Page 40 of So Bleak

But when the first beads of sweat appeared on Klein’s face, the killer smiled with a very personal feeling of triumph. When Klein began to convulse, the killer had to cough into his napkin so no one would hear him laugh.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Faith woke in a sour mood. The hurt she felt after watching the newscast the night before was gone, but it left behind irritation and anger.

Were they really trying to act like West was right about her? That she really was just a half-step away from being as insane as he was? And what the hell was with bringing up those past incidents? Faith was wrong to attack Jason Greenwood in his home, yes, but that South African tourist had run when Faith asked to talk to him. And he was a suspect. True, he was proven quickly to be innocent, but what was she supposed to do when a suspect ran? Just let him get away?

Apparently so. The media thought so. When the event had occurred, the FBI had thought so. Even Michael had thought so.

And as far as Greenwood went, yes, she shouldn’t have done that, but she was traumatized. She had been tortured nearly to death by Jethro Trammell, and then some asshole started killing people in exactly the same way? It wasn’t an excuse for what she did, but she had already atoned for all of that. She had gotten better.

But that didn’t matter because no one wanted to hear the heartwarming tale of how the tortured FBI agent had overcome her demons and brought the most prolific serial killer in over forty years to justice. They wanted to hear what West had said, that she was no better than any killer, just walking on the right side of sanity at the moment.

Her analytical mind reminded her that this was how it always happened. People loved seeing heroes torn down because when a hero was torn down, they could feel better about their own cowardice and their own vices.

But it pissed her off. And it pissed her off even more that West could still piss her off even when she knew he would never see the light of day again.

So it pissed her off further when she walked into the living room to see coffee and breakfast laid out for her.

“Fresh coffee from morning glory, over-easy eggs, bacon, sausage and hash browns,” Michael said. “I made the food myself.”

It looked delicious, and Faith could only thank him. With no reason to be angry, she had nothing to lash out against, no outlet for her frustration.

That pissed her off even more.

Michael sat across from her, carrying his own plate. He gave Faith a look she had seen many times over the years, and one that once more increased her frustration. He was gauging how angry she was and whether or not he should talk to her or just leave her alone.

It was horribly unfair to Michael that she wanted to take her anger out on him, but that didn’t make her any less angry. She felt like she was caught in a vicious cycle where everything made her angry, and the only way to stop being angry was to lash out against someone who didn’t deserve her anger, and since she couldn’t do that, she could only get angrier and angrier.

Turk barked and trotted to her side, looking up at her with his beautiful brown eyes. And her anger faded, not entirely, but enough that she could speak without fearing that she would scream.

God, she loved that dog.

She scratched him behind the ear and said, “Sorry boy. We both know what happened the last time I fed you breakfast sausages.”

“He’s fine,” Michael said, free to speak now that Turk had calmed Faith somewhat. “I fed him a big breakfast.”

“Please tell me you didn’t give him sausages.”

“Oh yeah. Tons of them. Couple dozen.”

She stared at him a moment, then said, “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “You look like you need to yell at someone, so I thought I would volunteer. I kind of tune it out when you yell at me now, anyway.”

“Screw you!”

“Yep. Let it all out.”

She picked up one of her sausages and threw it at him. He dodged, and the link bounced off of the far wall. Turk moved faster than lightning and caught the link before it even had a chance to hit the ground. Then he turned around and gave Faith a smug look as he chewed the meat.

“That’s on you,” Michael said to Faith.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re sleeping on the balcony tonight, Turk.”

“I think I might actually go home to Ellie if it’s gonna be that bad,” Michael said. “It’s not like we’re getting anything done cloistering ourselves anyway.”

Faith’s smile faded, and Michael cursed softly. “Sorry. I ruined it, didn’t I?”

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