“You-” He stopped and made a quick movement with his head. “Of course you did. Let’s have a look.”

She rose, steady again, and went to the desk. Tess brought the yellow pad over and handed it to Ben. Here was something positive, something constructive. As long as she could think of it as a case, she wouldn’t fall apart again.

“I may have skimmed on a few words when he was talking quickly, but I got most of it.”

“It’s in shorthand.”

“Yes. Oh, I’ll read it to you.” She started at the beginning, making sure her voice was detached. Words were there to give the psychiatrist a clue to the mind. She remembered that and pushed back the horror of knowing they’d been directed at her. After the biblical quote, she stopped. “It sounds like the Old Testament. I imagine Monsignor Logan could place it.”

“Job.”

“What?”

“It’s out of Job.” His gaze was on the far wall as he lit a cigarette. Twice he’d read the bible through, when Josh had been sick. Looking for answers, Ben remembered, to questions he hadn’t even formed. “You know, the guy who had everything going for him.”

“And then God tested him?”

“Yeah.” He thought of Josh again, then shook his head. Josh had everything going for him, before ‘Nam. “Too happy, Job? How about some boils?”

“I see.” Though it was painfully obvious she didn’t know the bible as well as he, she saw the parallel. “Yes, it makes sense. His life was well set, he was content, in all likelihood a good Catholic.”

“Never had his faith tested,” Ben murmured.

“Yes, then it was tested in some way, and he failed.”

“The some way would have to do with this Laura.” He glanced down at the pad again, frustrated not to be able to read it himself. “Let’s have the rest.”

As he listened to her read, Ben fought to think like a cop and not a man caught between infatuation and something deeper. A killer had been watching her. Ben’s stomach tightened into a maze of tiny knots. He’d been waiting for her the night Anne Reasoner was killed, the night Tess had spent in his own bed. The cop recognized the warning as quickly as the doctor had.

“He’s focused on you.”

“Yes, that seems to be the situation.” Abruptly cold, she tucked her legs up under her before she set the yellow tablet aside. It was a case. Tess knew it was vital to think of it, to analyze it as a case. “He’s drawn to me because I’m a psychiatrist and part of him knows how desperately he needs help. And he’s drawn to me because I fit the physical description of Laura.”

It had been the voice, she remembered, that had been the most frightening. The way it had swung from pitiful to powerful, in quietly determined madness. She folded her hands together, tight. “Ben, what I want you to understand is that it was like talking to two people. One of them was weepy, desperate, almost pleading. The other-the other was aloof, fanatical, and determined.”

“He’s only one person when he strangles women.” He rose and walked toward the phone. “I’m calling in. We’ll want to put a tap on your phone, here and at your office.”

“At the office? Ben, I often talk to patients over the phone. I can’t jeopardize their right to confidentiality.”

“Don’t give me grief on this, Tess.”

“You have to understand-”

“No!” He whirled to face her. “You have to understand. There’s a maniac out there killing women, and he decided to call you. Your phones get wired, with your permission or with a court order, but they get wired. Four other women didn’t have the chance. Captain? This is Paris. We got a break.”

It took less than an hour. Two cops in suits and ties came in, did what seemed to be a few minor adjustments to her phone, and politely refused the offer of coffee. One of them picked up the receiver, punched a few numbers, and tested the tap. They took Tess’s spare key to her office and went out again.

“That’s it?” she asked when she and Ben were alone again.

“These are the days of the microchip. I’ll take some of that coffee.”

“Oh, sure.” With a last glance at the phone, she went into the kitchen. “It makes me feel exposed, knowing that whenever the phone rings, someone with a set of headphones is listening to everything I say.”

“It’s supposed to make you feel protected.”

When she came back in with the coffee, Ben was standing by the window, looking out. She saw him deliberately close the curtain when he heard her behind him.

“I can’t be sure he’ll call back. I was frightened, I’m sure he sensed it, and dammit, I didn’t handle it very well.”

“I guess you lose your standing as supershrink.” He took the coffee, and her hand. “Aren’t you having any?”

“No. I’m already too wired up.”

“You’re tired.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She looked so fragile all at once, so pale and beautiful. “Look, why don’t you go in, get some rest? I’ll bunk out on the couch.”

“Police protection?”

“Just part of our campaign to improve community relations.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.” He released her hand to run a fingertip down the closure of her silk kimono. “Nice.”

“I’ve missed seeing you.”

The movement of his finger stopped. He looked at her again and remembered that earlier in the evening she’d worn earrings, and a stone at her throat that had matched her eyes. And he’d wanted to touch her so badly that it had hurt, bone deep. Now, as he had before, Ben backed off.

“Got an extra blanket?”

She knew withdrawal when it smacked her in the face. As he had, she took a step back. “Yes, I’ll get it.”

When she’d gone, he swore at himself and stood straining against his own contradictions. He wanted her. He didn’t want to get involved with anyone like her. She pulled at him. He pushed back. She was cool and lovely, in the way of pink-and-white delicacies behind bakery store windows. He’d already had a taste of her, and knew certain delicacies could be habit-forming. Even if he had room for her in his life, which he didn’t, she would never fit. But he remembered again how she’d leaned against his windowsill, laughing.

She carried a blanket and pillow back in and began to make up the sofa.

“You don’t act like you want an apology.”

“For what?”

“For last week.”

Though she’d been determined not to mention it herself, Tess had wondered if he’d bring it up. “Why would I want an apology?”

He watched her tuck the ends of the blanket neatly under the cushion. “We had a pretty fair argument going. Most of the women I-most women I know want to hear the old ‘I’m sorry I was a jerk.’ ”

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“A jerk.”

He had to admit she’d maneuvered him very nicely. “No.”

“Then it would be foolish for you to say you were, just to hold up tradition. There, that should do,” she added as she gave the pillow a final fluff.

“All right, dammit, I feel like an idiot about the way I acted the last time.”

“You were an idiot.” Tess turned from the sofa to smile at him. “But it’s all right.”

“I meant a lot that I said.”

“I know you did. So did I.”

Opposite sides, Ben thought. Opposite ends. “So where does that leave us?”

If she’d known, she wasn’t sure she could have told him. Instead she kept her voice friendly. “Why don’t we just leave it that I’m glad you’re here, with all this…” Her gaze drifted to the phone.

“Don’t dwell on that now. Let me take it from here.”

“You’re right.” She linked her hands together, then pulled them apart. “If you think about something like this too much, you go-”

“Crazy?” he suggested.

“To use a loose, inaccurate term.” She moved away then, tidying the desk to keep her hands busy. “I was surprised to see you tonight, at the gallery. I know it’s a small town, but-” It struck her then; the confusion and panic had obscured it before. “What are you doing here tonight? I thought you had a date.”