Page 9 of Torched Spades
That’s why the moment I saw Dr. Rebecca Brennan saunter into that waiting room, I knew our meeting at the courthouse was no accident.
One minute I’m told to either take the referral or take my ass to jail, then ten minutes later there she is—my highbrow pain in the ass.
Coincidence?
Give me a fucking break.
Some things in life are undebatable. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Two plus two always equals four… And my shiny, new psychiatrist and I didn’t “just happen” to bump into each other.
This isn’t some goddamn Hallmark movie.
I already knew the good doctor had some bite underneath all that professional aloofness, but when she slung that threat as I was about to leave, I swore I heard her jaws snap.
Unfortunately, she went from circling her prey to stuffing her resume down my throat. That’s when the novelty of Dr. Becca Brennan wore off, and permanent incarceration didn’t seem so bad.
However, give a woman a little silence and watch her roar.
Without warning, the fruit-flinging stranger from the courthouse emerged, carting a pair of steel balls. Few have ever dared to challenge me, much less taunt me. That should’ve sealed my intent to never see her again.
Instead, I found myself intrigued and slightly amused.
Andthat’swhy I agreed to the terms of her “deal.” It’s also why twenty-six hours later, I’m sitting in the fucking parking lot of her office building, sacrificing much-needed sleep to find the hidden strings.
Because there always are.
There’s a flash of movement across the parking lot, and I sit up, my hands on the steering wheel, and my head in the game. As the glass doors of the Pavilion swing open, I catch a flash of a long blonde ponytail and shift the car into drive.
Dr. Brennan doesn’t look up.Shame.A false sense of security is a predator’s most dangerous weapon. Especially when the scattered lamps meant to ensure safety are all but shining a spotlight on her.
I analyze every step she takes as she strides briskly across the parking lot toward her Audi A5.Nice ride. Pretentious as fuck, but nice.As if sensing her vulnerability, a strong gust of wind hits her from behind, lapping hungrily at her knee-length skirt.
In response, she hunches forward, somehow looking even more tight assed than before.
Because she’s not wearing a coat.
I shake my head. For such an intelligent woman, her common sense is shit. It’s the middle of March. Thirty-three fucking degrees outside and the woman is walking around like it’s Spring Break at the Shore.
Not that I care.
I’m here on a fact-finding mission to protect my ass. I’m already riding a thin line with Providence’s finest all on my own. I don’t need some uppity doctor with ulterior motives making shit worse.
Becca finally reaches her car, then with a quick glance over each shoulder, she slips inside and starts the ignition. She never bothers to turn around to check all four corners of the parking lot.
Especially the one directly diagonal from her.
Where a black Impala sits.
Beneath a disconnected safety light.
Jesus…This woman has the self-awareness of a toddler.
“Come on, Doc,” I mutter. “You’re smarter than this.”
I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed and frankly irritated at her complete disregard for her personal safety. I could’ve easily been some asshole stalker waiting in the shadows to follow her home.
I grit my teeth. Okay, technically, I am, but the point is, one day, “that asshole” could be someone whose intentions toward her will end in a headline.
That final thought settles in my head like a thorn. It’s all I can think about as I watch her pull out of the parking lot. It makes me grip the steering wheel so hard the veins in my forearms pulse. After a couple of seconds, I exit, too, following her tail lights at a safe distance.
