Shades of Passion. Virna DePaul

haven’t messed up. Not yet. But it’s coming. This is just a preventative measure. You’re not sleeping, Simon. You look like shit. And your grim reaper attitude has everyone ready to slit their wrists whenever they’re in the office with you.”

      Fuck. The desire to kick the trash can grew almost overwhelming. “Who’s complaining? Tyler? DeMarco? I saw the same shrink you guys did after Lana died and he cleared me for duty. The department has no right to impose mandatory therapy sessions.”

      Mac shook his head. “No one’s complaining. Yes, you’ve been cleared for duty. And no, this counseling isn’t mandatory. You won’t lose your job if you don’t see it through.”

      “No. But I’ll be stymied. Relegated to having an ‘assistant.’ Or I’ll work the less choice assignments. Great. That’s just great. Thanks for backing me up on this one, Mac.”

      “Damn it, just listen! You’re hanging by a thread, Simon. You know it. We know it. And Commander Stevens knows it. No one’s wanted to push you, but this is where that ends. You want this case? You want the other ones that are coming down the pipeline? The big ones? See a shrink for regular counseling or take some time off before deciding to do it, but either way...”

      “Yeah,” Simon growled. “Either way I’m gonna end up lying on some quack’s couch trying to convince her I’m not too much of a basket case to do the job we do, when only a basket case would want the job in the first place.”

      Mac grinned. “You still have a sense of humor. Show the shrink that.”

      “I wasn’t kidding. What we do is fucked up, Mac, and you know it. It’s what makes Lana’s murder just another day in the life.”

      “So why are you still here then?”

      “I won’t be. Not for long. It was a mistake coming back to SIG. I’ve known that for a while now. I was gonna wait before requesting a transfer, but this little dictate has just speeded my decision along.”

      “A transfer?”

      “I want back in management.”

      “You tried management. You didn’t like it.”

      “Maybe I didn’t give it enough of a chance.”

      “I remember Lana telling you that. What? Now that she’s dead, you feel guilty enough to do what she’d have wanted you to?”

      Simon smiled tightly. “Nice try, Mac, but I don’t feel guilty for her death. She put herself in a killer’s sights, and then she walked right up to him. She was careless despite the warnings I gave her. I’m not blaming myself, and that’s exactly what a shrink will tell you.”

      Mac nodded. “Then you have nothing to worry about. If you want a shot at another management position, you need to prove you’re stable enough for it. That’s going to mean another psych evaluation eventually anyway. Might as well get it done now.”

      Simon blew out a disgusted breath. “Might as well. It’ll probably take a while to get scheduled—”

      “I made an appointment for next week. See this for what it is, Simon. Stevens and I are doing you a favor.”

      “Yeah,” Simon grunted. “Thanks heaps. So what do I do in the meantime?”

      “You’ll continue working the homeless murder case with DeMarco. Close it, see the shrink and you’ll get considered for management. Hell, I’ll even recommend your promotion myself. I’ll do everything I can to make it happen for you, Simon. But you have to work with me.”

      Simon knew he didn’t have a choice. If he wanted a shot at a promotion, hell, if he wanted to continue working—and he needed to continue working—he had to appease Mac and Stevens. Volunteering to attend some damn fundraiser wasn’t going to be enough. Even solving Cann’s murder might not be.

      He didn’t blame himself for Lana’s death, but he sure as shit didn’t want spare time on his hands.

      Whether he blamed himself or not, spare time meant time to think about Lana. Time to think about how she’d cried and pleaded with her killer before she’d died. And time to wonder if some part of her had blamed Simon for failing to save her.

      CHAPTER TWO

      UNBELIEVABLE, DR. NINA WHITAKER thought as her boss, and she’d like to think her friend, continued to pace in front of her. She just won’t give up. Karen was determined to pull Nina away from her geriatric dementia patients in order to deal with politics and policing issues. Never mind that those things had once been Nina’s passion. They were in her past for a reason.

      Almost three years ago, she’d sold her carriage house in Charleston, South Carolina, and moved across the country. Her goal had been to heal and start over, but in running from her past, she’d also been forced to leave behind one of her greatest accomplishments—convincing the Charleston law enforcement community to embrace greater mental health training and oversee the formation of a Mental Health Intervention Team. At one time in her life, Nina would have run with that success and continued to advocate the same kind of change in every city across the nation.

      The death of her patient Beth Davenport had changed all that.

      After Beth died, Nina had decided to leave crisis work, policy reform and decisions of life and death to others, and instead focus on a quieter though still worthwhile existence. Now, Karen wanted Nina’s help convincing SFPD to adopt the same MHIT training model that Charleston had implemented. Unfortunately, she was no longer content with Nina acting as a source of information on the topic. She wanted Nina to rally for funds. To talk to the police. To act as the program’s spokesperson.

      She couldn’t do it, Nina thought.

      She wouldn’t.

      Stay strong. Don’t give in.

      But despite her inner pep talk, Nina could feel herself being swayed by Karen’s words.

      “Another homeless man’s been hospitalized after resisting arrest. That’s two this week. Both those men were mentally ill, and both times they didn’t understand they were being arrested. It wasn’t that they were resisting arrest—it’s that they didn’t understand reality. We can put a stop to it, Nina. What’s it going to take before you’re willing to get involved?”

      Hell freezing over? The fact that it was a question, even in Nina’s own mind, further signaled her weakening resolve, but she managed to shake her head. Karen was an expert manipulator, but Nina was a psychiatrist. While that didn’t mean she was wholly immune to being manipulated, she had the advantage of knowing it was happening. Not only that, she was a realist. Give Karen an inch and soon Nina would find herself fully immersed in the trap she’d worked so hard to free herself from. “I’m sorry, Karen, but you’ll have to be content with the help I’ve already given.”

      There. That was good. She sounded firm. In control.

      But Dr. Karen Harper, the chief administrator for San Francisco Memorial Hospital’s Mental Health Division, remained unconvinced. Like a predator scenting weakness in its prey, she moved closer. “Do you want someone to die?” She paused, hands on her hips, looking down at Nina over the tops of her glasses, which were a dark navy blue the exact shade of the top she was wearing. “A transient? Maybe even a cop? Because it’s happened before and it could happen again. It will happen again. It’s just a matter of time. I’m trying to do everything I can to stop it, and with all the bad publicity the police have had with the homeless lately, this is as good a time as any to push. But in order to make the police listen to me, I need your expertise on this, Nina. Please.”

      Please.

      The word wasn’t normally in the hospital administrator’s vocabulary. It just proved how desperate Karen was for Nina’s help and how passionately she believed in the MHIT program. Obviously, Nina believed in it, too. It could help the city’s police reduce violent confrontations with not just