The doors hissed as he entered the lobby. Warm air countered the ice clawing through his veins. The six-story building was nothing compared to Mallory’s offices downtown. Where she’d made an effort to decorate and arrange her space in calming tones and welcoming atmosphere with books and light furniture, the Seattle Clinic took the opposite approach. Despite the heat, white tile and brightly colored walls pushed a coldness through him. Like a hospital trying too hard to create the peace Mallory seemed to breathe. Then again, from what he’d read online, the clinic had gone from private practice to an extension of Harborview’s behavioral medicine unit over the years. How had his father ended up here?
“You must be Detective Nichols.” A woman behind the large wraparound desk stood. Ample curves and flawless sepia-colored skin filled out a welcoming face. Seaweed-green scrubs highlighted her authority as she maneuvered around the desk, and Payton slowed his approach. “Dr. Kotite told us you might be a bit skittish when you came to visit. I’m Crystal, one of the nurses here.”
Mallory’s name triggered the guilt twisting him dry from the inside. The vulgar accusations he’d made against her lodged acid in his throat. In the moment, he’d wanted to hurt her as much—if not more—than she’d hurt him. But now… Now he knew what kind of man he really was. A coward. “You know her?”
“Sure, honey,” Crystal said. “She’s in here at least once a month visiting with our resident patients. Your John Doe included.”
“She… knows him?” he asked.
“Not sure knows is the right word. How can you know someone who doesn’t really know himself?” The nurse motioned him toward a set of heavy steel doors with rectangular windows cut out. She scanned her badge at the keypad, and the door bumped outward. Tugging one open, Crystal led him through. “They talk about all kinds of things. Sports, the news, even throw in a game of Scrabble every now and then. To be honest, though, I think she lets him win.”
He could see it now. Mallory visiting a place like this, bringing a bit of color to the people relegated to living out their lives in white rooms. “The woman on the phone said John Doe suffered brain damage about thirty years ago.”
“That’s right. Best we can make of it, he was mugged the night he came to us. Beaten something awful. Couldn’t remember his name, how old he was, if he had any family.” Crystal’s white sneakers caught on the tile and squeaked as they came to another set of doors. Same routine. Badge. Open. Walk through. “Cops were called, but as John was touch and go, they didn’t get much from him. His prints weren’t in AFIS, and John’s teeth had been so badly damaged during the fight, we couldn’t match them to any dental records. Whoever attacked him had taken his wallet and used some kind of pipe or bat to make sure he didn’t survive. They almost killed him. Would have if he hadn’t found his way here.”
Pressure built below Payton’s ears. He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets to satisfy his nerves. In vain. “Did you compare his likeness to any missing persons reports in the area?”
Crystal scuffled to a halt at a plain white door with an identical window cutout. “The cops who handled the case took care of all that. From the sound of it, John’s case was a priority at the time. Our job was just to make sure he lived. And by the grace of God, he did.” She gazed into the window to a single figure with his back to the door on the other side. “You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but that man has survived things no one should have to survive. His body isn’t what it used to be, but he’s sweet and funny, even when he’s in pain.” The nurse turned rich brown eyes to Payton. “Want to meet him?”
“I…” Yes. No. Hell, he didn’t know. Payton’s mouth dried as he envisioned the first half of his life coming to a close. All he had to do was walk through that door. Mallory had been right. This was what he’d wanted. Closure. Answers. It was why he’d joined the force, why he’d spent years chasing dead leads and calling mortuaries. Why he’d shut down the possibility of long-term relationships—even those with partners on the force—and isolated himself to live the rest of his life alone. He’d needed that case more than he’d needed anything else, to justify himself to everyone who’d turned their backs on him, including his mother, and now there was nothing left holding him upright but the truth.
He hadn’t cut Mallory out of his life because she’d crossed a personal line. He’d done it because he hadn’t been the one to solve the case. Because she’d taken that accomplishment from him and turned it into an act of love. And his pride hadn’t been able to handle it.
All this time he believed he’d be the one to find out what happened to his father. That he’d be the one to give his mother the peace she deserved. It’d never occurred to him someone else had been out there doing the same thing, that they cared. Mallory did. Because that was the kind of woman she’d been from the beginning. Persistent, considerate, loving. She put her own vulnerabilities on the line every day she met with her patients, knowing she might not ever heal from her own trauma, but she did the work anyway. She showed up. She gave all of herself. She wasn’t like the therapists he’d been forced to see as a child. No. Her work made a difference in people’s lives because she genuinely gave a shit about what happened to them.
Just as she had for him.
And he loved her for it.
She wasn’t a prostitute or a narcissist as he’d said, and he owed her one hell of an apology, even if she never wanted to see him again afterward.
Payton took a step forward. There was still a very real possibility the man on the other side of the door wasn’t his father, but if he walked away now, he’d never move on. He’d stay the miserable, isolated, abrasive asshole Wells had accused him of being. He didn’t want that. Mallory had shown him he could be more than that, that he had a choice, and there was no turning back now. Not if there was a chance he could have her in his life. “Yeah. I want to meet him.”
His phone rang from his back pocket as Crystal raised her keycard to unlock John Doe’s door.
“Excuse me.” Payton unpocketed the device and answered, turning his back for privacy. “Wells, tell me you were able to catch up with Lucille Kotite.”
A siren chirped in the background, followed by two hard thuds. “Wasn’t hard considering she was passed out cold on her bathroom floor.”
“What the hell happened?” Every muscle in Payton’s body strung tight. His mind instantly cut to Mallory. Damn it. He should’ve been there. Not looking for answers from a man who couldn’t remember his own name. “Is she okay?”
“EMTs are taking her to Harborview for assessment now. She hit her head pretty hard on the edge of the tub. They’re going to keep her overnight to make sure there’s no permanent damage.” Footsteps and distorted voices echoed through the line. “From what I’ve been able to tell, she was sedated at least twice. There were fresh syringe marks at the back of her neck. Looks like my showing up interrupted the killer’s plans.”
Payton scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “All right. Get CSU to pull that place apart. Call me with any updates as soon as you have them. I’ll try to get a hold of Mallory to let her know.”
Although he wouldn’t blame her for ignoring his calls.
“Payton, there’s more.” The use of his first name stopped him from turning back to the door he’d been waiting almost his entire life to walk through. “There’s a set of keys here on the entry way table. Lucille Kotite identified them as her daughter’s before she got in the ambulance, but we’ve searched the property. Mallory isn’t here.”
Mallory. “Where is she?”
“We don’t know,” Wells said. “I can’t get a GPS signal on her phone, but we recovered a 9mm Smith & Wesson handgun, dismantled in the master bedroom. There are fresh prints. I’ve already sent them with forensics.” Hesitation blistered through the phone. “Payton, CSU discovered a set of footprints underneath the master bedroom window. The master is two stories up.”
His grip tightened around his phone. “Just one?”
“Yeah. I’ve got them taking casts right now, but there’s something else. The prints were interrupted by what looks like drag marks,” Wells said. “They also found some blood on a rock beneath the window. I’m having them run it as soon as they can, but there’s a chance it belongs to her.”
If Mallory had been at the house… Battle-ready tension constricted the muscles down his spine. She’d gone to her mother’s house after their argument. She’d known Lucille had been a target and took it upon herself to be there for her mother in case something went wrong. “I’ll call you back.”