On Dangerous Ground. Maggie Price

through her. Of the stolen lunches they’d managed in the midst of a grueling serial killer task force they’d both been assigned to. His nightly phone calls when his deep, husky voice slid like velvet across her senses. The department’s Christmas dance when she’d first found the courage to step into his arms. The few tentative kisses that had sent need whipping through her. An intimate restaurant where violins stroked as soft as a lover’s touch, then later at his house when he’d pulled her to him and the rich male taste of his mouth swept her teetering toward the edge of control. Seconds later, her stomach had knotted, her lungs refused to work and she’d almost hyperventilated from the feeling of being trapped, with no way out. No way to save herself—though there’d been nothing to save herself from. On the heels of that panicked terror had come the agonizing realization that, no matter how much she wanted to—longed to—give herself to him, she couldn’t.

      Now those memories gained strength, slamming into her so hard, so unexpectedly, that Sky found herself blinking back tears. She felt acid in her throat as humiliation pooled inside her.

      “I wish…” She paused and steadied her voice. “I wish that night with Grant had never happened.”

      “Sky, listen to me.” Dr. Mirren sat forward, her eyes sharp and knowing. “The rape you experienced in college was violent and sadistic, and it cut through the core of your existence. To make matters worse, the therapist the college sent you to was inept. If he hadn’t eventually lost his license, I would personally hunt him down and make a professional eunuch of him.”

      Sky stared in silence, surprised by the woman’s candor.

      “Because of his incompetence,” Dr. Mirren continued, “you never had a chance to properly deal with the attack. Certainly you healed physically from the knife wound. You became skilled in self-defense so you can now protect yourself if necessary.”

      “Right. I can take down most any man,” Sky shot back. “I just can’t let one love me.” She gave her head a frustrated shake. “My hormones were in full swing that night with Grant. I wanted. Oh, God, I wanted…” Her voice trailed off. “I just couldn’t.”

      “Because you repressed your feelings about the rape, denied your emotions and blocked the experience so you could function and get on with your life. Everything boiled to the surface while you were with Grant and you reacted very strongly.”

      “I almost upchucked on his shoes,” Sky said miserably. “How’s that for impressing a man who wants to make love to you?”

      “It makes you human. And memorable.”

      “I’ll say.” Sky tried a smile, but it didn’t gel. “Grant mentioned tonight he won’t ever forget that particular experience.”

      “Will you?”

      “Not a chance.”

      “It appears it affected you both equally.”

      “Him worse. I hurt him.” As if chilled, Sky wrapped her arms around her waist. “When the panic hit me, I could barely even get out the words to make Grant understand I’d been raped in college. I could hardly breathe, much less give him details about the attack. He asked me to stay with him, just stay with him so he could hold me. All he wanted was to be there for me.” She closed her eyes. “I couldn’t let him. Couldn’t trust myself not to fall apart again. I still can’t,” she added softly.

      “Don’t be so sure.” Dr. Mirren set her cup aside. “You’ve done admirably over the past months coming to grips with the trauma of the rape and its aftermath. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve begun to make some small changes in your life.”

      “Changes?”

      “Your glasses, for instance,” Dr. Mirren said. “Until a few weeks ago, you wore large glasses with tortoiseshell frames.”

      Baffled, Sky nodded. She’d chosen the understated wire-rims on impulse during her last visit to the eye doctor. Even ordered a pair of contacts, which she now wore almost as often as her glasses. “My vision changed and I needed a new prescription, that’s all.”

      “Instead of frames that conceal a large portion of your face—your looks—you chose an attractive pair that draw attention to you, not away. A man’s attention, perhaps.”

      Sky felt her spine stiffen. “I don’t want men to notice me.”

      “For years you haven’t. Now that you’ve begun dealing with the rape, your outer self is changing. Your clothes are different, too. You’re wearing black today probably because you attended a funeral, but you wear more colorful clothes than you did when you first started therapy.”

      “My wardrobe needed updating.” Sky turned and stared out the window at the glowing ball of the full moon. A month or so ago, she had walked into her closet and found herself grimacing at all of the blacks, browns and grays. On a whim she’d taken a rare day off from the lab, gone to the mall and spent hundreds of dollars on a new, colorful wardrobe. She’d had no idea what prompted the trip, just that all that blandness had suddenly made her feel edgy and unsettled. Restless.

      Just like she felt tonight.

      She turned. Dr. Mirren had remained in the high-back leather chair, looking her usual calm and serene self. “Okay, so maybe I’m no longer hiding behind big glasses and drab colors,” Sky conceded. “There’s some things I can’t change. And one of those is my relationship with Grant.”

      “You faced him tonight.” Eyes filled with ready understanding, Dr. Mirren folded her neat hands in her lap. “You could have sent him a memo about your DNA findings, or even phoned. Instead, you went to him.”

      “On business. I had to tell him about the DNA.”

      “You don’t have to explain why, Sky. You just need to understand that for years your life has been focused on your work. Now you may be ready to also focus on a relationship. When, and if, you act on that is up to you.”

      Massaging her right temple, Sky paced the length of the built-in shelves where antique decoys nested amid leather volumes. The ache that had settled in her head while she’d been at the FOP club had transformed into a throb.

      Before she met Grant Pierce, she had felt so in control. So content with her life. So safe.

      Her hand slid slowly down her cheek; she pressed her palm against her jaw where his fingertips had skimmed. When he first walked into her life, everything about him—his sinfully handsome face, burnt-whiskey voice and roguish reputation—had tempted her to turn tail and run. Nevertheless, she’d stayed put. Told herself she’d healed completely. Refused to acknowledge the inner wariness that spiked inside her whenever Grant got too close. For the first time since the rape, she had wanted a man.

      As much as he’d wanted her.

      Too late she learned the monster from her past still had her in its grip.

      Now, according to Dr. Mirren, that monster was breathing its last breath.

      Sky dragged air into her lungs that should have cleansed, but didn’t. She knew there was no way she could trust that she had truly closed the door on the past. No way to be sure the monster wouldn’t spring back to life.

      No way she could risk doing anything about the searing need for Grant that still burned inside her.

      Leaning back, feet propped on his desk, Grant listened intently to the party on the other end of the telephone. It had taken him five days to track down this lead that could be a starting point at locating Ellis Whitebear’s twin brother. Finally he was getting somewhere.

      The next instant, Grant’s eyes widened. “Are you sure about that?”

      “Positive. Ellis Whitebear became a ward of the State of Texas at the age of two months when his mother gave him up for adoption.”

      “I need to take a look at those records.”

      “They’re sealed. I suggest you direct any questions