring. Brady had black hair to Josh’s blond. The only thing the two men had in common beyond their uniforms was that they were both good-looking. While Josh was outgoing, Officer Braden Coltrane was quiet. If she wanted more than a single-syllable conversation with King’s two-legged partner, she had to go in search of it herself, often dragging words up Brady’s throat and out of his mouth.

Silence obviously didn’t bother him. He seemed to enjoy it. Even his commands to his dog were usually silent, as opposed to Josh’s verbal ones. Each man, she thought, gave the kind of commands he was most comfortable with.

Because cultivating a conversation with him required so much effort, Patience found she had to live up to her name whenever she dealt with Brady.

She began working the animal’s thick coat, going slowly. “But there’s no point in speculating about whether or not I’d go out with Josh because I do have my rules,” she said over her shoulder at Brady. She kept her explanation simple. “There’s no way I’m going to go through what my mother did, waiting for my husband to come home every night.”

Brady laughed dryly. “There are worse things than that.”

Patience was quick to jump on the offering, looking to expand it. “Such as?”

He shrugged carelessly, looking away. “Having him come home.”

Patience looked up sharply.

The sentence hung in the air between them. Had he known her father? she wondered. Because of his family name more than anything else, there were rumors that Mike Cavanaugh had been a disgruntled, dissatisfied man. The Cavanaugh brother who couldn’t measure up. Was Brady referring to that, to the hearsay?

Or was he talking about something more close to home? She, along with most of the force, she surmised, knew next to nothing about the man.

Brady said nothing more. She tried to coax more out. “What makes you say that?”

“Nothing.”

The curtain had gone down again. No encores followed. Patience let a small sigh escape as she continued to examine King.

Stupid of him, letting that out, Brady thought. His mistake. But not one he was about to follow up on. He wasn’t about to tell this petite, pretty woman that for one unguarded moment he was thinking of his own past. Of his own father.

The man he’d shot.

The event haunted him to this very day. Any way you looked at it, Brady thought, he was truly an unlikely candidate for the position he now held. On the right side of the law.

Originally from a town so small in the south of Georgia that it didn’t exist on some of the less detailed maps, Braden Coltrane had been just barely seventeen years old when he’d shot and killed his abusive father. When he’d been forced to kill him to save his mother and sister.

As was his habit, Owen Coltrane had come home roaring drunk. And as was his habit, Owen had begun to take his mood out on his wife and daughter. Unable to stand the tension he was forced to endure day in, day out, Brady had been in his closet-size bedroom, which had once served as the walk-in pantry, packing. Preparing to leave home for good that very night. He’d stopped packing when he’d heard his sister’s frantic screams.

Rushing out into the living area of their run-down house, he’d seen his father threaten his mother with the gun that he’d prized more than his family. Not thinking of anything but saving his mother, Brady had gotten in between his parents.

His mother had stepped back, screaming as he’d wrestled his father for control of the firearm. In the struggle, it discharged, mortally wounding his father in the chest.

He remembered feeling numbed then shaken as he’d watched the blood pool beneath his father’s body. His father had already been dead when he hit the wooden floor, a startled, angry expression forever frozen on his face.

A trial followed and he’d been found not guilty due to extenuating circumstances. Everyone knew the kind of man Owen Coltrane had been: mean sober and meaner drunk. But despite the stares and whispers that never stopped—they’d followed him wherever he went—Brady had remained in town, working at whatever jobs he could find to try to earn a living. He’d had to provide for his sister and bereaved mother.

His mother, who had never stopped blaming him for what had happened, died less than two years after his father of what the local doctor had unscientifically called “a broken heart.” To Brady’s everlasting bewilderment and anger, his mother had pined away after his father and although Owen had abused her throughout their entire marriage, she’d been unable to find a way to live without him.

Which led Brady to the final conclusion that he just couldn’t begin to understand relationships at all. He certainly had no role models to fall back on. His father had been a cruel, vindictive man, devoid of love. His mother had been a weak puppet who hadn’t loved her children enough to protect them from her husband’s wrath. Though he had begged his mother to leave his father and start a new life for herself and for them, she’d always turned a deaf ear on his pleas.

Less than a month after their mother’s funeral, Brady’s sister Laura married a marine and left town. At nineteen, with no responsibility left, he’d been free to do whatever he wanted.

And what he’d wanted was to get as far the hell away from memories of his childhood as he could.

He’d packed up and left Georgia right after Laura’s wedding, taking only a few possessions and the burden of his past with him.

He’d knocked around a bit, moving clear across the country. Settling down, he’d decided to go to college at night to earn a degree in criminology, a subject that had always interested him. It took him less than three and a half years. When he put his mind to something, he didn’t let anything get in his way.

Eventually he came to Aurora and joined the local police force. He did well with the work, but not with his partners. An affinity for animals had led him to apply for the K-9 squad when an opening became available. He’d always felt that animals were truer than people, being unable to engage in deceptions.

And now he and King had a bond he had never felt with another living creature. He’d lay down his life for the dog without a second thought.

Patience looked at Brady for a moment, wondering what was going on inside his head.

In a way, the patrolman reminded her a great deal of Patrick before his wife, Maggi, had come into his life. When they were growing up, Patrick had always borne the brunt of their father’s displeasure, partially, Patience thought, because Patrick looked a great deal like their uncle Andrew, whose career had been so much more dynamic than their father’s. Before he’d retired, Andrew Cavanaugh, the son of a beat cop, had advanced his way up to police chief of Aurora. And Uncle Brian, her father’s younger brother, was the current chief of detectives.

Her father had always felt as if he were struggling beneath the shadows of both of his brothers. He’d never come into his own and had harbored a great deal of resentment toward both of them. The only place he could freely take out his anger was at home, on his family.

