Page 138 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

“I know how you feel—”

“How could you? Are you crazy?” She heard her own words and rolled her eyes. “You could’t have any idea how I feel, what I’ve been through.” He took a step closer and she leveled him with her gaze, silently warning him to keep his distance. “As to my sessions, were those even real? Were they? The way I understand it, you were married to Rebecca. You weren’t interested in me. You were just trying to find your wife and—”

“Ex-wife.”

“Enough of a wife that you cared for her, that you were willing to come down here and lie to me and . . . and—”

“And fall in love with you,” he said flatly.

The room was suddenly silent. He realized that his hands had balled into fists, that his nerves were strung tight as piano wire, that he’d wanted to tell her the truth ever since realizing it himself.

“In love?” she whispered suspiciously.

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Give me a break.”

“Okay, it’s not how it started, it’s not what I intended, but I swear to you, Caitlyn, that’s what happened.”

“In between all the murders. And abductions. And damned lies. Get real, Adam.” Her jaw was set, the flicker of happiness that he’d seen in her eyes only days ago, now

extinguished. Probably forever. It was no use to try and tell her differently.

“I’m sorry.” He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“You should be. Not that I believe you.”

“Listen, Caitlyn, I don’t blame you for being upset. Really.” His jaw worked with the effort not to rush to her and try and convince her how much he cared. “Look, I want you to know that I’m sending all of Rebecca’s notes on you, her paper files and a computer disk, to you by registered mail. You can do what you want with them, take them to another psychiatrist, give them to the police, it doesn’t matter. They’re valuable. You were a unique case. That’s what Rebecca was looking for. She had an agent and a publisher interested.”

“So she thought of me as a lab specimen, too.” Caitlyn blinked against an onslaught of tears. Her eyes filled but she didn’t let any drops slide down her cheeks. “And it cost Rebecca her life.”

“I don’t think that’s the way it started but go ahead and look through everything and judge for yourself.” He considered touching the back of her hand, but the rage in her gaze convinced him it wasn’t a good idea. “When you get out of here, if you want to discuss anything, I would be glad to—”

“I don’t think so,” she clipped out, and he didn’t push it. She’d been through hell and back a dozen times.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Really, don’t bother.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “No bother at all.”

“Go back to Wisconsin or Ohio or wherever it is you’re from and leave me alone.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes.” She glared up at him. “Since you asked, you may as well know that what I really want is to put this nightmare behind me.” She blinked hard and clenched her jaw. “I want my daughter back. I want my siblings and mother alive. I want to see Kelly, not be her, I . . . I want this damned thing never to have happened, but it did. And somehow I’ve got to put it all into some kind of perspective. So in order for me to be right, really right, I’m going to need time and lots of it.”

“I can wait.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “No one can wait that long.”

He touched her hand then, squeezed her fingers for the span of a heartbeat. “Just watch.”

Reed didn’t much like the shrink. But as they talked in the cafeteria, he started to revise his opinion. Either the guy was one hell of an actor or he really cared for Caitlyn Bandeaux. Well, someone should. The woman had lost about every bit of her family. Troy had survived and Hannah, who had been marked for death, might pull out of it, though the doctors were saying it was touch and go. She was young and strong, but she’d lost a lot of blood and the scar at the base of her throat would be a jagged reminder of the one inside. God, who could turn out normal after that? Not that any of the Montgomerys even brushed normal.

So even if physically she managed to survive, there was the psychological angle to consider . . . Hell, the remaining Montgomerys could keep all the shrinks in the area in BMWs for the rest of their lives. Morrisette had been right. Looney-effin’ -tunes.

Right now the psychologist—and he was one legitimately, Morrisette had checked—was slumped in a plastic cafeteria chair while shredding his empty coffee cup. Reed was convinced that Hunt didn’t have anything to do with the killings. But he did have information. “So you’re not giving up the notes on Caitlyn Bandeaux.”

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