Page 3 of Tangled Up

A laugh escapes my lips, and I shake my head. “Not today, Mr. C.” Reaching out, I gently place my palm on his forehead. “Not today.”

“You and that little girl… Edward’s kids. Carly and Henry.”

I’m still grinning, relief flooding my bloodstream as I glance up.

Tessa’s brow is arched, and a half-grin curls her lips. “Stealing watermelons, Dr. Munroe?”

“I think we can rule out brain damage.” Placing my hand on his chest again, I lean closer. “Fractured ribs, not so much.”

His vitals are strong, and a heavyset young man steps up at the foot of the bed. “Uncle Jeb?”

I move away, allowing the nephew access to his uncle. The nurses can take it from here.

Stepping into the empty hallway, the commotion has cleared, and calm is momentarily restored. It won’t last long, but I’ve got to get back up to twelve.

CHAPTERONE

CARLY

“Ican’t believe you’re exiling me to Eden.” I’m speeding down Interstate 75 in my ancient, light-blue Ford F-150 to the small island community between Saint Petersburg and Fort Myers, where I spent the first twenty-one years of my life. “It’s so unprofessional.”

“It’s not exile.” My police chief Ronnie’s voice carries through the portable Bluetooth speaker attached to my dash.

He sounds like he’s smoked a pack a day for the full sixty years he’s been alive. The truth is, he quit about ten years ago.

In my mind, I can see his black brow lowered over his creviced face, his white hair a mess from constantly shoving his hands in it. “Consider it witness protection.”

“I’m not afraid of my patients, Ronnie.”

“You should be afraid of this one, Carls. Those messages, that note… It’sSilence of the Lambs-level shit. She wants to hurt you, and until we find her, you’re on leave.”

He’s referencing an aggressive email and a poorly worded, hand-written letter from a female prisoner who recently went MIA while out on a limited-visitation furlough—which I recommended.

“Alize Willis is an impulsive young woman with bipolar disorder and mild paranoid delusions.” My logical, therapist-brain calmly places her behavior in the appropriate boxes and makes the appropriate diagnosis. “She needs behavioral therapy and possibly a low dose of lithium.”

“She needs to be behind bars. I was against letting her out from the start.”

“It’s rehabilitative for her to be in the community, around people. The worst thing you can do for someone in her condition is lock her up.”

“She’s crazy.”

“Calling women crazy is a cop-out, and you know it.”

Using that term is also what makes them scary, makes them monsters. It’s what leads to situations we all want to avoid.

“Have I told you you’re a pain in the ass?”

I squint an eye, even though he can’t see me. “Pretty much every day since I joined your unit.”

His gravelly chuckle makes me grin. “How about you give that bleeding heart a rest and follow orders. You can’t save them all, Miss Dennison.”

“I am well aware of my limitations, Major Wilcox. How about you give that cave-man vibe a rest and start throwing a little trust my way?”

“I trust you. I also don’t want to lose the best criminal psychologist on the force.”

“Best… criminal…” I pretend to choke, but it breaks into a chuckle. “You must really be worried if you’re giving me compliments.”

“Shut up and let me know if you get a single crank call, text, email, letter. If a squirrel sits still too long, I want to hear about it.”

---