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you.”
    “Really? What a sweet thing to say.”
    The shift in her tone—from mischievous to measured—warned Clay she was about to turn into the other Sara. The distant, unreachable one.
    And right on schedule, she added briskly, “Like I said, Clay, I’m glad we can end things on a more civilized note. Speaking of which . . .” She held out her hand. “My journal, please.”
    “It’s in a safe place. You can have it back in an hour. After the three of us have had a chance to talk.”
    She drew back, clearly stunned. “Pardon?”
    “One short hour,” he repeated. “Just so we end this on a good note. Like you said.”
    Sara moistened her lips. “I could have called the police right away, you know. And I still can.” Her gaze locked with his. “I want my diary. Immediately.”
    “I promised I wouldn’t read it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what’s in it. Mark thinks it must be god-awful to make you so panicked about getting it back—”
    “Oh, really?” Her blue eyes turned cold. “I think my reaction was perfectly normal. But even if your brother thinks I’m a raving lunatic, I don’t really care. My past is none of your business.” To Mark, she added stiffly, “I can’t believe you’re willing to get involved in this. My guess is the professional licensing board would take a dim view of your behavior.”
    “For the record, I told him to give it back and to wash his hands of you,” Mark said with a shrug. “If you want to talk, we can schedule some time. Or better still, I can recommend a colleague. But for now, I’ve got an appointment in less than twenty minutes. With an actual patient. So I’m outta here. Clay? Give Sara her diary. Sara, get help.” He eyed them both with cool dismissal. “I think we’re done here.”
    “Thanks a lot, Mark,” Clay growled.
    “No, Clay.” Sara touched his shoulder in a gesture that seemed almost flirtatious. “Let him go. It’ll give us a chance to spend some time alone together. To say good-bye properly. I’d really like that, wouldn’t you?”
    To say good-bye properly . . .
    She was offering to sleep with him. And even though he knew it was just her way of conning him into giving the diary back, Clay felt encouraged. If he could get her into bed—a place where she always seemed to let her guard down, at least for an hour or so—maybe he could get through to her.
    But his doctor-brother had other ideas. Taking out his cell phone, Mark punched a button, then muttered, “Julie? Cancel my first two appointments. I’ve got a medical emergency on my hands. I’ll check in at ten. Thanks.”
    Then he turned his attention to Sara and told her bluntly, “There are several technical terms for a female who trades sexual favors for material items—”
    “Hey!” Clay stepped toward his brother. “Back off.”
    “You’re calling me a prostitute?” Sara demanded. “Aren’t you forgetting that that journal is mine in the first place?”
    “So why do you feel the need to sleep with him to get it back?”
    “Because he won’t just hand it over!”
    “That’s because you’re driving him crazy,” Mark reminded her. “And just for the record, I wasn’t calling you a prostitute. You’re some sort of abuse victim, right? You’ve been dominated and controlled, and had to develop methods for handling that sort of guy. And now my brother here is jumping on the bandwagon, trying to control you by holding your diary hostage—”
    “Hey!” Clay growled. “What’s with you?”
    Mark glared. “I’m giving you guys one hour. The ground rules are, Sara promises to be completely honest. Clay promises to give the diary back when the hour’s up. If Sara wants to leave then and never see him again, he’ll abide by that.” Taking a deep breath, he added more reasonably, “Can you live with those terms? Sara? Clay?”
    “I shouldn’t have to, but I will,” Sara told him with a sniff. “As long as he gives his word.”
    “As