Her Lawman On Call. Marie Ferrarella

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       “I enjoyed your company.”

      Tony hadn’t expected to say that when he’d opened his mouth. This was much too personal and revealing.

      “So did I.”

      Whatever else Sasha might have said was interrupted by the insistent buzz emitted by his pager.

      “You thought right, Henderson. Now call for backup.” Tony closed his phone. His expression was sober. “They found another body.”

      She stared at him, her eyes widening in horror. “I’m coming with you.”

      “This isn’t exactly according to the rules,” Tony said.

      “Neither is death,” she answered softly.

      She had him there, Tony thought. As he glanced at her direction, he wondered why he was really letting the doctor talk her way into coming along.

       Her Lawman on Call

      Marie Ferrarella

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

       MARIE FERRARELLA

      This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA^® Award-winning author has written over 175 books for Silhouette Books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Check out her Web site at www.marieferrarella.com.

      To Dr. Tonia Marralle, who delivered my children and gave me an idea to work with.

      Contents

      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

       Chapter 1

       T here was something about a parking structure that always made her feel vulnerable. In broad daylight, she found them somewhat confusing. Most of the time she had too many things on her mind. Squeezing in that extra piece of information which identified where she had left her vehicle was usually one piece too many. Finding her car when that happened turned into an ordeal that lasted for what felt like an eternity.

      At night, when there were fewer vehicles housed within this particular parking structure, she felt exposed, helpless.

      And déjà vu haunted her.

      It was a completely irrational reaction, she was the first to acknowledge it as such. But it changed nothing.

      She wanted to run, but chose to move slowly, retracing steps she’d taken thirteen hours ago, when her day at Patience Memorial Hospital had begun. The lighting down on this level was poor. One of the bulbs was out, leaving the resulting shadows to threaten one another.

      The air felt heavy and clammy, much like the day had been. Typical New York City autumn, Sasha thought. She picked up her pace, making her way toward where she thought she remembered leaving her car, a small vintage Toyota that had seen more than a handful of design changes come and go.

      Dr. Sasha Pulaski stripped off her sweater and slung it over her arm, stifling a yawn. She felt exhausted. By rights, she should have left for the apartment she shared with her two younger sisters more than two hours ago. She’d actually been on her way to the elevator when Angela had called out to her. Angela Rico was a nurse on the floor, but more than that, she was a friend. Angela told her that the young woman who’d given birth less than two hours ago had suddenly started hemorrhaging. Sasha doubled back quickly. It had taken her less time to cauterize the tiny broken vein than it had to calm down her patient, who was convinced she was going to die.

      But eventually, she’d managed to get the situation under control. By the time she left, her patient was doing much better and was arguing with her husband about the name they had chosen for the baby. A name, Sasha gathered, her patient no longer liked.

      She eased out of the room before her patient or her husband could ask her to weigh in on the matter. As she passed the nurses’ station, she saw that Angela had left for the night. Probably in a hurry to see her little girl before she fell asleep, Sasha mused.

      Once upon a time, she’d thought that was going to be her life, too. Until the unspeakable had happened.

      She forced herself to think of something else. Anything else before the loneliness took her prisoner.

      God, but she felt drained. If she was lucky, she could be sound asleep in less than an hour. Never mind food, she thought. The urge for food had come and gone without being satisfied, fading away as if it had never existed. Now all she wanted was just to commune with her pillow and a flat surface—any flat surface—for about six hours.

      Not too much to ask, she thought. Unless you were an intern. Those days, mercifully, were behind her. And still in front of her two youngest sisters. Five doctors and soon-to-be-doctors in one family. Not bad for the offspring of immigrants who had come into this country with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, Sasha thought. She knew that her parents were both proud enough to burst.

      A strange popping noise sounded in the distance, breaking her train of thought. Instantly, Sasha stiffened, listening. Holding her breath. Memories suddenly began assaulting her.

      One hand was clenched at her side, the other held tightly onto the purse strap slung over her shoulder. She willed herself to relax. More than likely, it was just someone from the hospital getting their car and going home.

      Or maybe it was one of the security guards, accidentally stepping on something on the ground.

      Several people had been robbed in and around the structure in the last six months and the hospital had beefed up security. There was supposed to be at least one guard, if not two, making the rounds in the structure at all times.

      That still didn’t make her feel all that safe. The hairs at the back of her neck felt as if they were standing at attention.

      As she rounded the corner, heading toward where she hoped she had left her vehicle, Sasha dug into her purse. Not for her keys, but for the comforting shape of the small can of Mace her father, Josef Pulaski, a retired NYPD police officer, insisted that she and her sisters carry with them at all times. Josef fiercely loved his adopted country, but he had no illusions about the safety of the streets, not where his girls were concerned.

      Her fingers tightened around the small dispenser just as she saw a short, squat man up ahead. He had a mop of white hair, a kindly face and, even in his uniform, looked as if he could be a stand-in for a mall Santa Claus.

      The security guard, she realized, her fingers growing lax. She’d seen him around and even exchanged a few words with him on occasion. He was retired, with no family. Being a guard gave him something to do, a reason to get up each day he had said.

      The next moment, her relief began to slip away. The guard was looking down at something on the ground. There was a deep frown on his face and his body was rigid, as if frozen in place.

      Sasha picked up her pace. “Mr. Stevens?” she called out. “Is something wrong?”

      His head jerked in her direction. He looked startled to see her. Or was that horror on his face?

      Before she could ask him any more questions, Sasha saw what had robbed