Had Brady gone through something like that?

For a fleeting moment, without knowing any of the circumstances, or even if she was right, Patience felt a kinship with him.

Maybe it was something in his eyes. A startling shade of blue, in unguarded moments they seemed incredibly sad to her.

“You know,” she began, putting down her stethoscope, “in addition to being an incredible talker, I am also an incredible listener.”

He knew where she was going with this. Once or twice before she’d tried to nudge him toward a conversation that involved something more private than how King was doing. He’d steered clear of it then, as well. He had no desire to share any of himself. He was what he was and had no need for human contact of any kind.

Inclining his head, he slipped King’s leash around his neck. Brady had witnessed enough routine exams to know that this one was over. “Too bad you don’t have anything to listen to.”

Couldn’t say she didn’t try, Patience thought. But then, Coltrane was a hard nut to crack. And she knew when to back off. Picking up the dog’s chart, she began making the necessary notations.

“Well, I’m available if you ever feel you have something to say.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. Everything he felt remained inside. It was best that way. There had been a period when he’d thought of himself as a walking time bomb, but he had gotten that under control. His father’s demise had done that.

King responded to the hand signal he gave the dog, leaping off the table and then standing almost at attention at his heel. “So, how’s King?”

“Fitter than most people I know.” Retiring her pen, she slipped it back into her pocket and flipped the chart closed. Patience paused to pet the dog. “Okay, boy, you’re free to go.” King looked to Brady for a command. Patience raised her eyes to the patrolman, as well. “I’ll see you next month.”

Brady made no reply, merely nodded. In another moment man and dog were out the door.

It was almost time to open her doors. She glanced at her calendar to see when her first appointment was due in. Not until nine. That meant she could allow herself a decent cup of coffee.

“That is one quiet man,” she murmured to the dog who followed her around like a faithful, furry shadow. She’d rescued Tacoma, a mix of husky and God only knew what else, when she’d come across the stray, dirty, starving and bleeding on the side of the road one night. She’d taken her to the clinic and ministered to the dog, keeping vigil until she finally pulled through. Tacoma had rewarded her the only way she knew how, by permanently giving Patience her heart.

She heard the bell over the door ring. That wasn’t her nine o’clock appointment and, most likely, it wasn’t her receptionist yet. Shirley never came in early. Maybe Coltrane finally wanted to say something.

“Forget something?”

She turned around to see Brady in the doorway. He was holding a single perfect pink rose in his hand.

“Brady?”

Patience cocked her head, as if that would somehow help her take in the image of Brady holding on to a large German shepherd with one hand and a delicate rose in the other. She’d never seen anything quite so incongruous in her life. He’d be the last man in the world she’d think would offer flowers of any kind, much less a single rose.

Just goes to show that one never really knows a person.

Her smile widened as she held out her hand.

Brady realized by the look on her face what she had to be thinking. That the flower was from him. But why would that even cross her mind? There was nothing between them other than a loose, nodding acquaintance that spanned the last two years. Maybe something could have happened between them were he someone else, were he not hollow inside with no hope of ever changing that condition.

But he wasn’t someone else and he’d never given the gregarious veterinarian any reason to think that he was. Or that he thought of her as anything other than the police vet.

Even if, once in a while, he did.

There was no way for her to know that. No reason for her to entertain the thought that he would be the one to give her a flower.

But someone had given her this gift.

A feel of loss echoed inside him, although for the life of him he didn’t know why.

Bemused, Patience crossed to him. A smile curved her lips as she looked up into his light blue eyes and took the rose out of his hand. For some people, words worked best, for others, it was actions.

Coltrane, she already knew, definitely fell into the latter category. He was nothing if not a man of action. The phrase “strong, silent type” had been created with him in mind. For a fleeting second, she forgot all about her rules.

“I’m touched.”

“Then you know who left this?” he asked.

Something cold and clammy began to rear its head within her when he asked the simple question. She struggled to hold back her fear. To blot out the grim photograph she’d glimpsed in the file her father had brought home with him. A photograph of a girl, about her own age now, who’d been stabbed by her stalker.

Damn it, Walter knew better this time. She took a deep breath, running her tongue along her dried lips. “You mean, it’s not from you?”

For a second he found himself engaged by the flicker of her tongue moving along the outline of her mouth. It took him a moment to respond to her question. Brady shook his head. “No, I found it on your doorstep.”

Patience’s fingers loosened their grasp, and the rose fell to the floor.

Brady bent to pick it up. When he straightened again and looked at her face, he saw that all the color had drained out of it. Her complexion had turned a shade lighter.

Was she going to do that female thing and faint on him? “You all right?”

No, she thought, doing her best to rally behind anger rather than fear. She wasn’t all right. Damn it, this was supposed to have all been behind her by now. Walter’s eyes had all but bugged out when she’d told him that the nine police officers in dress blue were all related to her. She’d thought that was the end of it. And it had been.

Until now.

Patience had to remoisten her desert-dry lips. “You found this?” She nodded at the flower that was once more in his hand. This time she made no move to take it from him.

“Yes. On your doorstep.” He’d already told her that. Brady watched her closely.

“Just like the last time,” she murmured the words to herself. Why couldn’t she stop the chill that slid up and down her spine.

“What last time?” The question came at her sharply, like fighter pilots on the attack.

She stared at him. For a second she hadn’t realized that she’d said anything out loud. And then she shook her head, dismissing her words. Not wanting to open the door any further into the past than she’d already opened it. “Nothing.”

Brady scowled. The hell it was nothing. People didn’t turn white over nothing.

