She put her left hand on his chest even as her right continued to twirl the glasses. “How about you shower? When we are questioning people and looking for the truth, I think it would work to our advantage if you smelled a little less like you’d been drinking for days.”
“Fair. A very fair point.” He backed away. “But you stay here, got it?”
“Of course. Where else would I go?”
Shaking his head, he hurried into a nearby bathroom. She stood there and stared straight ahead. One of the benefits of a shotgun house. You could stand at one end and see clearly to the other. An old saying held that you could open the door, and fire a shotgun—the blast would go straight through and out the other side.
Because she could see so clearly in the house, she’d know the instant that Kingston stepped out of the shower. She’d see him. He’d see her. With that in mind, Chloe knew that she would have to be very fast with her search of the home.
As soon as she heard the pounding spray of the shower’s water, she got busy.
***
Joel shoved open the door and marched into the small office. “Session’s over.” He ignored the killer view of the river. It was probably supposed to be soothing or some shit. It wasn’t. “I’m sure Gordo will reschedule you for—”
“What are you doing?” Dr. Gordon Jennings leapt to his feet. His little notepad was gripped in one hand and his other fist clutched a black pen. “You can’t barge in here when I’m working with a client!”
“Sure, I can. I just did.” He waved to the client, a twenty-something-ish guy in a blue suit with gray glasses. He had been sprawled on the couch, but now the man was up and looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” the woman who’d identified herself as Wendy Hyde, Gordon’s office manager, pulled on Joel’s shoulder. “I tried to stop him.”
“What can I say?” Joel ignored her pulling. “I’m an unstoppable machine.” His eyes narrowed on Gordo. “But isn’t that what you always said? Isn’t that why you are here now? You followed me all the way to New Orleans.”
A furrow appeared between Gordo’s bushy brows. He studied Joel in silence for a tense moment, then turned his attention to the uncomfortable client. “My apologies, Stephen. It would appear that an emergency situation has developed. Please go with Wendy. She will make sure that you can get in to see me tomorrow.”
Stephen shuffled toward the door. Wendy backed out with him. The door closed with a soft click.
Joel didn’t move.
“I didn’t…follow you here,” Gordo began carefully. He cleared his throat. “I made connections when I previously came to the city. I was offered an adjunct position at Tulane, and the FBI indicated that they would like my help in working some cases—”
“Thought they had a whole behavioral analysis unit for stuff like that. And the last time I looked, you weren’t FBI.”
“Yes, well, neither is your friend, Chloe.” He paced toward his desk and put down the pad and pen. “But she seems to get along well with law enforcement.”
Not all law enforcement. She and Paul Richardson—the FBI agent who’d been the lead on the last big serial murder investigation in New Orleans—pretty much hated one another. “That why the FBI guy, Richardson, wanted you around? He thought you’d help him one-up her?”
Gordo turned back toward him. “You seem stressed, Joel. Have you been having the dreams again?” He stroked the carefully cropped beard that covered his jaw.
Joel swallowed. “I’ve never liked you. Not from the first moment we met.”
“Yes, that was rather apparent.” Gordo propped one hip on the desk.
“You didn’t like me either. You told me…you thought I was dangerous.”
“You are dangerous. And that Chloe friend of yours? She is dangerous to you. She will put you in situations that force you to face the darkness inside of yourself, and that darkness will grow, it will swallow you—”
Joel took a lunging step toward him.
Gordo’s eyes widened in alarm. His hand flew back on this desk as he tried to grab the phone. Probably so he could call the cops.
Or maybe his FBI BFF. Should have started with that move, Gordo.
“Why?” Joel gritted out. He didn’t try to stop Gordo from calling the cops or the FBI. He wasn’t there to stop the man. He was there for answers.
“Why…what?” Gordo croaked.
“When I came to you before, you asked all the questions. It’s my turn.” He studied the shrink he’d come to hate.
Because he told me the truth? “Why did you tell me I was a threat? Why did you think I was so dangerous?”
“You were suffering from severe post-traumatic stress. You were locking all of your rage and pain inside. You didn’t want to get past what had happened.” Slowly, he stopped reaching for the phone. His fingers were inches from it. “The only thing that made you feel better was that the man who’d hurt you was dead.”
“Shouldn’t that have made me feel better?” Except…it’s all wrong. Wrong man. Wrong. His chest burned. Joel rubbed his palm against the ache.
“It was like you’d gotten a taste for something. I feared you wanted more.”
More what? More death? “You don’t know me.”
“Then why did you start working with Chloe Hastings? What did she offer that convinced you to join with her?”
When Chloe had first come to Joel…she’d offered him payback. A chance to stop the killers who hunted in the dark. Killers…like the man who had hurt Joel.
“I still think you are a threat, Joel,” Gordo told him. “You need therapy. Medication. You need—”
“What if I killed the wrong fucking man?” Why was he still talking to Gordo? He hated this bastard.
Shock ripped across Gordo’s face. “Wh-what?”
“How screwed up would that make me? That I killed the wrong guy?”
Gordo’s mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged.
“That’s what I thought.” Joel spun away. “Figured you’d just want to know,” he threw over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “You were right about me all along.”
“Joel! Joel, wait! Let me help you, I can—”
He shot one look back. “No one can help me. But I think we both already knew that.”
***
“Are you ready, Chloe?” The bathroom door had opened. Kingston stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and black boots. He’d applied a fresh bandage to his hand.
Chloe rose slowly from the couch. “Took you long enough. It’s not like we have places to go or murders to solve.”
His lips thinned. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
At least he’d apologized. “I do value punctuality.”
As he closed in on her, his expression turned thoughtful. “I would imagine the cops are looking for me.”
She nodded. “Yes, I would certainly imagine so, too. Lots of questions. The longer you avoid them, the more suspicious it will seem.”
“But instead of going to the cops, I’ll be with you because…?”