“Possibly.” Jocelyn noted the details in her Palm Pilot.
“And call me Donovan.”
Jocelyn didn’t glance up. She merely nodded. “Is that how you got that mark on your knuckle?”
Donovan looked at the tiny laceration, no more than a quarter of an inch long. “You’re very observant, Ms. Mackenzie. Yes. I got in a few good swings before he gave up whatever he was looking for and took off.”
“And what do you think he was looking for?”
He shrugged. “That night, the police concluded it was a burglary. They said keys can be stolen easily enough, an imprint made in a matter of minutes. I’ve often left my keys in my lab coat pocket at the hospital while I grab a bite to eat, or misplaced them every so often.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Dr. Reeves offered helpfully.
Jocelyn didn’t crack a smile. “I don’t. And if I take this case, Dr. Knight, the first thing I’m going to do is work on getting you out of habits like those.”
Donovan’s brow furrowed. “You’ve never lost your keys?”
“Not since I was in high school.”
“You’ve never left your purse anywhere? Forgotten a credit card in a store?”
“Never.”
Donovan set his wineglass down on the wrought iron end table. “You must be a detail-oriented person.”
“I’m an everything person. I value my security.”
“Hence your career choice.” He gave her a probing look that told her he wanted to know more about her career choice and why she was what she was.
Jocelyn shrugged. She wasn’t about to give him the how’s and why’s of her life. She had her reasons and they were her own. Besides that, she made it a rule not to divulge personal things about herself that cultivated a familiarity with her clients. She asked them the questions. It was entirely a one-way street, and she liked it that way.
That was the “hence” in her career choice.
“Dr. Reeves told me a threatening letter came the next day,” she said.
“Yes, the police have it. It said, ‘You deserve to die.’”
“Do you have any enemies, Dr. Knight?”
“Donovan. No, not that I can think of.”
“Any medical malpractice suits against you? In the past or pending?”
“No.”
“And it was definitely a man who attacked you? You’re sure of that, even though the intruder wore a ski mask?”
“I’m sure. Why? You look like you don’t believe that.”
Not the least bit concerned with what he thought she believed or didn’t believe, Jocelyn continued to take notes on her Palm Pilot. “I like to ask questions, Dr. Knight. Cover everything.”
“Donovan,” he repeated more forcefully. “Do you have a problem with first names?”
She stopped her note taking and looked directly at him. Perfection. His face was completely flawless. And damn her eyes for noticing. Again. “I don’t have any problem with first names, Dr. Knight. Do you have a problem with last names?”
He watched her for a moment, then the tension in his face broke, and he smiled—the most sensual, sexy, flirtatious smile she’d ever seen in her life. His eyes flashed and he exuded an almost tangible charisma.
A hot current tingled through Jocelyn’s veins. She clenched her jaw and worked hard to throttle the vexing sensation. What was wrong with her tonight? She was a professional. A damn good one.
He took another sip of wine.
Jocelyn turned her attention to Donovan’s partner, because she couldn’t bear another second of those olive-green eyes moving over her in that disarming way, studying her. She was not an open book, nor did she wish to feel like one. Neither did she appreciate her hormones behaving like she was back in high school. She had thought life experience had taught her to be stronger than that.
“Dr. Reeves, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Dr. Knight?”
He shook his head. “Could be anyone. Donovan has a lot of…female acquaintances.”
Jocelyn nodded, getting the picture. “Perhaps the man was a jealous lover or a husband of one of Dr. Knight’s ‘acquaintances.’” She turned back to Donovan. “Have you had any threats or meetings with anyone like that?”
“Hey, wait a second here. I don’t have that many acquaintances, and certainly not ones with husbands, jealous or otherwise. Mark, you’re making me out to be some kind of sex addict.”
“No, not at all,” Dr. Reeves replied, holding up his hands. “I just want to make sure we have all the bases covered.”
Jocelyn interrupted and spoke in a professional, detached voice. “I’m not judging you, Dr. Knight. To tell you the truth, I don’t really care if you’re a sex addict or a gigolo or a Chippendales model on the weekends for that matter. I just want to know who would want to break into your home, and how I can prevent it from happening again. Now, I would appreciate it if you would just answer my questions honestly and stop worrying about what I think of you.”
He set down his wineglass. Looking almost amused, he inclined his head at her. “I truly believe you don’t care, Ms. Mackenzie, and that, oddly enough, is what makes me want to hire you.”
What did he mean by that?
He glanced at his friend. “You chose well, Mark. Even if I didn’t ask for your help.”
“I knew you’d see the light,” Dr. Reeves replied.
Donovan stood. “I’d like you to start right away, Ms. Mackenzie. Tonight as a matter of fact.”
Jocelyn raised her eyebrow at him again. “When I start—if I start—Dr. Knight, is entirely up to me. I’ll take a look around and ask some more questions first, then, and only then, will I consider taking your case. So you might as well sit back down and think back to every woman you’ve been with in the past six months. Then we’ll talk about a retainer.”
Dr. Knight smiled again, and quite agreeably sat down.
She was the rudest, coldest, least friendly woman he had encountered since he’d finished medical school ten years ago. And she was completely irresistible.
After Mark left, Donovan followed Jocelyn into his bedroom while she examined the door that led out onto the rooftop terrace. She tried to stick a finger into the gap between the door and the frame.
“This needs to be reinforced. It should be less than one-sixteenth of an inch, or a pry bar could be slipped in and the door worked open. And you could use some more floodlights on your terrace.” She tapped the glass. “Is this shatterproof?”
He nodded, and listened attentively to all her comments and suggestions, all the while thinking about how long it had been since a woman had spoken to him with such disinterest.
Because of his profession and his wealth—a good deal of which was inherited from his parents—women pasted on exaggerated smiles and laughed a little too long at his jokes. They generally dressed to kill, showing off cleavage and wearing spiky heels and glittery lipstick when they were in his company. The women in his life were predictable. They always had that “Maybe I can be the future Mrs. Dr. Knight” look in their eyes. Over the past few years, that kind of social life had begun to grow tiresome.
Jocelyn Mackenzie was different, though. She wore a plain brown suit with flat shoes, and practically no makeup. Not that she needed any. Her face had a natural beauty with healthy, rosy cheeks,