“What last time?” he repeated. The question bordered on a demand.

She tried to smile and only partially succeeded. The knots in her stomach were stealing all her available air. “Is that your interrogation voice?” she asked him, trying to divert his attention. “Because if it is, it’s pretty scary.”

“Damn it, Doc, what last time?” And then he drew his own conclusion. “Someone been harassing you?”

Bingo. From her reaction, he’d say he’d hit the nail right on the head. It was there, in her eyes.

He could see it happening. Patience Cavanaugh was more than passingly pretty. She was vibrant and outgoing on top of that. But in this upside-down world, someone could mistake her friendly manner for something else, feel perhaps that she was being friendly beyond the call and go on to misinterpret her behavior as a sign of interest.

She blew out a breath and looked away. “Not lately,” she told him evasively.

Get a grip, Patience. It’s just a flower, not a scorpion. She laughed to herself. Right now, she would have preferred the scorpion. She knew how to deal with that.

Obsession—if that’s what this was boiling down to—was something beyond her range. No, no, it wasn’t obsession, it was just a man who was too obtuse to understand that she just wasn’t interested. There was no reason to believe she’d wind up like Katie. Katie Alder, that had been her name. The dead girl. This would go away just like the last time, she promised herself.

Brady had no intention of letting this slide. “But previously?”

Best defense was a strong offense, wasn’t that what Uncle Andrew always told them? With a toss of her head, she fixed her best, most confident smile to her lips.

“Really, Coltrane, there’s no reason to get all official on me.” She thought of their interaction over these past twenty-five months. “Although, I guess when you get down to it, that’s all you ever are, isn’t it? Official.”

“This isn’t about me, Doc, it’s about you.”

She squared her shoulders, deliberately avoiding looking at the flower he still held. “Right. And since it’s about me, I’ll handle it.”

He raised a brow, pinning her with a look. “You weren’t handling it a minute ago.”

No, that had been an aberration. One she wasn’t about to allow to happen again. She was stronger than that. “I’m better now.”

He made a leap, bridging the gap from here to there and filling in the missing pieces. It wasn’t hard. He’d handled more than one stalker case before he’d found a place for himself in narcotics. “You ever report it?”

She looked at Brady warily. She’d always sensed he was sharp, maybe even intuitive, but she didn’t want to learn she was right at her own expense. “Report what?” she asked vaguely.

“The stalker.”

Patience raised her chin defiantly. “What stalker?”

“The one who was after you,” he snapped tersely. Nothing irked him more than people who wouldn’t take help that was offered. Like his mother who had refused to walk away from his father. “Look,” Brady began more evenly this time, “nobody turns that shade of white when they see a stupid rose left on their doorstep unless there’s something else going on. Now if you don’t want to talk to me, fine, but you’ve got a boatload of police personnel in your life. Talk to one of them.”

Because she was a Cavanaugh, even though she considered herself the mildest one of the group, she inherently resented being dictated to. “How do you know I haven’t?”

He looked at her knowingly. “Just because I don’t get along with people doesn’t mean I can’t read them.” Brady gave her a look just before he turned to leave. “Have it your way. Looks like I’m not the only one who isn’t communicative.”

It was as if he’d read her mind.

Patience blew out another breath, irritated. Relenting. The man was right, she supposed. And it was better to say something to him than to Patrick or the others. Especially Patrick. She knew without asking that the law took on a whole different hue when someone her older brother cared about was being threatened.

“His name’s Walter,” she finally said, addressing her words to the back of Brady’s head.

Stopping just short of the door, Brady turned around. He stood waiting, not saying a word.

Okay, Patience thought, she might as well tell him a little more. “Walter Payne,” she elaborated. “I saved his cockatiel and he was grateful. Very grateful. He was also kind of lonely,” she added after a moment. “I tried to encourage him to go out, to get out of his shell.” She’d even gone so far as to suggest arranging a blind date for him. But although eager to please her, Walter hadn’t followed up on her suggestion. “Maybe I was too successful.”

“So he started harassing you?” He had his answer as soon as he saw the woman pale.

Harassment and stalking were such ugly words. She told herself that it was more like enduring a schoolboy crush from a forty-five-year-old man. She couldn’t handle it any other way. “He brought me flowers, said it was from Mitzi.”

“Mitzi?”

“His cockatiel. At first it was just one, like that.” She nodded at the rose. “And then it was a bouquet. There was candy and a few poems, as well.” Those had followed in quick succession. Crowding her. “I just thought he was being overly grateful. The cockatiel meant a great deal to him.”

Brady tried to read between the lines to pick up on what the veterinarian wasn’t saying. “You told him to stop?”

“In a way,” she allowed. “I said that it wasn’t really proper, that I couldn’t accept gifts for doing my job.”

Why did he have to drag the words out of her? he wondered impatiently. “And?”

Patience shrugged, blocking the edgy frustration that pushed its way forward. “He kept leaving them anyway.”

He knew that these things almost always escalated unless there was forceful police intervention. “What made him finally stop?”

“I put out a formal photograph of my family in dress blues. Made sure he saw it.” Patience nodded at the far wall.

There, hung in prominent display was a group photograph he’d seen more than once on his visits to her office. He looked at it with fresh eyes. The last time he’d seen that much blue was at a patrolman’s funeral. He had to say it was impressive.

Patience allowed a small smile to surface. “I guess that put the fear of God into him. Or at least the fear of the Cavanaughs.” Her smile widened a little. “Walter hasn’t sent a poem or a single flower in the last six months. And he hasn’t been by.”

Brady looked down at the rose. King eyed it, as well. “Until now.”

She nodded, suppressing a sigh. “Until now,” she echoed.

