Shades of Passion. Virna DePaul

didn’t jump to any conclusions. He knew better than most how dangerous a cop’s job was. It was easy to judge a cop’s actions once danger had passed, but unless you’d been in his shoes... “I don’t know anything about that,” he said softly.

      “No, but he does.”

      “He resisted arrest,” Officer Rieger clipped out.

      Nina glared at the young officer. “He thinks we’re all aliens who want to suck out his brain. Of course he resisted.”

      “You’re bartering with me for promises of leniency?” Simon asked, his expression and tone incredulous. And pissed. “When what I’m asking for is information to help save a little girl?”

      She returned her gaze to his. Bit her lip as if contemplating his words, then shook her head. “Wanting a man to be treated with basic respect is not the same thing as asking for leniency. I’ll do everything I can to get you the information. But you involved me, which means Mr. Callahan is now my patient, and that means I’ll be doing whatever is necessary to make sure he’s treated with dignity.”

      “Mr. Callahan, huh? Yes, let’s think about his needs instead of the little girl he kidnapped. At least you’ve got your priorities straight, Doc,” Simon sneered.

      “I need to go in now. But this is going to take a while. And I can’t promise anything.”

      “Nothing but taking good care of your patient, you mean?”

      Her back stiffened and she paused with her hand on the door, but she didn’t turn back around. Instead, she said softly, “I’m well aware of what’s at stake, Detective. Don’t think for a minute that I’m not.” She stepped back into the room and shut the door with a decisive click.

      An hour later, Simon was about to barrel into the examination room when Nina finally stepped out. She looked flushed, her expression pinched, but she immediately locked gazes with him. “I have something. I can’t know for sure, but...”

      “What is it?”

      “He grew up in a house in Pacifica. 180 West 27th Street. He said it’s the place he always felt safe. Safe to be who he truly is. Safe from the aliens.”

      Without taking his gaze off her, he snapped, “Rieger?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Let’s go.” To Nina, he said, “Keep talking to him.” He handed her a card. “Here’s my cell. If he says anything to make you think we’re headed in the wrong direction, call me.”

      “I will. Good luck. I hope you find her.”

      “I hope so, too.”

      They found the girl in the basement of Michael Callahan’s family home. She’d been tied up and was dehydrated, her skin ice-cold and turning blue. Her pulse was thready and her breathing labored. She was exhibiting signs of exposure, shock and an asthmatic attack. Simon carried her out just as an ambulance pulled up in front.

      “We’ve got it from here, sir.”

      As he stared at the girl, Simon thought of Lana. Despite what he’d told Mac earlier, he had the sudden thought that he’d failed her. Had he failed this girl, too? Waited too long to get to her? Should he have muscled his way into that examination room and beaten the location out of her abductor?

      “Sir, please. Give her to me.”

      Simon reluctantly gave the girl to the medic.

      He followed the ambulance to the nearby hospital.

      And he stayed until the doctors told him the little girl would be okay.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      A WEEK AFTER THEY’D found Rebecca Hyatt, the little girl Michael Callahan had kidnapped, Simon sat at his desk in SIG’s detective pit. He finished typing up his report on the Cann murder, stuck it in the folder and filed it along with the other “as-of-yet unsolved” crimes that would be occasionally looked at but otherwise relegated to the back burner. Between Simon and DeMarco, they’d followed every lead and interviewed everyone they could think of, patrol cops included, but had come up empty. Add the fact that their only witness, Rita Taylor, had recanted her statement about Cann’s killer being a cop—she now insisted that what she’d thought was a police uniform might actually have been that of a city bus driver or air-conditioning repairman—and it was time to move on to the next case. First, however, he had to do the final report on the Michael Callahan incident.

      In front of him laid the daily newspaper from the day after the event. He’d seen the article when it had come out. He’d kept a copy to add to the file. Now, he skimmed the article again and cursed.

      Doc Finds Child but Public Suspicion of Police Continues

      The article was chock-full of information. First, it detailed several recent incidents between police and mentally ill suspects, some of whom had been homeless, and all of whom had claimed police brutality. Next, it referred to the murder of Mr. Cann, a homeless veteran, and the “rumor” that a cop had been responsible, though thankfully it didn’t identify Rita Taylor as a potential witness. Finally, the article touched on Rebecca Hyatt’s rescue, though again the reporter had been smart enough not to include the little girl’s name.

      He’d had no such qualms about Simon. Or Nina Whitaker. Or Officer Rieger or Michael Callahan. According to Callahan’s parents, their son was schizophrenic and hadn’t meant to harm anyone, and they were grateful Nina had been able to work with him to find the girl’s location; funny how people didn’t mind exposing skeletons if doing so meant it might keep a loved one out of jail.

      Taking everything into account, the article had managed to do what the reporter had intended: make San Francisco law enforcement look like a bunch of blundering fools who couldn’t distinguish their asses from a hole in the ground without the help of a damn shrink.

      Yes, Nina Whitaker had helped them find the little girl, but the newspaper made her sound like a miracle worker. Worst yet, a miracle worker whose involvement was necessary in order to overcome the shortcomings of local police, when the only shortcoming in this particular situation had been Michael Callahan’s. As much as Nina would say that shortcoming had been caused by illness, it was no excuse. Even assuming Callahan had been trying to save the little girl from aliens? He’d almost killed her. Besides, the only one who’d ever know if Callahan really believed aliens had been after the girl was Callahan. What a crock. Simon had seen enough to know that Callahan had probably been motivated by far less altruistic desires.

      Slapping the newspaper clipping on the top of his “To Be Filed” mound of paperwork, Simon started on the final report. Unfortunately, it didn’t have his full attention. His mind kept wandering back to Nina, just like it had all week.

      She was beautiful, sure, but she had a strength and spirit that eerily reminded him of Lana’s. On the one hand, that called to him. On the other, it made him sick. He couldn’t help thinking that the same spirit he admired was going to get her in trouble one day. Maybe not in as much trouble as it had gotten Lana, but...

      Move on, Granger, he told himself. Lana and Nina Whitaker were both in his past. He needed to focus on the present and the future, and do his job—keeping people safe from the criminals Nina Whitaker wanted to heal and treat.

      He’d just finished the final report on the Callahan incident when he felt an itch between his shoulder blades. When he looked up, he thought he must be hallucinating. First he’d read about her in the paper. Then he’d struggled to keep her from his thoughts.

      He needn’t have bothered.

      Nina Whitaker stood in front of him.

      Shit, he thought, but his curse was mostly in response to the way his body immediately zinged to life. Feigning an annoyance he wasn’t really feeling, he stood and walked up to her.

      “What can I do for you?”

      She cocked a brow