gobble up all that manly strength and protection he was offering her. As much as that made her feminist ideals howl in shame, it was only natural to want to be taken care of at times. She knew that. She just couldn’t let herself give in to those feelings and actually rely on him. At least, not for anything more than his professional advice or protection.
She moved to the drawer where she kept the three cards she’d accumulated over the years. Again, she hesitated. She believed Beth’s father was essentially harmless, but finding the letter on her doorstep had been a deviation from his routine. It was troubling, and Simon was right. She might be willing to take chances with her own safety, but she couldn’t do that with others. It was best to show him the cards, maybe even let him ask a few questions, rather than be stupid or prideful about it. It might go a long way to showing him that she wasn’t careless or a complete bleeding heart. Go a long way to getting him to trust her. She wanted to help people, but she didn’t want to endanger herself, emotionally or physically, to do it. Since they’d be working together, it was important he know that.
She took a deep breath before walking toward the kitchen. She’d get more Ziploc bags. Put the cards inside before she gave them to—
She passed the living room and, at the sight in front of her, she stopped abruptly.
Simon Granger was sprawled out on her couch, his knees splayed casually open. One arm rested against the back of the couch, while the other encircled her cat, Six. It struck her how big he looked, how masculine against her chenille sofa, and next to her curved-leg coffee table and end tables. When he saw her, he straightened and she mentally shook herself. Rushing to the kitchen, she retrieved six of the largest Ziploc bags she had. One at a time, she placed each card and each envelope inside a separate bag, spreading each card open first so he could easily view both the outside and inside. As she did so, she was acutely aware of his gaze on her and the way her hands trembled slightly.
Finally, she sat next to him, taking care to keep several feet of breathing room between them.
“What’s its name?” Simon asked.
“What?”
“Your cat.”
“Oh.” She sighed. “Her name is Six.”
He nodded. “On account of her having six toes on her left hind leg.”
She let out a light laugh. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Well, I know it’s not the most original name, but it was better than the name the shelter gave her.”
“Which was?”
“Clownface. I just couldn’t do that to her.”
“Yep,” Simon said, grinning. “Six is such a better name.” His grin faded, though, when he glanced at the cards in her hand. “Come closer and let me see that,” he said, patting the empty cushion next to him. “And tell me about this threat.”
She hesitated, then shifted closer. His heat and solid strength washed over her. Comforted her. The relief almost made her dizzy. She was used to being by herself. To living in this great big house with no one for company but Six. It rarely bothered her and most of the time she enjoyed her independence.
But it was comforting to know she wasn’t entirely alone now. Not in this.
She hadn’t told anyone about the cards she received because she hadn’t wanted her past to play any role in her life in San Francisco. Maybe it was time to tell someone. And Simon obviously wanted to help. “Every year I get a card from a patient’s father. It marks the year of the patient’s death. She was a teenage girl named Elizabeth Davenport. Beth. She came to me after her mother died. She was suicidal. Suffered from acute depression and delusions. And despite my best efforts, she ended up killing herself.”
“That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
She nodded and held out the cards. “Her father blamed me. Quite publicly. He couldn’t tell reporters enough about how I’d screwed up and cost his daughter her life.”
“Did he ever try to hurt you? Physically?”
“One night he cornered me in a parking lot. He screamed at me. At one point, he grabbed my arm. But one of my colleagues chased him off. I never saw him again after that.”
“But you heard from him.”
“Yes. Three times. The third the most recent—the day you and I met. The third anniversary of Beth’s