Page 12 of Sins of Leo

“Danger of what? I understand, as an officer of the law, you’re used to seeing crime, but I assure you, while rare, people do sometimes enter without an appointment.”

“And the guy trying to get in from the alley?”

She shrugged. “A coincidence. They’ll move on soon enough.”

“And here I thought they’d wait more than a day to strike again,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?”

“That break-in yesterday wasn’t an accident. You were targeted.”

“Not unheard of in the neighborhood. As a police officer, you should know home invasions are on the rise.”

“Would you stop blowing me off? I’m being serious. You’re in danger, as in there are people after you,” he snapped.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she huffed, breaking a cardinal rule of therapy by belittling his claims, but at this point, she was getting annoyed by his paranoid delusion. “No one is after me.”

“If you say so,” he muttered as the handle to her office once more turned and thudded as someone shoved against it.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” she ordered as he lifted the club chair and wedged it under the doorknob.

Her belly tightened as he blocked the door.

“Can’t leave. I’ve been told to protect you.”

“Told by who?”

For some reason, his lips twitched as he said, “A very demanding pregnant lady. Apparently, you have something they”—he pointed to the door—“want.”

“Like what? I don’t prescribe drugs. The strongest thing I have in my medicine cabinet is Tylenol, and I don’t deal in cash.”

“It’s not drugs or money they’re after, but your father’s secrets.” His gaze went to the drawing on her desk.

Her brow furrowed. “What secrets? The man’s been dead more than two decades.”

“And you’re his daughter. What else did he leave you other than that picture?”

“Nothing. I got rid of most of his things when my mother died.”

“Most, not all. What did you keep?” he questioned.

She might have not replied but for the thump against the backdoor. Her gaze slewed to it as she murmured, “Just a few letters and pictures. Oh, and his journal.”

He stiffened. “This journal, where do you keep it?”

“Usually, it’s in my office upstairs, but my therapist?—”

“You see a shrink?” He sounded surprised.

Her chin lifted. “I do. You’re not the only one with unresolved issues. Although mine revolve around my father. Hence why the journal is in my car. My therapist wanted me to bring it to my next session.”

“And where is your car?” he asked as someone thumped against the door to the waiting room.

Perhaps he wasn’t being ridiculous. Someone seemed determined to get inside.

“I keep it a block over in a parking garage. Surely you don’t think?—”

She never got to finish her sentence because he suddenly flung open the back door, and a man, dressed in black—that included a face-concealing mask—stumbled in. Leo grabbed him by the head and kneed him in the face.

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