If this was the resurgence of the stalker, she was being entirely too blasé about it. “You should report this, you know.”

Calmer now, she thought of the mousy little man, of the stunned expression on his face when she’d made reference to her family and had shown him the photograph. She’d overreacted, she told herself, because of Katie. But this was different and she didn’t want to stir things up. “He’s harmless.”

In Brady’s book, no one was harmless in the absolute sense. Everyone had a button that could be pressed, setting them off. “Every killer was once thought of as harmless.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“Damn straight I am. I’ve seen enough things in my life to know when a woman should be scared, Doc.”

She’d been around members of the police department all of her life. Beyond her father, she couldn’t recall any of them being as world-weary as Coltrane appeared to be. Not even Patrick. “God, you sound as if you’re a hundred years old.”

“Some nights, I am,” he told her matter-of-factly. “So, you want me to take a statement?”

“No, that’s all right. If I get really worried about Walter, like you said, I’ve got my own boatload of police personnel to turn to.”

It wasn’t difficult to read between the lines. “But you won’t.”

Patience didn’t feel comfortable, being read so effortlessly by a man she couldn’t begin to read herself. Rather than get into it, she gave him her reasons—or, at least, the primary one. “I don’t want to upset them unnecessarily.”

“How about necessarily?”

“Walter’s harmless,” she insisted. It felt odd, championing a man she wished, deep down, had never crossed her path. “He thinks he’s just pursuing me, like in the old-fashioned sense. Courting,” she added, fishing for the right word. Walter Payne always made her think of someone straight out of the fifties, when things had been simpler and persistence paid off. “He stopped once. If I ignore him, he’ll stop again.”

“And if he won’t?” Brady challenged. King barked, as if to back him up.

Tacoma moved closer to her mistress, offering her protection. She absently ran her hand over the dog’s head, scratching Tacoma behind the ears as she spoke, trying to keep the mental image of Katie’s photograph at bay. “Then I’ll deal with it. I have a number of people to turn to.”

Damn but she was one stubborn woman. One could see it in the set of her mouth, in her eyes.

But before he could say anything further to her, the bell above the door jangled and a woman came in, struggling with a battered cat carrier. The occupant of the carrier paced within the small space.

“I know I don’t have an appointment, Dr. Cavanaugh, but Gracie’s been hacking all night and I’m worried sick.” The statement came out like an extraordinarily long single word, each letter breathlessly woven to the one before and the one after.

Feeling the dog stiffen beside him, Brady looked down at his companion. The fur on King’s back was standing up as he stared intently at the carrier. Had he not been as well trained as he was, Brady was sure the animal would have gone after the cat, carrier or no carrier. The cat obviously sensed it, too. Hissing noises began to emerge from the carrier.

In contrast to King, Patience’s dog seemed bored and trotted over to the far corner to catch a nap beneath the rays of the early morning sun.

Taking a firm hold of King’s leash, Brady spared Patience one last look.

“Report it,” he told her much in the same voice that he used on King when he verbalized his commands.

“I’ll handle it,” Patience repeated firmly. She turned her attention to the frantic older woman. Work was the best thing for her right now. “Right this way, Mrs. Mahoney. As it happens, my first patient of the day isn’t here yet.”

And neither was her receptionist, she added silently. But then, Shirley had a very loose concept of time. Too bad. The young woman had a crush on Brady that was evident to everyone but the man himself. Shirley was going to regret not being here a tad early this morning.

Patience turned to look back at Brady and mouthed, “Thank you” before she disappeared.

She could thank him all she wanted, Brady thought as he exited the clinic. In reality, he hadn’t done anything. Doing something was up to her. He unlocked his car. The hell with it, this was her business, not his.

Holding the door open, he gave King a nod. The dog jumped into the back seat.

“Not our concern, boy,” Brady said as he got behind the steering wheel.

He placed his key in the ignition. Glancing up into the rearview mirror, he could see King staring at him. Brady tried not to read anything into the intent brown eyes, but the dog seemed to be saying that he was wrong, that she was their concern. Because they knew her.

Brady sighed. King always had a way of setting him straight. But this time, the dog was wrong. Couldn’t help someone who wouldn’t help themselves. He’d learned that a long time ago.

It had been one hell of a long day from start to finish. A bad night’s sleep didn’t help matters. Not that he ever really got a good night’s sleep. His sleep pattern would have sent any self-respecting hospital-affiliated sleep clinic into a tailspin. He amassed his sleep in snatches, never getting more than a couple hours at a clip, usually less. Each night turned into a patchwork quilt of sleep and wakefulness.

The trouble was that he couldn’t shut off his mind, couldn’t find peace even in repose. Half the time he dreamed of what he had experienced during the course of the day or, more than likely, during his earlier years.

He supposed, in comparison to that time period, anything he experienced now was a cakewalk, even if he did deal with the scum of the earth at times. At least he had the consolation of knowing that he was ridding the world of vermin, making it safer for people in Aurora, people like Patience Cavanaugh, to sleep at night.

Contributing to the restlessness he now felt was the fact that Dr. Patience Cavanaugh hadn’t been off his mind for more than thirty minutes at a stretch. Usually less. He just wasn’t comfortable about her lack of action with this stalker thing.

The first free minute he’d had, he’d deliberately investigated if any new stalker complaints had been filed today. They hadn’t. Big surprise. Maybe she’d turned to someone in her family with the problem. No, he had a bead on her. For all her friendliness, all her vibrancy, Patience Cavanaugh was stubborn and independent like the rest of the Cavanaughs. That meant that she didn’t relish appearing as if she were vulnerable, as if she couldn’t take care of whatever was going on in her life all by herself.

