Sacred Sins

satisfying.
    She took the files and tapes from her late-afternoon patients and locked them away. Joey Higgins's file remained on her desk. Knowing she was spinning her wheels, Tess put it in her briefcase to take home.
    Three times she caught herself looking toward her door with her pulse throbbing.
    Ridiculous. Determined not to be a fool, she checked the next day's appointments. There were two policemen outside, she reminded herself, and one in the lobby. She was perfectly safe.

    But each time she heard the elevator hum in the hall outside, she felt a jolt.
    If she went home now, the apartment would be empty. She didn't want to face solitude there now, not now that she was sharing the apartment with Ben.
    What was she getting into? Sighing, she began to gather the rest of her things. She was over her head with Ben Paris. Just how did the eminent Dr. Court deal with falling in love? Very poorly, she decided as she went to the closet for her coat.
    If it were spring, she'd have an excuse for daydreaming and smiling at nothing in particular. Smart people fell in love in spring, she thought, when everything was fresh and seemed as though it would stay that way.
    She stopped at the window. The trees that marched along the street in front of the buildings were dark and naked. What patches of grass could be seen were already yellowed and tired. People huddled inside their coats, heads bowed against the wind. It wasn't spring, she thought, feeling foolish. And everyone's hurrying home.
    Then she saw him. He stood very still in his black coat, just in back of a group of young trees. Her breath caught. Her knees trembled. Watching—he was waiting and watching. Instinctively, she swung around for the phone, grabbing it from her desk. She'd call downstairs, she thought as she began to punch buttons. She'd call and tell the police that he was outside, watching. Then she'd go down too. She'd go because she'd promised herself that much.
    But when she turned back to look, he was gone.
    She stood there a moment, the phone in her hand, the number half dialed. He was gone.

    Just someone on his way home, Tess told herself. A doctor or lawyer or bank executive walking home to keep fit. She forced herself to walk back to her desk and calmly replace the phone. She was jumping at shadows. Because her legs were still unsteady, she sat on the edge of the desk. Layer by layer she rebuilt control.
    Diagnosis, acute paranoia.
    Prescription, hot bath and quiet evening with Ben Paris.
    Feeling better, she drew on her cashmere coat, hefted her briefcase, and tossed her purse strap over her shoulder. After locking her office, she turned and saw the knob on the reception-area door turn.
    The keys in her hand slipped out of nerveless fingers. She took a step back into the door she'd just locked. The door opened an inch. The scream backed up in her throat, bubbling hot. Frozen, she stared as the door opened a bit more. There was no maze to run through, no place to go. She took a deep breath, knowing she was on her own.
    “Anybody home?”
    “Oh, Jesus, Frank.” Her knees felt like butter as she braced herself against her office door. “What are you doing sneaking around the halls?”
    “I was walking down to the elevator and saw the light under your door.” He smiled, delighted to find her alone. “Don't tell me you're taking work home again, Tess.” He stepped inside, strategically closing the outer door at his back.
    “No, I keep my laundry in here.” She bent to retrieve her keys, furious enough with herself to let him feel the backlash. “Look, Frank, I've had a long day. I'm not in the mood for your fumbling attempts at seduction.”
    “Why, Tess.” His eyes widened, and so did his smile. “I had no idea you could be so … so aggressive.”
    “If you don't get out of my way, you're going to get a close-up view of the nap of this carpet.”
    “How about a drink?”

    “Oh, for God's sake.” She pushed past him, took hold of the freshly pressed sleeve of his jacket, and yanked him into the hall.
    “Dinner at my place?”
    Setting her teeth, Tess switched off the light, closed the door, and locked it. “Frank, why don't you take your sexual delusions and write a book? It might keep you out of trouble.” She whipped past him and punched the button for the elevator.
    “You could be chapter one.”
    She took a long breath, counted backward from ten, and discovered, to her amazement, that it did nothing to calm her. When the