Page 4 of A Method to His Madness

“I ain’t going to see no shrink.”

The stranger nods, only a hint of disgust bleeding into his features, but I can tell there’s a lot more hiding under the surface. And it makes me feel…not so alone. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel like a solitary mass of useless rage crying into a void, so even the briefest flash of unity is powerful. Enough to make my breath catch. “Then by all means. Continue along in your unhappy marriage with a wife you couldn’t possibly begin to understand,” says the man. “I’m sure no one will be surprised when you fail.” Those blue eyes look into Waylon’s soul and find the weakest point to inject venom. “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? That you’ve failed to live up to standards.”

Waylon pales considerably. “Who the fuck are you?”

I’m wondering the same thing. The whole world has slowed and crystalized around the stranger and it’s like catching a glimpse of a higher power, his blue eyes and strictly controlled voice in charge of the earth’s next revolution. My belly and my knees reach for each other, the latter beginning to tremble.

What is going on here?

The stranger takes another step closer, blocking Waylon’s view of his hand, which is deftly sliding his business card into my pocket. Without touching me, I notice. Keeping the boundary I set. Oh. “Come see me when you build enough courage,” he says to Waylon. “Or should I sayifyou build enough courage.” Another step toward Waylon and he’s looming over my husband. “If you cause her pain again, I will know. And I will strike from the darkness when you least expect it. You won’t survive the first blow.”

I’ve never seen my husband shaken. Not in the two weeks we’ve been living under the same roof. Or the two years he haunted my family leading up to the wedding day, vowing to take me as collateral for their missed payments. Ultimately succeeding.

The stranger gives me a meaningful look as he strides away, turning the corner and disappearing at the end of the aisle. I wait until Waylon storms off out of the supermarket, cursing a blue streak, before unearthing the business card from my pocket.

Caleb Draper. Licensed therapist.

Unconventional methods.

On the back, he has written a two-word message. For my eyes alone.

Trust me.

CHAPTER 3

Caleb

It takesher forty-eight hours to call.

Honestly, I expected longer from my stubborn supermarket angel.

I don’t mind admitting that I paced a lot during those two days, primarily because the fact that she’s married—and to an abusive buffoon, no less—is a crime against humanity. Could I have tracked her down and stolen her away from him in the wee hours of the night? Yeah. I have those capabilities.

But I’m a smarter man than that.

Kidnapping or force will not work with this woman.

She needs to come to me. What happens between us needs to be her decision.

I look at my watch.

Ashley and her husband, Waylon, are set to arrive at my office in three minutes. When I hear the muffled croon of Willie Nelson blasting in the parking lot, followed by the crank of a parking brake, my pulse begins to beat low and slow. A sniper waiting in the hills for the perfect moment to pull the trigger. And I will be pulling it this afternoon.

For Ashley’s sake.

For my own sanity.

I refuse to leave this woman in a situation making her so miserable. Not to mention, his behavior will only escalate—and I don’t allow villains to win anymore.

I take matters into my own hands.

In this instance, I will be takingherinto my own hands, too. Come hell or high water.

There’s a loud knock on the door of my office, but I don’t move right away from my cross-armed lean against the lip of my desk. I listen.

“I’m only staying for fifteen minutes,” Waylon snaps. “I’m meeting the boys for the fishing trip in an hour and I ain’t even packed my equipment yet.”

Fishing trip. Perfect.

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