Page 57 of Dead Man's List

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I’m worth it.”

That earned him a full, brilliant smile. “I know. I’ll try very hard.”

“Good.” It was his turn to draw a breath. “Now, let’s go visit the guy I helped put behind bars because I wouldn’t say he was batshit crazy.”

Kit flinched. “Oh my God. I didn’t think…Sam, why didn’t you say you didn’t want to see him?”

That irritated him. “Becauseit’s my job, Kit. Just like Fitzgerald was yours. I trust you, personally and professionally. If you can’t trust me with your heart, at least trust that I know what I’m doingin my job.”

She flinched again. “I did that, didn’t I? Distrusted you.”

He grimaced. “Kind of. Yes.”

“I apologize,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t think of that. I…I’m protective over you.”

“And I like that. To a point. I’m good at my job, Kit. Let me do it.”

“Okay. And, just so you know, I’m not giving this asshole any concessions. No offers of time off. No offers to transfer to a better prison.”

“I didn’t expect anything else.”

Chapter Seven

San Diego, California

Monday, January 9, 11:00 a.m.

Kit had seen photos of Ronald Tasker both before and after his arrest. But she hadn’t seen any photos of him since he’d begun serving his sentence.

He looked like an entirely different person.

She’d known he was bald, of course. His toupee had been removed for the booking photo, but in all the other photos—including those of him during his trial—he’d been wearing the hairpiece.

Not so today. He sat before them, small, pale, bald, and yet still defiant. He smirked at Kit, apparently noting the surprise that she thought she’d hidden. “I could still make you scream with pleasure, honey.”

Connor stiffened, but Sam showed no reaction.

He really was good at his job.

She didn’t respond to Tasker’s bait. “Do you know why we’re here, Mr.Tasker?”

“I have a decent idea. I saw the news. Munro bit it.” He looked delighted.

“You don’t seem upset by this,” Connor said evenly.

“I’m not. He’s a weasel.Wasa weasel.” He snorted a laugh, then turned to Sam. “I’m surprised you had the balls to visit me here.”

“Why?” Sam asked mildly.

Tasker blinked once. “You’re the shrink, right? The one I paid to declare me unfit for trial?”

“I’m a psychologist, yes. I took no payment for any such thing.”

He was calmer than if he’d been denying having ordered pickles on his burger.

Tasker studied Sam. “You took no money? At all? Was it offered?”

“No money was offered and I never asked for any. Munro expected a little quid pro quo that I was unwilling to even consider.”

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