Arrow to the Heart
By
Arlene Webb
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Arlene Webb
ISBN: 978-1-61333-191-0
Cover art by LFD Designs
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Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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~Also by Arlene Webb~
Taking Down Mistletoe
~DEDICATION~
I wouldn't be anywhere without the dedicated editors, authors and owners of Decadent Publishing. Special thanks to Barbara Elsborg, DL Jackson, Laurie Green, Cate Masters
Chapter One
February 12, 3:00 p.m.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was five…make that six kills ago.”
A deep sigh fell from Cu’s lips. “Cut the crap, Officer….” He glanced down at the questionnaire the woman had filled out in his waiting room. Two angry words—Bite Me—were scrawled within the box marked NAME. “Officer Me. Perhaps I should use your first name, but Bite is not only common, it adds oral fixation to your list of problems.”
Cu looked across his desk through the one-way mirrored divider. Seated in front of him, unable to see him, the lanky blonde crossed lovely legs. Her skirt hitched above her knees. Large hazel eyes flashed with anger and he sighed again. She wasn’t happy to be there. Well, neither was he, and he had better things he could be doing than counsel a trigger-happy nutjob.
“Whatever,” she said. “My nickname is ‘Screw You.’ ‘Up Yours’ works, too.”
He drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Until you put aside your low self-esteem and authority issues, and we get to why you’ve been suspended pending my signature, I’ll call you Miss Boring. Think you’re the first officer to resent that seat?”
Cu had PhDs in Psychology, Human Sexuality, Biochemistry, and Advanced Medicine. He had the honor of eventually getting to know every San Francisco officer who overused his firearm, supported a hardwood beam instead of a chip on his shoulder, or resisted looking inward for the reason the power trip had spiraled out of control.
He clicked online and began scanning Elizabeth Wilkin’s official paperwork. Less than one year out of the academy and this particular public servant had racked up four shootouts. Seven months ago she’d dropped an unarmed, alleged drug dealer. The teenager didn’t get up. The latest discharge of her weapon would be the reason she’d been forced to report to Cu, the contracted shrink. Three days after that, the brother of the suspect targeted Wilkin’s partner before her hail of bullets tattooed his chest and placed him among the ranks of the deceased.
“Your partner gonna make it?” he asked.
“ICU, collapsed lung. Yeah, he should pull through.” She snorted. “Sorry I killed his assailant. Can I go now?”
“You’re twenty-eight and unmarried. This officer you work with, he the reason you plugged the shooter seven times?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I love rescuing married cops who are into doughnuts and coaching little league.” She reached out a slender finger to tap the screen made of one-way glass between them, the one hiding him from her. “Very weird. Phantom of the Opera? Or are you just a freak who gets off watching in the shadows. God knows what you’re doing with your hands right now, Doctor Pervert.”
Internal wheels spun and Cu passed judgment. He hit a button lowering the divider, opening one side of the wall that blocked him off, and returned to scanning her paperwork as he awaited her reaction. Never failed. When a woman, or man for that matter, looked upon his face, recognition and hormones scented the air. He raised his gaze. The color in her hazel eyes had deepened. Her lips were softly parted. He hid his exasperation. In all fairness to the lonely, the chair in front of him could be quite uncomfortable for those with an active libido. The fact he wasn’t the stereotypic bald, bespectacled shrink would have triggered a flood of serotonin, increasing the warmth between her legs. Her posture stiffened and scarlet climbed her cheeks as she took in his features. He was attractive, no question, but it didn’t make him a narcissistic jerk nor a guaranteed mark for the needy with high aspirations.
“You’ve never been evaluated by a psychiatrist, outside of the mandatory counseling with the police department, have you, Ms. Wilkin?”
“No. Why did you hide behind the partition? Because you’ve the most famous mother in San Francisco, maybe the world? You’re a lot younger than I thought. Cute, too.”
He fought his lips to keep them from twitching into a smile. He was thirty, two years her senior. “Quid pro quo, officer. Do you understand why you’re here?”