“Still not our problem,” he told the dog that went home with him every night.

King gave him the same penetrating look he’d given him that morning.

Brady sighed. Who the hell did he think he was fooling? “Yeah, right, we’re police officers. That makes everything our problem.”

Muttering something ripe and piercing under his breath, he started up the lovingly restored Mustang that served as his single private mode of transportation from the time he had left Georgia behind in his rearview mirror. The only original thing left of the cherry-red car was its outer shell. Everything beneath the hood was new, or at least had been replaced once if not twice. The vehicle was in prime running condition. He made sure to keep it that way. Working on cars helped soothe him whenever he felt particularly agitated.

Brady paused before pulling out of the lot. He knew he should go home, maybe tune up his engine to work the frustration out of his system.

Instead he turned his car in the opposite direction and headed back to the animal clinic.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, we’re not going home. At least not yet.” He glanced at the dog in the mirror. “Don’t give me that look. She’s a tax-paying citizen. Those are the ones we’re supposed to protect, remember?” King’s face remained impassive. “I just want to check up on her, make sure everything’s all right. Something happens to her, the department’s gotta find a new vet. Which means that you’ve got to get used to someone else poking at you. You want that?”

King continued to stare at him.

“I didn’t think so.” Brady took a sharp right. The open stretch of road in front of him invited him to go faster. He did.

Fifteen minutes later he eased his car to a stop, parking across the street from the animal clinic, which was attached to Patience’s home. After tossing the dog a large treat, Brady looked out at the two-story building. Except for the one just above the front entrance, the lights within the clinic had long since been extinguished.

The lights inside her home, however, had not. She was home. Most likely alone.

Brady settled in.

Patience pushed back the curtain.

There it was again.

The car parked directly across the street from her home had been sitting there for a while now. Ordinarily she might not have even noticed it, except that for once, there were no other cars parked along the street. The neighbor who had a hundred and one excuses to throw a party was off traveling in Europe somewhere. According to the neighborhood gossip, he wasn’t due back for another three weeks.

Everyone else around her parked their cars either in the garage or in their driveway. Which made this particular vehicle stick out. Even if it hadn’t been red, which it was.

Walter owned a beige sedan. Beige, like his personality. Had the man bought a new car?

Her palms felt damp. Why did anxiety always crowd in the moment sunlight left?

Her mind was working overtime. She had to stop doing this to herself. So there was a strange car parked across the street from her house, so what? There were a hundred reasons for it being there.

She could think of only one.

She’d noticed the parked vehicle as she’d walked by her family room window. Ten minutes later, she was drawn back to the window. And again. Each time she looked, she could feel something in her chest tighten just a little more.

Get a grip.

She worked the curtain fabric through her fingers, staring at the vehicle. Telling herself that memories of her father’s case were making her overreact. Walter hadn’t hurt her last time. Why would he this time? Patience didn’t know for sure that the flower had come from Walter. But it had begun the last time with a single rose. Just because Walter had sent it, didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t send her a flower for a completely innocent reason.

There could be all sorts of explanations for that flower. It could have even come from a new real estate agent trying to make an impression. Realtors were always doing strange things like that, giving you pads, newsletters, flags. Why not roses?

Okay, so where was his flyer? Flying off somewhere? She watched a bunch of leaves chase each other at the curb where she’d swept them. Gusts of wind had been blowing all afternoon. Fall was settling in.

Stop it, Patience, you’re making yourself crazy. Just wait and see what happens next.

That was what she’d told herself earlier this evening—just before she’d spotted the car. Patience chewed on her bottom lip. Did the car belong to Walter? She didn’t know. No, she wasn’t going to break down, wasn’t going to be the spooked female, was not going to let her imagination run away with her. She could handle this. At the very least, she had to be sure if it was Walter or just a car someone had innocently parked near her house.

Summoning her courage, Patience looked out a third time. And saw the vague outline of a dog in the back seat. The relief she felt was massive. It wasn’t Walter’s car. Walter was terrified of dogs. Each time he had come into the clinic, he made sure to steer clear of any canine patients in the waiting area. He’d told her that he’d had a bad experience as a young boy that had scarred him for life.

Okay, not Walter. But, if not Walter, then who? A patient with an “emergency”? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen a patient after her doors were closed.

She’d even gotten a couple of calls from frantic pet owners in the middle of the night. The last one had been less than a month ago, involving an encounter between a Great Dane and a pit bull that had accidentally gotten loose in the residential area. Jogging with her master, the Great Dane had been no match for the smaller, more powerful animal. If it hadn’t been for a cruising patrol car, Patience had no doubt that the Great Dane would have been killed. As it was, she’d spent the better part of three hours stitching up the poor victim.

Determined to get to the bottom of this, Patience slipped on a sweater and went downstairs to the front entrance of her house. The wind was picking up again. Two weeks into fall and the weather had decided to surrender to the season. Patience wrapped her arms around herself as she crossed the street. She missed summer already.

As she approached the vehicle, she saw the man in the driver’s seat look her way. Because of the location of the streetlamp, his face was bathed in shadow. She recognized the dog first. King. Which meant that the man in the car had to be Coltrane.

But why?

She leaned down until she was level with the window and his face. He looked none too happy to see her. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged carelessly. “I was just making the rounds.”

The hell he was. She glanced at his vehicle, one that, even in this light, she could tell had been lovingly handled and restored. She’d had no idea that he was handy around cars. Only someone who was handy could drive an automobile like this. It required a great deal of attention. “In a ’78 Mustang?”

He looked mildly surprised that she could identify not just the make and model, but the year, as well. “You know cars?”

