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the family. Most days she could shove the hurt back. Today it seemed worse, perhaps because she’d been reminded again and again throughout the night of Cynthia Adams’s solitary existence. No family. No one significant. No one to miss her now that she was gone. It reminded Tess that with the exception of her brother Vito who’d defied their father’s decree, she had no family either. And Vito was so far away. South Philly. It reminded her that she had no one significant because Phillip, damn him to hell, was a lousy two-timing weasel.
    But she did have friends. She glanced away from the mirror, to the last group picture they’d had taken at the Lemon. Amy and Jon. Robin, who owned the bistro. Jim, who’d left them recently for humanitarian work in Africa. Her heart squeezed as she studied his face, hoping he stayed healthy and safe. There was Gen and Rhonda and all the others that were probably already gathered at the Lemon wondering where the hell she was.
    She straightened the picture on the wall and turned back to the mirror, quickly slashing her lips with Ravishing Red. It matched the coat and was the final touch to a look she hoped would raise a few brows. Maybe drive some interested men from the bushes. Her love life could use shaking up. Hell, her love life could use a complete blood transfusion. Or perhaps a medium, because it was all but dead. Jon told her that, too. Routinely. She really was grateful for her friends. Sometimes she just wished they were selectively mute. Bypassing the elevator, she took her normal skipping jog down the ten flights to the lobby where Mr. Hughes stood guard at the lobby desk as he always did. Seeing him seemed to return a sense of balance to the morning. “Good morning, Dr. Chick.”
    Tess smiled at the doorman. “Good morning, Mr. Hughes. How are you?”
    The old man’s chuckle was musical. “Can’t complain. Well I could, but Ethel says nobody wants to hear it.” Mr. Hughes was studying her through narrowed eyes. “You don’t look well, Dr. Chick. Are you sick again?”
    She hefted her briefcase on her shoulder. It was heavier today, filled with Cynthia Adams’s file. “Just tired.”
    “Riggin said you came in late. That you’d been crying.”

    20
    Karen Rose

    [Suspense 5]

    You Can't Hide
    Riggin was the night man. That they’d been discussing her was annoying. It was nobody’s damn business what time she came in or her state of mind when she did. But one gave up privacy in exchange for security. She knew that. The puff of annoyance blew away on a sigh.
    “Mr. Hughes, I’m fine. Can you just flag me a cab? I’m already late.” A cab would get her to the Lemon a lot faster than driving and looking for parking.
    Mr. Hughes still looked concerned. “Where you going this morning, Dr. Chick? No wait. It’s the second Sunday, so you’l be going to the Blue Lemon for brunch.”
    Her brows bunched as she passed through the door he opened. “Am I that predictable, then?”
    There’d been a time when she hadn’t been.
    “I can set my watch by you,” Hughes said cheerful y as he flagged the cab. “The Blue Lemon on the second Sunday, the hospital on Mondays, dinner with the doctor on Wed-” He cut himself off abruptly, his back going stiff. With a guilty look he met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
    With an effort she made her lips smile. “It’s all right, Mr. Hughes.” Her Wednesday dinners with the doctor were a thing of the past. Because the doctor himself was a thing of the past. That thinking of Phillip could still hurt made her angry, but she shoved both the anger and hurt back down as a cab stopped at the curb. Neither emotion was healthy. Neither would undo the past.
    “The cab won’t be necessary,” said a hard voice behind her and Tess turned on her heel only to find herself staring up into the same cold blue eyes that had held so much contempt for her the night before. Eyes that hadn’t softened in the light of day.
    “Detective Reagan,”