In The Enemy's Arms. Pamela Toth

you to come down and give us some background information on Orcadol.”

      Once again he had managed to surprise her, suggesting a way to lessen her humiliation. She was about to thank him when she recalled that his suspicion was the very reason she needed a cover story.

      Wordlessly she had Milla paged, resisting the urge to drum her fingers on the desktop while she waited for the midwife to respond.

      “How are Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins doing?” Mari asked when Milla finally came on the line.

      “The hospital chaplain is with them now,” she replied. “He’ll help with the arrangements.”

      “I’m so glad to hear that.” Quickly, Mari outlined what she needed, her gaze on Bryce the whole time. If her scrutiny made him uncomfortable, he didn’t let it show.

      “Is this because of your friendship with Dr. Phillipe?” Milla asked when Mari was done. “Can’t they test him if they don’t believe that he’s drug-free?”

      Ricardo Phillipe was a friend of Mari’s who had been connected with early Orcadol development. He was also involved in planning the experimental research facility.

      After a car accident in which Ricardo had been critically injured, his wife and small daughter both killed, he had developed a drug problem that led to him losing his license to practice medicine.

      Mari swiveled her chair so she was facing the wall. “I’m sure that’s not an issue.” She lowered her voice even further. “I really can’t discuss it now.”

      “Oh, of course. I’m sorry,” Milla replied. “Is there anything else I can do? Can I call someone for you?”

      “No, but thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” Mari knew that Milla was fiercely loyal, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest of the staff, not anymore.

      And what would her patients think when the news got out that she’d actually been taken downtown for questioning? What about the investors who hadn’t already pulled out of the research facility project? Would this ruin any chance she had left of securing the financing to build it?

      Lillian Cunningham was the Public Relations director from New York who Mari had recently hired to improve the clinic’s reputation. Lily would have a fit when she heard about this! Just because she happened to be in love with Mari’s father didn’t mean she would cut Mari any slack, either. Lily was one of the best in the business, but she wasn’t a miracle worker.

      After Mari told Milla goodbye and replaced the receiver, she grabbed her purse and scooted back in her chair, praying her shaky legs would support her.

      “I’m ready,” she told Bryce. What on earth did he think he had on her? His flinty expression told her nothing.

      Bryce didn’t bother with chitchat on the way to the station that was housed in the Merlyn County Courthouse complex. The fairly new tan building in downtown Binghamton contained all the county’s administrative offices.

      As soon as he parked in an official space, Mari got out of his sedan without a glance in his direction and marched up the front steps. His legs were longer than hers, so he was able to catch up with her in time to pull open the heavy glass front door.

      “Come with me,” he said once they were inside. The departments were clearly marked, but he wanted her to lift her head and make eye contact with him.

      When she did, she looked as though someone had drained the fight out of her. It was no surprise, after what she’d already been through. She also seemed nervous, again, no big surprise, and—if he was any judge of character—shell-shocked.

      Because he knew her to be strong-willed and smart, the last observance startled him. Anyone who managed to successfully complete medical school, an internship and a residency had to be both.

      After the conversations he’d had with her over the last few weeks, including their confrontation at the hospital picnic, she must have been prepared for today, unless she wore blinders and went around with her fingers stuck in both ears.

      The girl he’d once known very, very well was a lot more savvy than that. Maybe she was merely attempting to play on his sympathies.

      There had been a time he would have cut off his hand to spare her the slightest hurt. He had outgrown that kind of foolishness when she ran a spike through his heart and walked away without a backward glance.

      He was still plenty attracted to the total package that made up Mari Bingham, even in her loose-fitting scrubs. His reaction to her pissed him off royally. It wasn’t his heart he was risking this time around, but his entire law-enforcement career. He’d better get himself focused or he’d wind up back behind the wheel of a patrol car on graveyard shift. Or working as a nighttime security guard for a local warehouse.

      Lightly he cupped Mari’s elbow. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. Maybe she was more scared than she let on. Most people were nervous the first time they ended up in this kind of situation and the level of their anxiety had nothing to do with their guilt or innocence.

      Wordlessly, he led the way into his home-away-from-home.

      “Detective, I’ve got your messages here,” said the civilian receptionist as he approached the counter.

      Christine had been hired straight out of high school with an admitted “thing” for cops and their guns. Her jaw worked her ever present wad of gum as she smiled widely and waved several pink slips in the air.

      He nodded without breaking stride. She was barely eighteen, but she had already managed to corner him in the break room after shift one evening! Every time he thought about what could have happened if anyone else had come in when he was peeling her off him, he broke into a sweat.

      Another phone rang, the new watercooler belched like a scuba diver’s tank and the stereo system pumped out classic country. All conversation in the room shut down abruptly the minute its occupants noticed Mari. Just as they had everywhere else in the county, whispers and rumors connecting her with the Orchid black market had been circulating through the department.

      Escorting her through the open squad room, Bryce ignored the detective seated at a desk covered with crumbs and candy wrappers, the two uniforms standing by the coffee machine and the one on the phone. In the far corner, a female officer and a teenage girl in camouflage and combat boots had stopped arguing to gawk. As he hustled Mari past Sheriff Remington’s office and the storage closet-slash-break room, conversations started up again.

      A long-haired creep wearing cuffs leaned against the wall. He skimmed his slimy gaze over Mari, but his knowing smirk vanished when he saw Bryce’s glare.

      Bryce itched to throw a coat over her, right after he buried his fist in the little prick’s ratlike face. Before Bryce could take her into one of the rooms they used for interviews, Hank Butler waved his phone receiver in the air.

      “Collins! Got a second?” he called out.

      Bryce waved his free hand in response as he pushed open the first door. Whatever Hank wanted could wait.

      Except for the requisite scarred table and beat-up chairs brought over from the old building and the two-way mirror on one wall, the interrogation room was as sparse as a cell. No point in making anyone who was brought here feel comfortable.

      Mari glanced around. “Charming.”

      “I wasn’t on the decorating committee,” Bryce drawled, dragging back one of the chairs. “Have a seat. Want anything? Coffee?”

      “I’ve heard about cop coffee. I’ll pass, thank you.” She might be nervous, but she held her head high. His father used to say her nose was in the air.

      “What, no lie detector?” she asked, turning her head. “No rubber hoses, no holding cell?”

      “Someone’s already in it,” he lied, “but I guess you could share.”

      She sat down gingerly, as though she expected the chair to collapse beneath