She laughed shortly. In this light, the car looked a deep blood-red. Not exactly the most inconspicuous color for a vehicle. “Most of my relatives are male. I’d have to be deaf not to have picked up something about cars over the years. And don’t change the subject. You’re off duty.” She ran her hand lightly over the dog’s head. “You both are, unless the police chief has suddenly decided to relax the uniform code. Besides, you’re part of the narcotics division.”

He’d never seen her outside of the clinic and without her lab coat. She wore a pair of faded jeans that adhered to her like a second skin, a white T-shirt that just barely covered her midriff and a cardigan that did nothing to hide her curves. For once her red hair was loose, falling in waves around her shoulders. She looked a great deal more feminine and fragile this way. Something protective stirred within him, growing larger.

“Haven’t you heard about crime in the suburbs?”

She fixed him with a look that said she saw right through him. “Is that anything like lying in the suburbs?” Before he could say anything, she began, “Look, if you’re here because of this morning—”

He looked at her with an attempt at innocence she found endearing. “This morning? What happened this morning?”

She made no effort to suppress her grin. Amusement shone in her eyes. “If being a policeman doesn’t work out for you, Coltrane, promise me you don’t try being an actor. There’s no future in it for you. Trust me, you’re awful at it.” And then her grin softened into a smile. “I’m touched.” She nodded toward the house. “Why don’t you come inside for a cup of coffee?”

He reached for the key in his ignition. “I was just on my way home.”

“Sure you were.” Before he could start the car, Patience opened the rear door. Instantly, King came bounding out. His tail wagged so hard, had he been a smaller dog he might have succeeded in levitating himself off the ground. Laughing, she ran her hand along the animal’s head. “Well, I’m happy to see you, too. Why don’t you come on in and say hi to Tacoma? I’ve got this great extra soup bone I don’t know what to do with.” She began to lead the way, but King turned to look at his master. His expression seemed to implore Brady to come along. “Don’t worry about him, King. I already asked him, but he doesn’t want to come in. He likes sitting in cars in the dark. Let’s go.”

Turning on her heel, she started to walk back to her house. After a moment’s hesitation King followed her willingly.

She probably had treats in her pocket, Brady thought darkly. Patience was forever doling them out to the dogs she treated. Disgusted at being abandoned, he leaned out the window and called, “That’s bribery.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. Even at this distance, her expression looked purely impish to him. “Yes, it is.”

With a sigh, Brady got out of his car and shut the door. He made no effort to catch up to the duo. Instead he followed behind the clearly smitten animal and the woman who had made him give up his evening routine.

Not that it was any great sacrifice on his part. Evenings for Brady meant heating up whatever he found in the refrigerator, then stretching out in front of the television set, tuned to some news channel so that he could stay informed.

Law enforcement had advanced a long way from making sure the town drunk was locked up for the night. It had even progressed beyond the thieves, the drug pushers, the murderers, kidnappers and rapists that were all a part of the modern world. Now there was an international threat to be on the alert for, as well.

It never seemed to stop.

However, tonight the world had gotten a great deal smaller again and his focus was concentrated on the woman walking into the house, adoringly followed by his four-footed partner.

Entering the house, he followed woman and beast into a kitchen that was both warm and cozy. Something out of a sitcom, he thought, because it certainly wasn’t out of anything he’d ever experienced firsthand. He remembered hearing somewhere that the kitchen was the heart of the house. In his house, the kitchen had been where his father liked to do his drinking when he wasn’t throwing back shots at the local bar.

Brady watched as King followed every move Patience made. He liked her hair down, he noted, instead of up and out of the way. He hadn’t realized it was so long. The tresses moved with her like a strawberry-blond cloud.

He straddled a chair. “You know, he’s not supposed to do that. Divide his loyalties that way.” He gave King a dark look. “He’s supposed to respond only to me.”

Patience tossed the dog a treat out of her pocket. King stretched, catching the bone-shaped snack in midair. “Don’t feel bad, I have this way with animals, I always have. That’s why I became a vet when everyone else around me was cleaving to the Aurora Police Department.” And then she smiled, which Brady found oddly unsettling. “I promise I won’t get between you two unless absolutely necessary.”

He gave her a penetrating look. “And this was necessary.”

“Absolutely.” Taking the coffeepot she always kept brewing, she poured Brady a cup, then filled her own. Just talking to Brady made her feel better. “I didn’t want your butt falling asleep because of me.”

“No part of me was going to fall asleep,” he informed her tersely. When she reached for the sugar, he shook his head. He took his coffee the way he took his view of life: black.

“It would if you sat out there long enough.” Reaching into the cupboard, she took down two small plates. “Just how long were you planning on staying there?”

He tried not to notice how tight her body was when she stretched. “Not long.”

She shook her head. Opening the drawer beneath the counter, she took out two forks and a long knife. “Like I said, you just don’t lie well. Look, Coltrane, I’m touched—”

“Most likely,” he said in a disparaging manner, which made her think that he meant the term in the old-fashioned sense, as in touched in the head, “but it’s my job to protect the citizens of Aurora and last time I looked, you were among that number. Besides…” He paused to take a sip of coffee. It was so strong, it jarred his teeth. He gave his silent seal of approval. “Anything happens to you, the department has to find a new vet. King doesn’t like adjusting to anyone new.”

She turned to look at him, a smile playing on her lips. “Oh, King doesn’t, does he?”

He could see exactly what she was saying. That she thought he was substituting King for himself. Obviously the woman didn’t suffer from an inferiority complex. “You know, I never realized it before, but you’ve got a smart mouth.”

“Lots of things you probably haven’t realized about me, Officer Coltrane.” She flashed him a very significant look. “Lots of things I apparently didn’t realize about you.”

