and fatigue of a long day where nothing had seemed to go right.
A knock sounded at her door. “Dr. Nolan, Detective Davies is here to see you.”
At the mention of his name, Liza’s heart lurched and then picked up an erratic pattern. Reed. She’d convinced herself she wouldn’t see him again and was irritated by her own excited response to his unexpected visit. She took a deep breath and smiled placidly at her secretary. “Of course. Have him come in.”
Carol nodded and disappeared for a moment and when she returned, Reed was behind her. He entered her office and Carol closed the door behind him.
“Hi,” she said, standing and walking around her desk. She held her hand out and he took it in his. An awkward pause ensued as they both stared at their hands. She dropped hers and their eyes met. The graceless distance seemed so stupid to Liza suddenly. Here they were, two people who had been about as physically intimate as two people could be and they were nervous to shake each other’s hands.
“Hi,” he said back. He did this thing with his expression, a sort of self-deprecating half-smile that made her heart do an unexpected flip. The man was incredibly gorgeous and smart, so why wasn’t he cocky? Arrogant? What had made him so . . . intuitive? Thoughtful?
She had to remind herself again that she didn’t want to know.
Liza indicated the seating area near the window. He took a seat in one of the chairs, and she sat across from him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
“No. It’s fine. I’ve seen my last patient of the day. I was just doing some paperwork.”
He nodded, his eyes moving over her features as though he was making note of something he could see in her expression that she wasn’t saying with her words. Did she look tired? Overwhelmed? Probably. She hadn’t been sleeping well. She’d like to blame it solely on the horror of finding her mutilated boss, but she knew it was more than that. She had woken, shaking in cold sweats more than once, remembering Steven’s grotesque corpse. Equally though, she hadn’t slept well since the night spent with the man sitting in front of her. Prior to the murder, she’d woken up sweating for an entirely different reason, and those memories had calmed her . . . and excited her.
“I have a few more questions.”
“Oh. Of course. Okay.”
He pulled several photographs of orange pill bottles out of his pocket and handed them to her. Liza frowned, taking them from his hand and reading the close-ups of the partial labels, most of the information peeled off. “What are these?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. I spoke to someone in poison control but figured you might have some additional information.” He scratched at his jaw. “I also wanted to know if you recognized the names on those prescriptions.”
Liza shook her head. “I don’t recognize the names.” She looked up at Reed. “I do know these drugs, as they’re used to treat mental conditions, though I should note that psychologists aren’t licensed to prescribe any medication.”
“Yes, I realize you don’t prescribe medications, but many of the patients you work with must be on them?”
“Most of them, yes. Treating mental illness can often be a multipronged approach. It just depends. And there are certainly conditions with a biological basis that can only be treated with medication.”
Reed sat back, studying her for a moment. “Can I ask a more personal question?”
She raised a brow. “You’re nosy aren’t you, Detective?”
“Sort of goes along with the job.” He gave her that self-deprecating smile and her tummy tightened.
She glanced away and let out a smile on a breath. “I suppose it does. Yes, you can ask a personal question.”
“Is there a reason you went into psychology as opposed to psychiatry?”
Liza relaxed, giving him a wry tilt of her lips. “Are you asking why I chose the field of study less based on science than on wild theories and fuzzy speculation?”
Reed chuckled and raised his hands. “Whoa. Not at all. I have deep respect for both fields of study.” He paused for a moment. “I sometimes think medications can cause more harm than good when they’re used to mask emotions that are at the root of a problem.” He shrugged. “Or that they’re meant to be a temporary fix to something that requires more long-term solutions.”
Liza nodded. “Yes, absolutely. The truth is, both fields can