Page 17 of Sachie's Hero

“He was an only child and didn’t have many friends. He was moved around several times in the foster system after his father was incarcerated for murdering his mother.”

“Tough break for a kid,” Teller said. “No wonder he felt hopeless.”

“He didn’t want to be like his father and go off in blind rages.”

“Now he’s gone, do you think someone is blaming you for his death?”

“Based on the message,” she said, “yes.”

“Then either someone he knew cared that he died, or someone else is using his death as an excuse to terrorize you.” He shook his head. “Either way, we need to find out who that is.”

An alarm sounded from one of the cell phones in Teller’s pockets. He dug out Sachie’s and handed it to her. “It’s yours.”

She turned off the alarm, her lips twisting. “It’s time to get up, get ready and go to work.”

Teller frowned. “Can’t you call in sick?”

Sachie shook her head. “In the short time I’ve been here, my schedule has quickly filled. Apparently, there aren’t enough mental health professionals on the Big Island. I have to be there for them.”

Teller didn’t argue. If she had to go to work, he had to respect that. She cared about her patients.

“I have to change into more professional clothing,” she said and headed for her bedroom again.

“Did you pack them in your suitcase?” Teller asked.

She stopped beside the suitcase she’d rolled into the hallway. “I packed some of my things. I think I have other clothes still hanging in the closet. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Teller wandered down the hallway to the frontdoor and examined the damage to the doorframe. He could fix it with the proper tools and supplies. Whoever had done this had been highly intent on getting inside and had been successful in breaking down both the front door and the door to Sachie’s bedroom.

Had Teller been a few moments later, the attacker would have met Sachie and her butcher knife. He didn’t even want to guess who would have won that fight.

“Kalea said she contacted someone to make the repairs on the house.”

Teller turned around.

Sachie stood in the living room, dressed in a tailored medium-gray pantsuit and a soft rose-colored blouse. She’d pulled her hair up into a loose bun on top of her head with a few tendrils hanging down in front of each ear.

She’d gone from looking like a child in a T-shirt two times too large for her slim frame to a professional businesswoman. Where some women would look stuffy and boring in a pantsuit, Sachie looked so sexy. Teller had to shift his gaze to keep from ogling her.

“I know,” she said. “Too much, isn’t it? I don’t normally dress so formally when working with kidsand young adults, but I’m new at this practice, and I’ve been trying to make a good impression.”

“You’ll make a good impression,” Teller said brusquely. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” she said.

She gave him the address of the counseling center and followed him out to his vehicle.

Teller entered the address into the map program on his cell phone and connected it to the navigation screen in his SUV. As he pulled out onto the street, he looked both ways. “I’d like to stop by my apartment for a change of clothing,” he said. “If you have time.”

“I always try to arrive twenty to thirty minutes early to review my case load to familiarize myself with the clients I will see that day,” she said. “We’re leaving early enough that we have the time to stop at your place.”

“Perfectly commendable,” Teller said. “I had a drill instructor who insisted that if you were on time, you were late.”

“In what branch of service did you serve?” Sachie asked.

“Army,” he replied.

“Special Operations?”

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