Page 42 of Beautiful Prey

His eyes drifted down me. “You a nurse?”

“Therapist.”

“No shit. Did you get in so much therapy yourself it taught you everything you needed to know?”

I moved around him to the desk where Kyle, a guard who usually worked with John, sat, talking to someone on the phone.

“Sorry, I was just kidding,” Ethan said behind me. “Seriously, it’s just surreal to see you. I wondered about you, you know, after the massacre. In fact…shit…you know he’s here, don’t you?”

I fixed him a cold gaze. “Who?”

“The Devil of Harper Pointe. The crazy psycho who killed your family.”

I looked away from him, my blood turning cold. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not now.

Kyle looked over as he answered someone on the other line. I had no idea if he heard him. “You can take her up,” he said.“She's seeing a patient in room nine. The others know what to do.”

I closed my eyes. No, no…fuck.

“You got it, be right back,” Ethan said to Kyle, then turned to me. “Eve…you can follow me.”

I went through the door as Kyle buzzed us through. “It really isn’t necessary. I can go up by myself.”

“How long have you been seeing him?” Ethan asked, approaching the stairs. “Are you seriously giving your dad’s killer therapy? Does anyone know?”

“I don’t really want to discuss this with you,” I said, following him. “It’s a special circumstance. I’m doing my thesis on him. That’s all.”

As we climbed the steps, he paused and looked at me. “No one knows, do they?”

I glared up at him. “Why does it matter?”

He came down a step to be more level with me. “It’s dangerous. I’m guessing patient nine doesn’t know who you are either or he wouldn't be continuing to see you. He’d be trying to get out of his chair to strangle you till your neck broke.”

My face heated. “I need this time, Ethan.”

He smiled. “Are you trying to get back at him, is that it?”

“No, it’s not—”

He put up his hands. “I don’t blame you, seriously. What he did to you, it’s messed up.”

I pursed my lips. “Please. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

He studied me seriously. “I get it.” He turned and we started back up the stairs. “I’m sorry about high school by the way.”

“Which part?” I blurted. And hated myself for it. Now wasnotthe time to bring up old wounds.

“All of it, I guess. Though I’ll admit, I don’t really regret homecoming.”

“You mean when you tried to feel me up?”

He pretended to look horrified. “No, hell no, I meant asking you out. Shit, but I was drunk, wasn’t I? I hardly remember. I’m sorry about that too.”

“Great,” I mumbled, continuing to the second floor.

“Do you forgive me?”

I couldn’t believe this conversation was happening. But if that’s what it took to end it, then… “Yes, I forgive you. But only if you let me do my work here.”

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