Free Head to Head by Linda Ladd Page A

before I left. “His practice is worldwide?”
    “Yep. He maintains small, exclusive psychiatry practices in New York, L.A., London, Paris, Rome, Tokyo, and there’s talk of setting up one in Moscow. He’s got trusted colleagues running them for him, but he visits each office regularly to see special patients. Busy guy. Must take days just to count his money.”
    “And here he is, holed up in good old Missouri, out in the middle of nowhere. Doesn’t ring quite true to me. His assistant intimates he’s been spending lots of time here at the lake.”
    Harve said, “It says here he’s got a Lear jet to travel in. And a Bell 430 helicopter with a helipad, I might add. He’s also got a motor yacht he had custom-built to use on the lake. He likes his toys and finds time to play with them.”
    “Money’ll do that for folks.”
    “Wouldn’t know.”
    “Me, either.”
    The television suddenly blared in the living room, followed by Dottie’s excited cry. “Hey, guys, Larry King’s coming on any minute.”
    Harve tapped in the print command for Black’s dossier, and I followed him into the living room at the front of the house. It was a bright daffodil yellow. Dottie liked for everything to be yellow, different shades, maybe, canary, butter, sunshine, but all yellow. I chalked that up to her sunny disposition. Harve’s penchant for technology showed up in the 71-inch TV screen surrounded not only by sound but every digital instrument known to man. Black wasn’t the only man who liked toys.
    I owned a 13-inch model, which wasn’t hooked up to cable, but hey, it was color. I felt a hint of culture shock watching a screen the size of my plate-glass front window. When Black came on camera, I had a physical response that I didn’t like. He was way, way too good-looking. I studied him with professional objectivity, as a suspect instead of a man, trying to figure out exactly what brought out that reaction in women. He looked dangerous, sensual. And those eyes were too intense given his otherwise relaxed, confident demeanor.
    Larry King asked him right off about the book he was promoting. Black was at ease with the camera—articulate, urbane, with a well-masked accent I detected but couldn’t quite place. It sure as hell wasn’t Kansas City.
    “Does he know about the murder yet?” Harve muted a toilet tissue commercial with little puppies sliding into four-roll packs.
    “Miki Tudor, his assistant down here, said she told him. But I notice he’s handling his grief rather well.”
    Dottie came in with a tray of coffee and cherry cheesecake. My stomach said, Oh yeah. She said, “You’d think he’d act more upset, or even cancel the show, since she’s his patient.”
    I took a sip of the coffee. Decaffeinated. Yuck. “Yeah, if Black’s upset, he’s hiding it pretty good. Wonder what else he’s hiding?”
    “You’ll have him in your gun sights soon enough. I almost pity the guy.” Harve smiled at Dottie when she poured his coffee. “Why don’t you record your interview with him and let me listen to you grill him?”
    “I bet he uses a bunch of psychobabble stuff to throw you off,” said Dottie, finally sitting down with her own coffee and cheesecake. “If you can remember your name when he puts those killer eyes on you.”
    Harve laughed. “Interesting use of words, Dot.”
    “I’ll be forearmed by then, thanks to Harve’s dossier. Maybe I’ll ask him his take on the killer, since he’s a psychiatrist.”
    “Good point,” Harve said. “I forgot to mention he assisted the FBI on one case. He testifies in court sometimes, too. You’ll read all that tonight.”
    “I’ve had some truly sad news today,” Black said on-screen, instantly drawing all our attention back to the tube. “Shocking, terrible news.”
    I felt my muscles tense, and Larry King leaned forward, pleased as punch about the shocking, terrible announcement going out live on his show. Ratings, ratings, my kingdom for ratings.
    “I