Wolf Bait. Linda Thomas-SundstromЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Wolf Bait
Linda Thomas-Sunderstrom
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
"Just what am I supposed to be looking at?" Matt Wilson asked, massaging his temples with both hands as he walked. Fairview Hospital was one of his least favorite spots on earth, even if this was just a courtesy visit. Psychiatrics wasn't his job anymore, and he was certainly glad he'd veered from that into regular police detective work, in spite of the similarities.
Hell, the silence in this one corridor alone could drive a person nuts. Although the soundproofing was necessary for the sanity of the staff, who had to contend with these security wards on a daily basis, he was pretty sure that a complete lack of sound could eventually tweak their sanity, as well.
"New case," Jenna James, the supervising doctor of the hospital, said over her shoulder. A shoulder Matt knew intimately well and wished he could be alone with for a few minutes now—on her office desk, as a precursor to having the rest of her. Dr. Jenna James was not only a damn good psychiatrist, but a great lover. So good, in fact, that Matt felt aroused just looking at her.
He knew exactly how long it had been since the last time he and Jenna were together. Three months. Too long. A necessary hiatus, but odds were good she'd be upset over the fact that he hadn't called her since then. She'd be angry. Furious.
Maybe he should confide in her about his current case, the one taking up all his time. Maybe he should have called her, anyway, just to let her know how strange his caseload had become lately, and that it had been demanding his time 24/7. He might explain to her that if he wasn't personally involved in this case, he'd have been with her in a heartbeat. Daily.
Sort of the truth, if withholding pertinent information wasn't considered lying.
He closed his eyes for a second. Hell, if he couldn't get himself together for sex, he was working too damned hard.
"I think you'll like this one." Jenna, her five- foot-six frame drop-dead gorgeous and alive with energy, swung her hips provocatively as she moved off in front of him, sexy even in her white lab coat. Her long, shapely legs caught his attention from beneath the hem of the coat, silky legs he'd had his hands all over twelve weeks ago. Legs that seemed to go on for an eternity, and which now ended in a pair of black suede pumps.
He almost smiled. If he had, it would have been the first light moment in a long time, and there was no doubt in his mind that this sexy psychiatrist knew exactly what effect she had on him. No doubt whatsoever. And he probably shouldn't be thinking about these things right now, or of what he might do with that body if given another opportunity.
No, most definitely he shouldn't be thinking about that. Finding time for this visit, agreeing to come to Fairview, had been hard enough. Besides wondering what Jenna might think of him, he had some pretty strange garbage to swim through these days, and problems that boggled his mind.
Jenna hadn't looked him in the eye once since he had arrived.
"We've kept this patient isolated, as much for her own good as anything else," Jenna said in her usual low-toned register that was a toss-up for the sexiest part of her contest.
"Suicidal?" Only mildly interested, Matt tried to make a showing for Jenna's sake. Maybe she would take him up on a long lunch afterward? Engage in some afternoon get-reacquainted time? As much as he hated to admit it, what he really needed was someone to talk to. Someone with a similar background and an open mind.
Maybe Jenna would forgive him.
"She might be suicidal when she realizes what's going on. If she realizes it," Jenna said, fishing out a ring of keys, choosing a particularly draconian-looking one and inserting it into the lock of an iron-banded door.
Monster ward. That's what the staff called this area of the hospital. The worst mental cases were housed behind that door, now and then, making what lay back there the modern-day medical equivalent of a medieval dungeon.
The hair on the nape of Matt's neck prickled. He wanted to rub his forehead again, but refrained. With the word monster, in conjunction with the place they were about to see, one would have expected the door to creak. It didn't. A guard on the far side stood to attention when it opened soundlessly. This guard, more casually known around the hospital as an “attendant,” had been sitting on a wooden, straight-backed chair. No padding. Nothing remotely comfortable. Not even a magazine to kill the time. The guy nodded to Jenna.
Matt reluctantly slid his gaze from Jenna to the long corridor beyond. Polished white floors, white walls, white ceiling. Sanitary-looking. Antiseptic. Fluorescent lights were inset, and high up. Cameras in white casings had been placed every few feet along the ceiling line, flashing tiny red beams indicating recording in process.
The doors in the walls were also white, making them difficult to see from this angle, although Matt knew there were twenty in all, and that so much whiteness could be deceiving when it came to what might lie behind the doors. His hands were already closing into fists.
He tossed the white-uniformed guard a brief nod of acknowledgment.
Back to Jenna. "Straitjacket?" Matt asked.
"Can't get one on her." Jenna replaced the key ring in her pocket. "Can't get close enough."
She walked off again, making it impossible for Matt to see her face. Checking out the sizable stature and build of the guard as they passed him, Matt said, "He's not big enough?"
"Two of him wouldn't be big enough."
"You said 'her.' Can't get one on her. Whoever is in here is a very big girl?"
"Well, not really a girl at all, maybe."
Not really a girl?
Futilely, Matt counted the doors they were passing. They were headed toward the far end of the hallway. Pesky hairs at his nape bristled again as Jenna stopped in front of the most ominous- looking door of all, the one set a little apart from the others, ruining the symmetry of ten on each side. Matt knew what this meant. Something conceivably worse than the other worse things.
Jenna turned to face him, her hands hanging helplessly at her sides. She carried no clipboard or file folder, nothing but a dangling pair of light blue cat’s-eye-shaped glasses she used for reading and had probably forgotten to leave on her desk. The blue frames matched her eyes—eyes that were trained on him seriously, studiously, at last, as if waiting for him to play catch-up.
After contemplating the door, he said tentatively, "She's really a he?"
"No."
"You want me to keep guessing out loud, or shall we move into charades?"
"She's a she, all right," Jenna said. "Or was."
"Was?"
"She is something else altogether at the moment."
Okay. Now Jenna had his