Sacred Sins by Nora Roberts Page B

she opened it to a confrontation. “Detective. Isn't it a little late for an official call?”
    “Just in time for the eleven o'clock news.” He walked over and switched on her set.
    She hadn't moved from the door. “Haven't you got a TV at home?”
    “It's more fun to watch a circus with company.”
    She shut the door, peevish enough to let it slam. “Look, I'm working. Why don't you say what you have to say and let me get back to it?”

    He glanced over at her desk, at the files open and her big-framed reading glasses tossed on them. “This won't take long.” He didn't sit, but stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the news team's intro. It was the pretty, heart-shaped-face brunette who read the evening's top story.
    “The mayor's office confirmed today that Dr. Teresa Court, noted Washington psychiatrist, has been assigned to the investigation team of the Priest homicides. Dr. Court, granddaughter of veteran Senator Jonathan Writemore, could not be reached for comment. The murders of at least three women are suspected to be linked to the killer termed the Priest because of his use of an amice, a scarf used in ceremony by Roman Catholic priests, to strangle his victims. The police continue an investigation begun last August, now with the assistance of Dr. Court.”
    “Not bad,” Ben murmured. “Got your name mentioned three times.” He didn't even blink when Tess strode over and slammed the button to off.
    “I'll repeat, say what you have to say.”
    Her voice was cool. He drew out a cigarette, determined to match her. “We have a press conference at eight tomorrow in the mayor's office.”
    “I was notified.”
    “You're to keep your comments general, stay as far away from the specifics of the case as possible. The press knows about the murder weapon, but we've managed to keep the notes and the contents of them from leaking.”
    “I'm not a fool, Ben. I can handle an interview.”
    “I'm sure you can. This one happens to be on departmental business, not personal glory.”

    Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a hiss of breath. She knew it was both undignified and useless to lose her temper. She knew that such a ridiculous and bitter statement deserved no answer. She knew that he, standing there in judgment, deserved nothing but the coolest, most controlled dismissal.
    “You bigoted, small-brained, insensitive ass.” Her phone rang again, but they both ignored it. “Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here and tossing out your little gems of idiocy?”
    He glanced around for an ashtray and settled on a small hand-painted dish. There was a vase of fresh, autumnal mums beside it. “Which gem was that?”
    She stood straight as a soldier, while he stood at ease and flicked ashes into the dish. “Let's just get something straight. I didn't leak this business to the press.”
    “Nobody said you did.”
    “Didn't they?” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of the skirt she'd worked in for fourteen hours. Her back hurt, her stomach was empty, and she wanted what she struggled so hard to give her patients—peace of mind. “Well, I interpret this little scene differently. As a matter of fact, I was promised my name would never be linked with this investigation.”
    “Got a problem letting people know you're cooperating with the police?”
    “Oh, you're clever, aren't you?”
    “As hell,” he returned, fascinated by the complete annihilation of her control. She paced as she spoke, and her eyes had deepened to purple. Temper in her was rigid, and icy, unlike the venom-spitting, plate-throwing sort he was more accustomed to. It was all the more interesting.
    “Either way I go, you've got an answer. Did it ever occur to you, Detective, that I might not care to have my patients, my colleagues, my friends question me about this case? Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to take the case in the first place?”
    “Then why did you? The pay's lousy.”

    “Because I was