Page 8 of Hunter

Deciding she was included in the terse invitation, Kathryn followed them into a small lobby.

“Let’s have it,” Emerson demanded after pushing the door shut.

Winslow stood with his arms stiffly at his sides. “He was late from his run. Beckton was angry ‘cause he’d been waiting for the hand-to-hand combat session. He shoved him around a little bit the way he does when he’s riled up.”

“Stop using so damn many pronouns. Who shoved whom?” Emerson demanded.

“Sorry, sir. Beckton shoved Doe. At first, Doe stood there and took it like usual. Then he said he was given an extra two miles by McCourt. Beckton told him to shut up and punched him on the arm. Doe got this strange look on his face and turned and socked Beckton in the gut. Beckton went down. He got up cursing and went in low. But Doe kept at him. A couple of guys dived in and tried to pull him off. He decked them and retreated into the locker room. We were able to pull Beckton out. He was unconscious when they took him away.”

“What happened today that was different from past sessions?” Emerson demanded.

Winslow looked flustered. “Nothing, sir. He—Beckton’s—been rough with him before. Rougher than this.”

“Like how?”

“Nothing serious. Just punches where he knew it would hurt. He—Doe’s always took it. Except when he was supposed to be fighting, of course.”

Kathryn listened, appalled at the casual acceptance of violence.

“Has anyone tried to get Doe out of the locker room?” Emerson asked.

“No, sir. We were waiting for your direct orders. We have Reid standing by with a Taser. Or we can use the tranq gun. I assume you don’t want to terminate the subject,” Winslow added in a low voice.

Kathryn felt the blood freeze in her veins. They were discussing the man she’d met as if he were a dangerous animal that had escaped from a zoo—or a homicidal maniac.

“Certainly not!” Emerson shot back. “We’ve gotten farther with him than any of the others.”

“Let me talk to him,” she said.

The men’s heads snapped toward her.

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea, ma’am,” Winslow said.

“I’m Dr. Kathryn Kelley,” she answered. “I was hired to work with Doe.”

“You’reDr. Kelley?” he asked, and she got the impression he’d been expecting her to be ten feet tall and built like a Sherman tank.

She squared her shoulders. “I believe I’m up to the job.”

Emerson nodded. “She and McCourt encountered Doe on his run. McCourt said they had quite a conversation—for Doe. She seemed to click with him.”

Winslow looked from her to Emerson and back again. “What the hell did you say to him?”

“I—” she stopped, shrugged. “Not much. I asked his name. He said I was different . . . from the other people here.” She related a few more lines of the conversation, knowing she hadn’t conveyed the flavor of the experience. Too much of it had been on a nonverbal level.

Was it possible she had anything to do with his aberrant behavior? Maybe. Or maybe it was simply a coincidence. Before Winslow could say anything else, or she could change her mind, she pulled open the door behind him and stepped into a large room with a wooden floor, a basketball hoop, and a track marked off around the perimeter.

“Come back, you damn little fool,” he called.

Emerson said nothing. He was a pragmatist, and he was probably thinking that he didn’t have anything to lose by letting his new recruit try her luck. If she got herself killed, he could hire somebody else.

She looked around at the gym, searching for signs of a madman on a rampage. The indications were minimal. A clipboard lay on the floor with the pages ruffled. A few feet away was a service revolver and ballpoint pen with a crushed barrel.

Still, as her gaze zeroed in on some red droplets spattering the floor, she knew she was viewing the evidence of the fight. Was she out of her mind to be in here?

Slowly she turned and found that Emerson had followed her into the gym. “Don’t let anybody else come in unless I call for assistance,” she said in a firm voice.

“Do we have a live microphone in there?” he asked Winslow through the partially opened door.

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