He cut her off before she began to wax sentimental or something equally as unacceptable to him. He never knew what to do when confronted with either tears or gratitude. He usually wound up ignoring both. “I think we should stop the conversation right here.”

Patience nodded, agreeable up to a point. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

He felt like a mustang, cornered in a canyon with only one way out. The way he’d come. “Who said I wanted to talk?”

For a second she stopped what she was doing and studied him. “Well, you don’t want to just sit there like a department store mannequin, do you?”

No, he wanted to finish his coffee and leave, but he kept that to himself. For the moment. “What’s wrong with that?”

She laughed again and the sound went right through him. “It’s too quiet for one thing.”

The last time it had been too quiet for him, he’d found himself, without warning, looking down the business end of a Smith and Wesson. Other than that, he took his silence where he could. “I never saw the need to litter the air with words.”

She gave a careless shrug of her shoulder and reached for a handful of napkins. She shoved a thick wad into the napkin holder she was always forgetting to restock. “It’s only littering if it’s garbage. Something tells me you don’t spout garbage.”

“I don’t ‘spout’ at all.” He regretted the impulse to drive by her house tonight. Just went to show him that no good deed ever went unpunished.

“I guess that’s what makes King such a perfect partner for you.” She glanced over at the dog who was hunkered down in corner, focusing his attention on the soup bone she had given him. Tacoma was close by, enjoying a similar feast. Patience could feel Brady watching her every move. “You always study people so intently?”

“You’re not even facing me,” he protested.

“I don’t have to be.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “I can feel your eyes.”

He drained his cup. There was nothing to keep him here. So why wasn’t he getting to his feet? “That’s just not possible.”

Removing the lid from a cake she’d just baked less than a hour ago, Patience paused before cutting into it. “So how did I know you were watching me?”

“Deduction.” It was the logical response. “You’re the only thing here worth looking at.”

Her mouth fell open before she could catch herself. Patience stared at him, not sure she’d heard what she thought she had. “Is that a compliment?”

Annoyance creased his brow. “That was just an observation. That’s what a cop does, he makes observations.”

She sighed, cutting two slices and placing them on the plates. Why did he sound so put off, so irritated whenever she tried to guide the conversation to a more personal path? Who was he beneath that bulletproof vest? There had to be a softer side to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have been there tonight, outside her house.

She brought the plates over to the table. “You make it very hard to say thank-you, you know that?”

“There’s no need to say thank-you.” Brady glared at the plate she placed in front of him. He nodded at it. “What’s that?”

Patience sat and made herself comfortable. She pushed one fork toward him and took the other one for herself. “I call it cake.”

“I know what it is. I meant, why are you putting it in front of me?”

“I’d just assumed that maybe you’d like some with your coffee.” She saw that he’d finished his and rose again, going to the counter to get the pot. Holding it over his empty cup, she paused. “Unless a can of oil might be more to your preference.”

He nodded at the pot, indicating that he wanted her to pour. “What kind of cake?”

“Good cake.” She grinned as she set the coffeepot down on the table and took her seat again. “Rum cake. I made it.”

It smelled enticing. Almost as enticing as she did. The thought sneaked up on him from nowhere. He sent it back to the same place. “You bake?”

“Bake, cook, clean,” she enumerated, flashing a bright smile. “I’m multitalented. I’m still having a little trouble clearing tall buildings in a single bound, but I’m working on it.”

He shook his head. Half the time she made no sense at all. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The ‘Superman’ intro.” There was no light of recognition in his eyes. It was as if he’d grown up on another planet. “Never watched classic TV programs from the fifties?”

There’d been no television set in his house when he was growing up. No money even for a cheap set because every available penny went into his father’s shot glass. He’d started school in Salvation Army clothes. Books were a luxury, never mind a television set. If there was something that his father wanted to see, he watched it on a set at the bar, the rest of them be damned.

The woman hadn’t stopped probing since the second he’d walked into her house. “Why?” he asked.

“For fun. Do I have to explain fun to you, Officer Coltrane?”

He’d absently taken a bite of the cake and he had to admit, the woman knew her way around ingredients. He couldn’t remember enjoying something so much. As he’d gotten older, food became for functioning only. But this had pleasure attached to it.

Now if she’d only stop talking…

“There’s no need for you to explain anything to me, Doc.”

Patience picked at her cake, her attention completely focused on the man in her kitchen. The more she talked to him, the less she knew.

“I beg to differ. Since you’ve taken it upon yourself to act as my protector, I think it’s my duty to reciprocate by opening up a whole new world for you.”

He put down his fork. “This isn’t a joke, Doc. I’m here because you have a stalker.”

Her expression grew serious. She didn’t want to dwell on this. What she wanted was just to make it all go away. She didn’t like looking over her shoulder, being afraid.

“Had,” she emphasized. “Look, I’ve been giving this some thought. We don’t even know that the rose is from Walter. Maybe one of my other pet owners wanted to say thank-you.”

“So where’s the note?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it got lost. Blew away. The wind’s been pretty bad off and on today.”

Was she afraid? he wondered. Was that why she was so determined to ignore the possible seriousness of the situation? “If someone wanted to say thank-you, why didn’t they just say it?”

“I don’t know.” Why was he making it so difficult for her? “Because they’re shy. The point is, although I really do appreciate it, you don’t have to go out of your way for me, Coltrane.” And then her expression softened. “Unless of course you felt like coming over and sharing a cup of coffee with me and this was just a handy excuse for you.”

He wondered if she knew that her vulnerability was getting to him. “The coffee was your idea.”

“You’re drinking it.” She shook her head. It was official—her brother was going to have to surrender the pigheaded crown because there was a new champion in town. “Does everything have to be a debate with you?”

