In the Flesh. Rita Herron

bring her back.

      Tears burned her eyelids, but she waited until she was driving away before she let them fall. She’d cry now, and then she’d focus on work.

      Finding the girl’s killer and giving her justice would ease the pain of the family. She’d dealt with enough victims to know that. So she would help, regardless of how much it hurt her to see the family and friends suffering.

      She’d even tolerate the surly detective for Judy Benson’s sake.

      The wind tossed her ponytail around her face, and she pushed it back. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but the scent of the girl’s corpse lingered on her skin, and her appetite vanished.

      With a sigh, she made the turn to her place, knowing she had to shower before she could stomach food. When her cell phone rang, she checked the number, half expecting it to be the hospital. Sometimes her mother became agitated after she left and she had to return, or the nurses had to give her extra medication. Instead it was Captain Black.

      “Dr. Madden speaking.”

      “Dr. Madden, this is Adam Black.”

      “Yes?”

      “I want to apologize for my detective today. He can come across as being rude, but he’s a good cop. One of the best I have and totally dedicated to the job.”

      “No problem.”

      “Good. Because I—we at the department—value your expertise and I’d hate for his behavior to dissuade you from assisting us.”

      “Trust me, Captain, my skin is thicker than that. Working with him won’t be a problem.”

      His sigh reverberated with relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”

      “So it’s my job, not me personally?”

      A long hesitation. “I really can’t say any more. If Raul wants to tell you, well, he should explain himself.”

      Curiosity nibbled at her, but she refrained from asking more. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the reason for the man’s brusqueness. It was probably best that they agreed to dislike each other and leave it at that.

      “He’s going to drop by later with the victims’ files. Maybe you can pick up something we missed.”

      Great. She’d get to see the man twice in one day. She couldn’t wait. “That’s fine. I’ll be home all afternoon. Tell him to stop by anytime.”

      He thanked her and hung up, and Jenny spun down the road to her new home, an old Victorian she was in the process of renovating. She loved the unique architecture, but it needed a face-lift, and paint. A work in progress, it would be something she could see visible progress more quickly than her patients.

      Pushing aside her frustration, she parked and dragged her weary body inside. A shower, a salad and glass of wine later, she felt more relaxed.

      But knowing Detective Cortez would stop by kept her on edge. Curiosity nagged at her. If she was forced to work with Raul Cortez, she needed to know all she could about the man.

      Fortified by that thought, she decided to research him online. A quick search revealed his father was Cuban, his mother American; they’d met after his father had escaped into the country, married and had five children. They lived in Miami where Raul had resided until two years ago. He had served with the Miami Dade Police Department until his wife had been murdered.

      His wife and unborn child.

      A lump lodged in her throat, but she forced herself to read on: Louie Mulstein had been arrested for butchering his family in cold blood. The therapist who’d evaluated the perpetrator stated that he was schizophrenic and off his medication, but that she had stabilized him and that he was no longer a threat. House arrest and an ankle bracelet would suffice until the trial in which the defense attorney would be pleading an insanity charge. Raul Cortez had argued, insisting the man was dangerous and shouldn’t receive bail.

      But the judge had rendered his decision and released the man according to the guidelines recommended by the court-appointed therapist.

      That night Mulstein had escaped and butchered Raul’s wife, who was pregnant with his child.

      Raul had found the man still in his house, bloody knife in his hand, and the man had attacked him. Raul had shot him, killing him instantly.

      But it had been too late for his family.

      Her throat closed as she studied the photo of the detective at the graveyard. It was a cold, windy, rainy day, and his massive shoulders were hunched in grief. His expression appeared tortured as he lay a bouquet of roses on the freshly turned grave.

      Her comment today, her dig that he wasn’t a family man, echoed in her mind, and she dropped her face into her hands with a pained moan. No wonder he had reacted to her with such fervor.

      She’d made a beginner’s mistake. Had allowed the man’s insulting attitude to push her buttons on a personal level, and she’d struck back.

      Why? Because she’d just come from her mother’s and felt like a failure because she helped others but couldn’t help the one person in her life who mattered most.

      Her reasons, excuses, didn’t matter. She was a professional and she would act like one. Raul Cortez deserved her sympathy and understanding, not her disdain.

      Maybe he did blame the therapist, even her, but his grief was eating him alive. And Jenny understood grief. Although technically her mother was still alive, she’d mourned her loss for years.

      Unbidden came the image of Judy Benson’s pale, stiff body and those haunting eyes. The detective would have to relay the news to the parents. Then the nightmare of their sorrow would begin.

      And the questions. Who would have done such a horrible thing to their daughter?

      Maybe she should look at her files to see if any of her prior or current patients fit the profile.

      Immediately two names sprang to mind—could one of them be the strangler?

      D AMN J ENNY .

      Dr. Rupert Zovall closed his eyes, envisioning Marilyn Madden’s pale face as she lay propped against the hospital pillows when he’d last seen her in Charleston. He’d treated Jenny’s mother for years, had been her psychiatrist since her breakdown.

      Why the hell had Jenny moved her mother to that Coastal Island Research Park in Georgia? Hours away from him in Charleston?

      Because she thought Marilyn needed another doctor? Thought the psychiatrists at CIRP could do something for her that Rupert hadn’t been able to do? Thought he was incompetent?

      Hell, he’d been her lifeline back to reality in the few lucid moments she’d experienced.

      Another image rolled through his head; this one from years ago before…before he’d lost her that day. She had been so young and beautiful, a vision of loveliness that had robbed his breath at times. He’d known it was taboo to fall for a patient, but he had fallen hard.

      Then her husband had interfered.

      But at least when she was in Charleston, he could monitor her daily.

      Bolstered by the fear creeping through his veins, he carefully packed his toiletry bag, then placed it by the door beside his computer bag and suitcase. His palms were clammy as he wrote a check and left it for the maid service, then he flung his computer bag over one shoulder, stacked the toiletry bag on top of his rolling suitcase, and headed outside to his Mercedes.

      He had to get to Savannah. Had to see Marilyn Madden before she started ranting crazy things and aroused curiosity. Before the doctors messed with her medication.

      Before anyone discovered their secret and started asking questions.

       Chapter Three

      “Mrs.