Stolen(8)

As Spense settled in, his gaze swept over Grady with a deliberateness that told her Spense hadn’t missed a thing. Grady’s false greeting had put him on full alert.

Waving her hand between the two men, she said, “Let me introduce you two. Dr. Grady Webber. Special Agent Atticus Spenser.” She paused, waiting for Spense’s stock response: Call me Spense.

Instead, a long, tense silence followed.

As she watched the two men, she couldn’t help comparing. They were both tall, muscular, and undeniably handsome, but the difference between them was striking. Whereas Grady looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, Spense could’ve made the cover of a G-man calendar. His dark hair was cut short, FBI style, and his build was powerful in a way that didn’t just make you want to stare—it made you feel safe. His eyes were plain brown, but when he turned them on you, pencils dropped, lattes spilled, and thoughts became decidedly unladylike. He turned those eyes on her now, and she realized he was waiting for her to speak.

“Grady was chief of psychiatry at Rocky Mountain Memorial—the hospital where I did my psychiatric residency.” Had she left it at that, it might’ve seemed to Spense that Grady simply hadn’t remembered her. But Spense was too clever, and she was too honest. She had nothing to gain by glossing things over. She straightened her back and said, “I’ll fill you in on the rest later.”

Grady turned to Spense. “Forgive me. Caitlin and I know each other well. I was simply trying to respect her privacy, not knowing how much of her personal life she’d want aired in a public setting.”

Some things never changed. Grady had just taken the upper hand by letting Spense know, before she had the chance to tell him herself, that they’d been more than colleagues. In a flood of unpleasant memories, she recalled how manipulative Grady could be. The only way to deal with him was to refuse to play his games. “Consider my private life officially off limits. As you suggested, I’d like to keep things professional. I presume you had some sort of medical involvement with Laura Chaucer.”

“I wouldn’t dream of making you uncomfortable, Caitlin. Let’s talk about the business at hand.” The barest hint of condescension threaded its way into his polite words. “I was Laura’s psychiatrist from the time she was eight years old until a little over a year ago when Whit—Senator Chaucer—got elected to the senate and the family moved to DC.”

“Isn’t that privileged doctor-patient information?” Spense asked.

“Not when the patient in question may be a danger to herself or others. In that case I have a duty to act in my patient’s best interests, and in the best interests of the public. Whit’s asked me to provide any insight I can into Laura’s disappearance—and I consider it my responsibility to do all I can to help find her.”

Spense arched one eyebrow. “A danger to herself or others. Which is it and why?”

Up until now, she and Spense had understood Laura was believed kidnapped or worse.

“Let’s get into that at the interview so I don’t have to repeat myself for the task force.” Grady slid his eyes toward the driver. The privacy window was closed, but he had a point. This probably wasn’t the place.

Spense tapped the window, signaling Jasper, and the limo pulled away from the curb.

Glad she’d chosen a conservative button-up blouse instead of a V-neck sweater, Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest. She could feel Grady’s eyes on her. Her stomach soured like it used to do when she was one of his students.

Long after she’d ended things with this man, whom she’d once considered her mentor, he’d continued to behave as though he had exclusive rights to her body. He’d touch her bottom during rounds and stare openly at her breasts in front of the other psych residents. It was all so miserable she decided to transfer to a different teaching hospital. But in the end, it hadn’t been necessary. A beautiful young intern arrived at Rocky Mountain Memorial and Grady turned his interest to her.

Caitlin tried to warn Inga, but she said she could handle herself, insisting Caitlin mind her own business. And despite Caitlin’s concerns, Inga had seemed very happy to be on the receiving end of Grady’s attentions.

Then, six months later, when one of his colleagues questioned the appropriateness of the chief of psychiatry dating an intern, the couple married, and Inga transferred to another hospital, thereby putting an end to any accusations of moral turpitude on Grady’s part.

“How’s Inga?” Caitlin asked, genuinely interested. Inga was bubbly and sweet and smart, and Catlin had always liked her.