“It wouldn’t be if you didn’t automatically jump in on the other side.”

“Sorry, it’s in my nature.” Patience shrugged, willing to back off for now. “There were a lot of people I had to hold my own with.” She thought of her brother and cousins. “You know how it is.”

“No,” he replied flatly, “I don’t.”

“No siblings?”

Finishing his cake, he pushed the plate aside. “I have a sister.”

From his tone, she made a natural assumption. “But you’re not close.”

He and Laura had once been extremely close, the way two siblings involved in a dire situation could be. But now both wanted to forget the childhood that linked them to tragedy.

“We exchange Christmas cards.” How was it that she’d managed to turn things around again? “Look, this isn’t about me.”

“No,” Patience agreed cheerfully, “it’s about me. And I’m curious about you. This is the first time I’ve seen you out of uniform and outside the clinic.” And as such, she wanted to make the most of the opportunity. She’d been curious for a while now. Unlike the other K-9 cops who came to the clinic, Brady volunteered nothing. “You never come to my uncle’s parties.”

He finished his second cup, then set it down. “I’m not much of a party person.”

“Neither is my brother Patrick, but he shows up.” She reached for the coffeepot, but Brady shook his head, placing his hand over the top of his cup. Patience withdrew her own hand from the pot. She nodded toward the cake, silently offering him another slice, but he turned that down, too. “Haven’t you heard, Coltrane? Socializing is good for you.”

“General rules don’t usually apply to me.”

A rebel. She’d known as much when she’d first seen him. There was something about the way he’d held himself, something about the way he’d walked that told her he preferred the road less taken.

Why did she find that so intriguing?

“I’m beginning to get that.”

Brady rose from his chair. “Good.”

No, Patience thought, rising to her own feet, not good at all.

Brady glanced toward King. The canine was still in the corner, doing his best to polish off the soup bone she’d given him. King seemed to sense that his master was looking at him. The dog raised his head and eyed Brady. It appeared to Patience as if the two were really communicating.

The next moment the dog abandoned both the bone and Tacoma and came trotting over, however reluctantly, to Brady’s side.

She couldn’t resist petting King’s head. The dog all but curved into her hand, showing her that, Brady’s partner or not, he was very receptive to the affection she showed him.

“I’m impressed,” Patience told Brady as she stroked the dog’s fur. The top of the dog’s head came up past her waist. If she hadn’t known that the animal was a purebred, she would have said he had a little Great Dane in him. He was large for a shepherd. “That’s some rapport you two have. King seems to read your mind.” She flashed a grin at Brady. “Which is more than the rest of us are able to do.”

Seeing how impatient he was to be gone, Patience walked Brady to the front door. Tacoma followed in their wake like a silent Greek chorus, just waiting for an opening.

“You don’t have to walk me,” Brady told her. “I know where the door is.”

“I know I don’t have to, I want to,” she emphasized, stopping at her door. “Not everything has to be just for pragmatic reasons, Coltrane. Sometimes people just do things to be polite.” Why was he so afraid of being friends? He’d obviously thought enough of her safety to put himself out and play sentry. So why couldn’t he just accept her friendship? “You stood guard at my door for who knows how long—”

He interrupted before she could take off on another verbal odyssey. “I sat in the car for maybe thirty-five minutes.”

“Whatever.” She waved a dismissive hand at his words. Facts weren’t important here. Intent was. “I wasn’t asking for an accounting, Officer.” Temporarily stymied, she sighed and shook her head before she turned it up to his. “Don’t you ever loosen up?”

“This is loose,” he informed her tersely. And if he was suddenly wondering what it would be like to kiss this five-foot-four, nonstop talking machine, she didn’t need to know about it. Hell, he didn’t even want to know about it.

But the thought lingered just the same. As did the curiosity.

“It’s loose only if you’re a steel girder,” she quipped. She cocked her head and wondered all sorts of things. In the two years that he had been bringing King into the clinic, she’d only learned his name, rank and serial number. With his air of secrecy, he would have made a hell of a soldier. “Are you involved, Coltrane?”

Of all the questions she could have asked, this one completely threw him. “What?”

“Are you involved?” Patience repeated. Maybe Coltrane was so removed from everything, he didn’t understand what she was talking about. “Is there someone waiting for you to come home right now, standing by the window and wondering why you’re late?” she elaborated after a beat.

“No.”

She shook her head, as if she’d stumbled across the root of his problem. “There should be.”

His life was just fine the way it was. No attachments, no complications. Streamline. “I thought you were a vet, not a psychiatrist.” If he meant to make her back off by insulting her, the amused smile on her face told him that he’d missed his target.

“Hey, even vets get to observe human nature once in a while,” she told him. “And no one should be lonely.”

His eyes narrowed like thunder clouds before a summer storm. “Who says I’m lonely?”

I do. But he obviously didn’t appreciate her telling him so. She backed away. For now. “Sorry.” She held her hands up in surrender. “I guess I’m reading into things again.”

He accepted the apology, but his tone was far from friendly. “It’s a bad habit. You should stop.”

As she opened the front door Patience struggled to keep a straight face. “I’ll work on it.”

The wind whipped its way through trees now, clearing out dead leaves that went showering out into the night air, performing a macabre dance as they scattered.

The evening felt chillier than it should have been.

Patience knew she should go back inside, but she stood where she was. Waiting for something. She didn’t know what.

And then a gust of wind took the ends of her hair, sending the strands gliding along his face. Brady caught a light scent that wrapped itself around him, dragging him in. He felt his stomach tightening.

The sound of her soft laughter echoed in his head.

Patience brushed back her hair from his face as well as her own.

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