Jo Leigh - One-Click Buy: September Harlequin Blaze

IT WAS TUESDAY AT one-fifteen in the afternoon, and with the precision of a Swiss watch Tate Baxters therapist leaned back in her chair, closed her notebook, smiled, then said, Is there anything else youd like to tell me?

Tates response was just as mechanical. No, Dr. Bay. Nothing to report.

Well, I have something Id like to show you.

Tate lifted her head. One-fifteen was the end of the session. Dr. Bay never went over. Never. Oh?

The doctor flipped her notebook over and pulled out a newspaper article. Take a look at this, she said.

Tate took the paper, torn between reading the article and watching Dr. Bay. The therapist, whom Tate had been seeing for almost two years, was clearly excited. That hardly ever happened. In fact, it never had. Not like this. Dr. Bay was a behaviorist, always setting up new challenges and goals for Tate to accomplish between sessions. The outcome never elicited anything but a favorable reaction, no matter the performance. Even when Tate had surpassed her own expectations, the doctor had always been reserved. But now Dr. Bays eyes were wide with anticipation and her pale cheeks looked flushed.

Tate glanced down and the headline sent her own pulse racing. Kidnapping For Hire. She looked back at Dr. Bay.

Its all right, Tate. Please, read it.

After a moment of hesitation, Tate started reading.

It begins with a list of your wildest fears. For a few thousand dollars Jerry Brodys personalized kidnapping service will make them come true. Your kidnappers might stuff you into a duffel bag or blindfold you and take you to a faraway cabin. In the dark you might see an aliens mask or a man in a filthy suit stinking like a garbage Dumpster. No two abductions are staged the same way. Your custom kidnapping could stop at a code word or go on for days. Brody and his team might snatch you when youre on the subway or showering in your apartment. After the event, which some clients compare to meditation, you may feel relief, exhilaration or a newfound sense of personal power.

Tate had to stop. Shed come a long way since shed first told Dr. Bay about her kidnap phobia and she hadnt had a full-blown panic attack in months. But this? This was-

Breathe, Tate, Dr. Bay said. Remember what weve practiced.

Closing her eyes, she went to her safe space. After several deep breaths, she focused on each part of her body from her toes to the top of her head.

Youre safe. Youre in my office and no ones going to hurt you. Picture the glade.

Tate followed Dr. Bays instructions. By the time shed finished the awareness exercise she had regained her equilibrium. Her eyes opened to the security of the familiar-and the disappointment that she was still, after so much work, at the mercy of her fears.

Do you want to talk about this now? Dr. Bay asked, gesturing at the paper still in Tates hand.

You want me to hire this man? To let him take me?

I want you to think about it. Ive been researching this approach for a long time now and Ive spoken to a number of colleagues who have used similar techniques. There are reliable case studies where the subjects have been transformed. But remember, its simply an idea. Youre doing very well following the course were on, and I realize this is unconventional.

Tate winced at the understatement. She could barely imagine what her father would say about this unconventional approach.

When you go home tonight, Id like you to do some work in your journal. Not about your reaction to the article but about what your life might be like if you could overcome this fear. Okay?

Tate nodded. Ill try.

Thats all anyone can ask. For what its worth, you did a great job of calming down. It didnt take long at all.

Tate glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to two. Not bad, considering. It hadnt been that long ago that even the suggestion of something like this would have put her in a panic for days.

She put the article on the side table and grabbed her purse. Ill see you next week.

Dont forget to meditate.

She never did. And it had helped. She went out more frequently these days, and the nightmares werent plaguing her nearly as often. Three cheers for the safe place. If only it could exist somewhere outside of her head.

As she was leaving, she nodded at Stephanie, Dr. Bays receptionist. There were two people in the waiting room, both of whom appeared perfectly normal. She imagined they thought the same thing about her.

There was no one in the elevator as she stepped in, and she took a moment to push her hair back behind her shoulders, to daub the corners of her mouth, preparing herself for the streets of Manhattan.

Not that she would be on the streets-unless one counted being driven in one of her fathers black limousines. The tinted windows hid her from view, making her feel as if the city was one giant store display.

The elevator slowed at the fourth floor. She inched back as a man entered. He was tall and silver-haired, wearing a tailored black pin-striped suit. His shoes looked equally expensive, and when he smiled she could see his veneered teeth had cost him a pretty penny. Not surprising, given the address. Dr. Bays office overlooked Park Avenue. Her clients all understood, even before the first session, that if they had to ask about the fee, they couldnt afford it.

The man turned to stare at the elevator doors as they rode the rest of the way to the lobby. Only, the doors were reflective and he clearly had no qualms about giving her a very thorough once-over.

She counted the seconds until they reached the lobby, and when the doors slid slowly open she placed her hand strategically so the elevator couldnt be fetched, waiting until the man was halfway across the lobby before she stepped out.

What would her life be like if she stopped being afraid? She had no idea. It was too foreign a concept.

Despite her improvement, her life was about fear, and it had been forever. At twenty-four, shed resigned herself to living inside the bubble her father had created for her, going from limo to apartment to business appointments that had all been prescreened and determined safe.

She knew beyond any doubt that anyone looking at her life would believe it was perfect. Why wouldnt they? She had more money than anyone truly should, shed been given her fathers fast metabolism and her mothers striking blue eyes. Her education was exemplary, and if she decided she didnt want to do anything but shop for the rest of her life, she had the means to do just that.

She knew that her agoraphobic tendencies appeared to many as conceit and arrogance. The fact that she was so terrified of being kidnapped that her world had shrunk to a stultifying routine meant nothing. There were real problems out there; she just had an active imagination and a constant state of terror that kept her from enjoying the gifts shed been given.

She walked outside the building to the busy street, her gaze fixed on the limo parked just a few feet away. Michael, her driver, opened the back door for her. To those hurrying past he seemed like any other limo driver. Black suit, white shirt, humble demeanor. But behind his dark glasses he was scanning the area with laser intensity and the reason his jacket wasnt buttoned was so that he could, if necessary, get to his weapon in a heartbeat. He drove her, but that was his secondary job.

She passed him closely as she got into the back of the car and marveled again at his face. He wasnt classically handsome. Too many sharp edges and flaws. But his looks had grown on her since hed come on board six months ago. She hadnt really thought about him that way in the beginning. There were lots of people in her life whose job it was to keep her safe. Some of them were also dear friends-like Elizabeth, her assistant-but most werent. Her father didnt like her getting too comfortable with the staff, and shed fallen into the terrible habit of seeing them as employees, not people.