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those probably came from pictures and stories. Mom and Dad, friends of my real parents, adopted me. I had a perfectly normal, happy childhood, I might add."
    "Oh?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Exactly how do you define normal ?"
    He smiled and shrugged. "I don't suppose you get many people in here who say that. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but mine couldn't have been any more normal. I know the accident must have been a shock, but I was so young, it had no lasting effect. I've always adored my adoptive parents, and they've always been there for me. I went to school, played football, made decent grades, had a lot of friends. Dad's an investment banker. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and I wanted to." He shrugged. "Except for the mundane details, like what we had for Sunday dinner, that's about it."
    She sensed that he was telling the truth...at least as far as he knew the truth. "I'd like to have another session with hypnosis and explore the accident. When do you want to come in again?"
    "Tomorrow," he stated firmly. "I'd like to come tomorrow, but I'll understand if you want to go home at a reasonable hour for a change."
    His gritty determination coming to the fore again. "Tomorrow at five," she agreed, making a notation on her calendar.
    Eliot rose from the recliner, checking the gold watch on his wrist. "Damn, it's nearly seven o'clock. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you so late."
    She looked at the wall of windows, surprised to see that they were growing dark. She hadn't realized so much time had passed.
    "No problem," she assured him, but her failure to notice the passage of time bothered her. She had turned off her timer for fear it would interrupt the hypnotic session; even so, she always had a sixth sense of the approaching end of the hour—always until tonight.
    True, Eliot's case was interesting, out of the ordinary, but she couldn't afford to let her interest get out of hand. She couldn't become personally involved. The thought of that terrified her every bit as much as the possibility that he might be a cold-blooded killer.
    The mentally ill had the capacity to murder the soul of anyone who cared too deeply for them. For more reasons than professional ethics, she had to maintain a proper distance from the case...from Eliot Kane.
    He extended his hand, and she took it, enjoying the feel of his flesh against hers even as she ordered herself to ignore such inappropriate, dangerous feelings.
    "I really appreciate your working me into your schedule like this," he said. "Since it's so late, let me take you to dinner. It's the least I can do."
    For a fleeting, insane instant she wanted to go with him, to pretend theirs was an ordinary relationship.
    But it wasn't.
    "Thanks, but I couldn't do that," she said, distressed to hear her words come out in a breathless manner. "Doctor-patient ethics." She made a slight movement of withdrawal from his fingers, and he released her immediately.
    "Tomorrow at five, then," he said and strode from her office looking every inch the confident, successful businessman with no hint of the tortured person who'd come to her for help. She could see what he meant when he said he'd always been in control of his life. In spite of their relationship, his dependency on her skills, he left her feeling as though he were the one in charge.
    She listened for the outer office door to close, then began clearing her desk. Her brief vision of dinner with Eliot Kane had been tantalizing—seeing his smile from across a table rather than a desk, being allowed to savor the tough but gentle touch of his hand on hers. Eliot Kane was a dangerous man, a possible threat to her bodily safety as well as her emotional.
    The outer door opened and closed again. "Eliot, did you forget something?" she called, and the idea that he had returned both excited and frightened her. Would it be the charming Eliot or the man who'd stood across the street from her house? Which one was the most