Finding Her Son(8)

Mitch groaned as he pushed open the door and surveyed the plethora of exercise equipment and tables. The scent of menthol wafted on the air—an odor far too familiar for his liking. Several rehab patients worked on recumbent bikes. A few more did stretching exercises with the help of staff.

When he’d discovered she had an opening this morning, he’d scrambled to get a copy of his records, threw on his sweats and headed out the door. Mitch could now infiltrate Emily’s life, but he wasn’t an undercover cop. He didn’t like lying, he hated deceit and he was doing both. The bonus? He got the pleasure of being tortured in physical therapy for his trouble. A real win-win.

A young receptionist rounded her desk. “May I help you?”

With a quick, plastered-on grin, he scanned her name tag. “Hi, Cindy. Mitch Bradford. I have an appointment with Emily Wentworth.”

The door behind them flew open, and a familiar dynamo dressed from head to foot in black raced into the room. “Cindy, I know I’m late. Please tell me my new patient isn’t—”

She skidded to a halt, clearly dismayed to see Mitch standing there. “Shoot.”

Holy smokes. Emily Wentworth looked good. He didn’t know how he could’ve missed the impact of her up close and personal last night. She was completely his type, with a petite, fit body and long, light brown hair swinging from a ponytail—obviously so silky it would be amazing spread across his pillow. Then he stared into her eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Thick lashes framed the bluest, saddest eyes he’d ever seen. For a moment he felt lost. Her look was kind and sympathetic, with depth that could embrace his soul.

Where had that come from, waxing poetic? He had a job to do. But as he took in the plain black dress, with its high collar circling her neck, he recalled her complete aloneness at the cemetery. He’d been watching, forced to back away once the Wentworths arrived. It was the anniversary of her husband’s death. Was she still in mourning, or was this all for show, all part of an elaborate plan to get at the Wentworth money?

Mitch’s gut told him she was sincere. He didn’t want to believe the pain on her face, the sorrow in her eyes, had been anything but real.

Then again, his gut hadn’t been all that reliable lately. A few months ago, Mitch had learned his mentor had been a traitor to the badge. He wouldn’t be fooled so easily now. Not anymore. He couldn’t afford to give Emily the benefit of the doubt.

Mitch gave her a deliberately innocent smile. “Did I get the time wrong?”

She bit her lip, embarrassment tingeing her cheeks.

“No,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Not a great way to make a first impression as a therapist. Let me change, and I’ll be right with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Not until he knew for sure whether he’d completely lost his ability to tell the good guys from the bad guys. If he was wrong about her, he’d get the evidence he needed. And if she was guilty, he might as well just turn in his badge.

With a smile of gratitude, she disappeared behind a staff door.

Cindy handed him a stack of paperwork. “Emily will be right back. If you’ll fill out these forms…”

Mitch took the clipboard and sat in the chair closest to the receptionist before stretching his leg out. “So, I guess I was lucky to get in to see her so quickly. I heard she’s really good. I thought I’d have to wait longer for an appointment.”

“Oh, Emily’s the best, but…” Cindy hesitated. “She’s not that busy these days. Clients stopped coming because of her in-laws. They’ve said some things about her, and, well, some people gossip too much.” Cindy bit her lip and took a furtive glance around. “I need to get back to work.”

Obviously, Emily’s business had taken a big hit. That money angle his boss had mentioned reared its head again, but Mitch didn’t see the connection. If that secret account were hers, why not use it to save her business? Why work at all? Why not just disappear?

Mitch tried to get comfortable, but his leg had been giving him fits ever since that confrontation with Ghost. His body had revolted against a move he’d used a thousand times.

Once he finished the paperwork, he settled in for the long wait, but she returned in less than five minutes. Women usually took forever with clothes. Not Emily. Which shouldn’t have been surprising really. Nothing had been usual when it came to this assignment. The turtleneck she wore under her scrubs was a subtle reminder of what he knew lay beneath. He’d reviewed the crime-scene photos, had seen the jagged cut across her throat that had permanently damaged her vocal cords.

“Officer, come on back.” Her husky voice sent a shiver through him. He didn’t know what her voice had sounded like before, but this one was downright sexy.

“Call me Mitch. If you’re going to have your hands all over me, we should be on a first-name basis.” He followed her into a private examining room, trying to avoid studying the sway of her hips under the scrubs she’d changed into. Down, boy. Do not let yourself get taken in by a pair of baby blues and luscious curves. If she were innocent and wore black on the anniversary of her husband’s death, the implications made her so far off-limits, there wasn’t a measurement long enough.

She shut the door and cleared her throat, nodding at the exam table. Mitch was just relieved she didn’t offer to help him. His pride could only take so much. “Here’s my chart, just like you requested.”