The Doctor's Little Secret

“Quite a character,” Russ observed.

“She’s conscientious. A good cop.” The chief reiterated his regret at the way Russ had been treated.

“I’m glad we worked it out,” he responded.

In no hurry to leave, Russ watched Lyons’s vehicle and a black-and-white depart in tandem. Officer Byers lingered beside her cruiser, absentmindedly rubbing her hip as she scribbled notes on a clipboard.

Being knocked against a pillar must have left a bruise. The fact that his own body ached from the way she’d man-handled him didn’t diminish Russ’s regret at inflicting pain. “Sorry if I hurt you,” he called.

Her face came up. Wide cheekbones, clear hazel eyes. “Oh, hey, I can always use a workout.” With a wave, she slid inside.

Not the type to hold a grudge, he thought. That impressed him.

Left alone in the echoing garage, Russ felt his mood plummet. Maybe he missed the excitement. No, not really. Or was it Rachel’s stubborn frankness? Well, a little.

Halfway home, he recognized the real problem. The encounter with little Nina had intensified a deep-seated longing to meet the daughter he’d given up for adoption five years ago. Consenting to give her up was the greatest regret of his life.

When his girlfriend informed him of her pregnancy, Russ had been exhausted from the stress of his internship and stunned by the news. He’d halfheartedly offered a proposal that Janine had wisely rejected.

Disputing her decision to grant custody of Lauren to Janine’s parents hadn’t even occurred to him. He couldn’t have raised an infant alone, especially not while facing a mountain of medical school bills. So he’d signed the relinquishment papers at a lawyer’s office without requesting to see his newborn daughter.

The grandparents no doubt took good care of the child, and Russ understood why they refused to let him visit. But he missed the daughter he’d never even held.

Now that he was settling in a small town and, thanks to an inheritance, no longer owed money, he hoped for another chance at raising a family. He’d like to find the right woman—a gentle, caring person eager to have kids. He imagined them sharing an orderly, well-run home like his parents’.

In the meantime, he looked forward to tomorrow’s tour with the crusty Officer Byers. It ought to prove diverting.

RACHEL COULDN’T DECIDE what to wear.

She hated the whole business of picking out clothes. One of the major appeals of being a police officer was the uniform.

Usually on free days she threw on a pair of slacks and a sweater, which was pretty much all she owned. But today she had to represent the department, in a sense. Plus, after she dropped the doctor off, she planned to swing by Hale Crandall’s party.

Peering in the mirror, Rachel ruffled her two-toned hair, which she’d observed Russ regarding in horrified fascination. She’d be willing to bet his taste in dates ran to sleek and sophisticated.

Hot ladies probably sought his phone number everywhere he went. In addition to that alluring M.D. hooked to his name, the guy had broad shoulders and tight buns. Nice mouth, too. Doubtful he’d consider her romance material. Also, the only thing worse than being treated as one of the guys would be landing in some hotshot’s bed as his latest conquest. Just in case he did go for tall women with bicolored thatch on the roof, maybe she ought to wear the uniform.

Rachel, who usually had no trouble making up her mind, couldn’t choose. She didn’t dare call Elise, who disdained the idea of dressing to please a guy. Marta was almost as fashion-challenged as Rachel, which left a single choice: Marta’s cousin Connie.

Connie Lawson Simmons, ex-wife of traffic Sgt. Joel Simmons, was the girliest girl she knew. Heck, Connie was probably the girliest girl anybody knew. She decorated her house with enough crystal, china and gewgaws to open a gift store, which was exactly what she’d done. She now owned three such shops, including the concession at the hospital.

In high school, where Connie had been a cheerleader, she used to sniff whenever Rachel walked by as if picking up a bad odor. Rachel had considered Connie a case of lint between the ears.

They’d been nineteen-year-old sophomores at Cal State Fullerton on the day a speeding car plowed through a red light and caved in the passenger side of Connie’s sedan, where Marta was riding. Waiting at the curb en route to a police-science class, Rachel had pulled Marta to safety moments before the engine caught fire.

Although Connie had escaped unharmed, the accident left her cousin with head injuries and multiple fractures. She’d survived to face years of rehab.

Rachel and Connie had grown close as they sat at Marta’s bedside and later assisted with her exercises. Despite dissimilar personalities, the three had remained friends through eleven years of ups and downs, and all volunteered at Villa Corazon, a volunteer tutoring center Marta had helped establish. Villa Corazon. That meant City of Heart, a play on the town’s name.

Feeling like an idiot, Rachel called her friend and explained the situation. “What do you suggest?”

“Is there time for us to go shopping?” She could picture Connie, blond hair caressing her shoulders and lips parted in a manner that drove men crazy. “Because I’m sure you don’t have anything in your closet.”

Rachel didn’t take offense. Not only was this true, it scarcely counted as an insult compared to the words that used to pour from Connie’s lipsticked mouth whenever she lost her temper with her ex-husband. Or her next-door neighbor, Hale Crandall, on those frequent occasions when he ran afoul of her.

“It’s too late.” Less than an hour remained. After finishing work at midnight and playing an on-line video game until 3 a.m., Rachel had slept till noon. “I’m not trying to date the guy. I just prefer to avoid looking like a dork.”

Connie didn’t hesitate. “Dig around and see if you have a skirt. Also a green blouse.”

“Why green?”

A disbelieving snort. “To match your eyes!”

“My eyes are hazel.” On that point, Rachel felt certain.

“They’re mostly green.” A beat later, Connie added, “Bad idea about a skirt. You’d probably put it on backward.”

“I hate skirts anyway.” Rachel had never realized she had a best color. “Green, huh?”

“I might own a top that would fit you.” That was a huge concession, considering how particular Connie was with her stuff.

“May not be necessary. Hold on.” Cell phone in hand, Rachel poked through her closet. Brown, blue, maroon. At last, in the depths, she discovered an emerald turtleneck that she vaguely recalled receiving from her sister one Christmas. “I found a green sweater.”

“How about black pants?”

“Right here.” Rachel lifted a pair off the hanger. “Wait. They could be navy blue.”

Connie groaned. “Carry them into the daylight!” Then, “On second thought, you’ll need makeup. I can be there in ten minutes.”

She’d bring mascara and green eye shadow, Rachel thought. Scary prospect. “I’ll handle it. Honest. I’ll duck over from Hale’s party and show you.”

“Hale’s throwing a party?”

Uh-oh. That idiot detective should have warned his neighbor. It might at least take the edge off her temper when the party reached full swing.

Connie had never forgiven Hale for encouraging Joel’s drinking and party-going behavior, which had been a major factor in their split. Now she was stuck living next door to Crandall, with the result that practically any transgression on his part sent her into a rage. It seemed to Rachel that Connie resented Hale almost as much as her ex.

“It’s a barbecue,” she admitted. “Starts at five.”

“If those creeps are too loud, I’ll call 911 on ’em. Imagine what having his own men busted would do to Chief Lyons and his image campaign!”

“How about waiting till I leave? Better yet, give us a break.” Rachel would hate to land in trouble two days running, or to see her buddies in a jam. “Maybe I can keep a lid on things.”

“I might drop in to see you and the good doctor. You are bringing him, right?”

“No way!” Rachel couldn’t imagine him mixing with her pals. And his presence might give others the idea she had a boyfriend.

That wouldn’t be bad if it were true. She kept wishing she’d feel sparks for some nice solid Joe, the kind who invited her to Dodgers games or classic car rallies.