Page 8 of Torched Spades
Refusing to rise to the bait, I calmly tuck Kerrigan’s assessment note back into his file before meeting his stare head-on. “I’m implying I’m the best because I’m the most qualified and a damn good psychiatrist. Not to mention, you insisted you were leaving ten minutes ago, yet here you are—still listening and talking to awoman.”
I swear he almost looks amused. However, this time,he’sthe one who refuses to rise to the bait. Trapping the card between his index and middle fingers, he leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs. The room crackles with tension as we stare at each other in a silent battle of wills.
Which is pointless, not to mention childish. We could glare at each other until our eyeballs fall out, and we’d still be at an impasse.
I told myself this case would be the challenge that re-balances the scales. I wasn’t wrong. So not only am I going to do my job, but I’m going to help this stubborn man unfuck his head whether he likes it or not.
However, it’s obvious that traditional methods won’t work here. The only way to reach an unconventional man like Johnny Malone is with an unconventional approach. Something out of the boxandmy comfort zone.
Out of my peripheral vision, I notice he’s resumed flipping the card, only this time, it’s facing me. Glancing down, I catch quick glimpses of an intricate black pattern against a white background.
Screw subtlety.
Leaning forward, I study the markings with each revolution. That’s when I realize it’s a playing card—either spades or clubs—I can’t tell from this angle.
“Something interest you, Doc?” he drawls, the thick derision in his tone giving me the final push to go off-script.
I don’t play games, especially tug-of-war for control of my own office. However, if Mr. Malone thinks the woman in this chair is the same one he met in that hallway, he’s about to get hit with more than an apple.
I nod at the card. “You seem to be a gambling man. How about I make you a deal?”
The incessant twirling stops. “What kind of deal?”
“Give me one month. Four consecutive Tuesdays of you being on that couch. If at the end, you still don’t think I can handle anything you throw at me, I’ll refer you out, no questions asked.”
“What’s the catch?”
“You have to engage. Talk to me. Answer when I ask a question. You know, converse like a normal person instead of a belligerent—”
“Uncooperative, combative, innately evil being…” he finishes dryly. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard that one before.” I fight not to squirm as he drags his eyes up and down my modest business suit. “Answer me one question, Doc? Why are you so bothered by what I do or don’t do? As you so generously pointed out, it’smyass on the line, not yours.”
It’s not a question I can answer, at least not honestly. I can’t tell a patient probate-mandated to therapy for an extreme impulse control disorder that not only do I see the demons dancing in his eyes, I hear them. That I’m as drawn to their whispers and taunts as I was to his tempered darkness that day at the courthouse. There’s no logical way to explain I sense the power struggle that’s raging inside him, and I’m afraid if I let him walk out that door, all the colorless walls and cards in our worlds will turn red.
“Because it’s my job to be bothered.” As expected, he narrows his eyes, unsatisfied with my canned answer. Gripping the back of my neck, I groan while giving him the barest hint of a smile. “And I enjoy a challenge,” I say, enjoying throwinghiswords back at him for once.
“Well congratulations, Doc. You just got one.”
I snap my head up so fast, I nearly fall out of my chair. “I’m sorry, what?”
He smiles back, only his is one of those megawatt, movie star type ones so beautiful it’s vicious. “Anyone ever tell you to be careful what you wish for?” Of course, they have, and I’m not diving into those shark-infested waters. Instead, I’m about to bring up his diagnosis when he pockets the playing card and stands. “See you next Tuesday, Dr. Brennan.”
I’m on my feet just as fast. “But we still have fourteen minutes left.”
“Always leave a man wanting more,” he murmurs, winking as he turns. “It’s what keeps him coming back.”
I watch him go without offering a response, not that I could anyway with my vocal cords tied into balloon animals. As soon as the door closes, I collapse over the back of the chair, my heart pounding out every beat of his warning.
“Anyone ever tell you to be careful what you wish for?”
Closing my eyes, I grip the chair. “What the hell did I just do?”
Chapter Three
JOHNNY
I don’t believein coincidences. Those who claim “you can’t control fate” haven’t been handcuffed, then given thirty seconds to decide it.
Anything and anyone can be manipulated if the price is right.
