Page 53 of Silent Threat

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At two o’clock in the morning, pretty much everybody was asleep. Time to take a look at the rest of the offices he hadn’t made it to the other night. But even as Cole walked away from Annie, his mind kept returning to her.

She’d taken the last couple of days pretty well, and they had been rough. But tonight was rougher. An intruder in the house would send most women into hysterics, and a lot of men too. Annie had hidden herself and calmly called the police. She hadn’t fallen apart during or after.

She had courage, and courage was the quality Cole appreciated the most in people. She was no fragile butterfly flitting from flower to flower in naive abandon, living in her little, happy, peppy, tree-hugging world, as he’d first thought. Annie Murray was a strong woman.

He thought about her sitting calmly at the kitchen table and recounting the intruder episode.

He wanted her.

He wanted the generous mouth and generous body that went along with her generous soul. He wanted her soft curves. He wanted to see her amber eyes darken with desire.

The realization nearly knocked Cole on his ass.Yeah. Worst idea ever.

Nevertheless, he wanted to go back to her room right now and not leave. But what Annie needed overrode what he wanted. And he was pretty sure she didn’t need him.

She needed someone like Harper Finnegan. The detective was young, good-looking, and carefree. He’d been clearly concerned about Annie. And the man was probably tough enough to protect her. Cole wanted her protected. Even if the thought of her with Finnegan left him filled with a dark rage.

He left the dorms and entered the main building.

The first floor held a rec room and the cafeteria in the back, reception in the front. He went upstairs where the staff offices were and pulled out the ID card he’d once again borrowed from Annie’s bag earlier while she’d been rubbing her eyes and Finnegan had been consulting his notes.

Once Cole was inside, he was set. The individual offices had key locks he had no problem picking. Dr.Ambrose had one of the largest offices. Maybe because he was a PhD.

Cole entered but didn’t turn on the light, not even after he closed the door behind him and closed the blinds on the window. He used the small LED light he had in his pocket and swept the gray metal desk first.

No laptop. Ambrose had taken it home.

Cole turned to the filing cabinet, picked the lock, and looked through the patient files.

He found nothing beyond a lot of psychobabble, diagnoses, treatment plans, and drugs prescribed.

Nothing useful on the bookshelf, just a million copies ofPsychology Todayand other similar publications, reference guides, two copies of theDiagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a bunch of inspirational booklets, and self-help guides. Ambrose handed those out to patients. He’d given a handful to Cole during their first session.

Two full shelves held nothing but research books on the history of medicine, many of them on medieval practices. Looked like Ambrose had a hobby.

Cole returned to the desk and popped the lock on the single drawer. Empty notepads and a bunch of pens, a couple of thank-you cards from past patients. He closed the drawer and locked it again.

On his way out, his light fell on Ambrose’s lineup of diplomas on the wall. Nothing interesting there either. Apparently, the guy had gone to graduate school in England.

Cole turned off the LED light before he inched the door open and looked out into the hallway. Nobody there. Except ... light showed under the door of one of the offices. When Cole had come through earlier, that strip of light hadn’t been there.

Whose office was that? From the outside the offices all looked the same, two rows of white doors on white walls, all evenly spaced.

Then he remembered: Milo Milton, the acupuncturist. Cole had only had one session with the guy so far. Not his favorite thing.

Cole’s skin had been cut and punctured too many times during torture. He remembered the pain, even if he’d been shot up with drugs half the time. His captors had hoped the drugs would make him talk. The nightmares he’d hallucinated ... He hated the memory. And he wasn’t a fan of needles either.

What was Milo doing here at past two in the morning? The acupuncturist was thirty, into everything Eastern medicine, a giant fan of incense burning. During their one session, Cole had barely been able to breathe. He still got the pungent smell of sandalwood in his nose every time he thought of the guy.

He had a hard time picturing Milo tangled up in the transmission of military secrets. The guy was nearly as bad as Annie. He probably wished for world peace for his birthday.

As far as foreign connections went, he’d told Cole during their session that he’d been to Nepal a couple of times. But Nepal was a long way from Yemen.

Based on Cole’s considerable experience, Milo was an extremely unlikely candidate.

Opportunity?Sure.Means?Maybe.Motive?That last one stumped Cole completely.

Not money. Milo believed involuntary simplicity, not owning anything beyond what was absolutely necessary.