Page 46 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“Kim, why do I get the impression there’s a lot about this case you’re not telling me? How is Jacqueline involved?Isshe involved? I can’t do my job if you keep me in the dark about everything.”

Her only answer was a tear that rolled slowly down her cheek. Shit. This woman was seriously fucked in the head, and I didn’t know whether to stick around and dig deeper or run as fast as possible in the other direction. If I hadn’t been so strapped for cash…

“Let’s get you home.”

“There’s no need…”

“Yeah, there is.” I lifted Kim to her feet and held her up. “Hey, Tyrone? My girl’s just remembered she has a salon appointment. Can you do the steam clean next week instead?”

“Sure, bro.”

Kim didn’t speak on the way home, not a word until we turned onto her street.

“My car… It’s still outside that supermarket.”

“I’ll pick it up later.”

Honestly? She was scaring me a bit. Something had obviously clicked in her head, and it wasn’t good. Maybe she needed a therapist? Once I’d got her inside, I could phone Kelly, one of the police psychiatrists. Things had been awkward between us since she drunkenly groped me at the last departmental Christmas party I attended, but Kim was more important than my failed love life right now. If Kelly recommended a therapist Kim could talk to, I’d set up an appointment and drive her there myself.

“Do you want me to call someone?” I asked as I took her key and shoved open her front door. “A friend? A relative?” The alarm beeped away at me. “What’s the code?”

“Zero-three-zero-four. And I don’t have anyone. Not really.”

“Isn’t your dad still alive?”

Now I got hysterical laughter. “Believe me, my father isn’t a person I’d ever talk to about my problems.”

“Then talk to me. I promise I won’t judge.”

What was I even saying?

“You will. Everybody judges.”

“Everybody? How many people have you told about this particular issue?”

Silence.

“You haven’t told anybody, have you? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. Now, do you want a drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“My mom had the same problem, and my father sent her to a psychiatric hospital and she died there,” Kim blurted.

Cancel the coffee. We both needed something stronger. Shit. I knew her mother was dead—it came up in my research—but I hadn’t seen any mention of a psychiatric hospital.

“I’m sorry about your mom. Uh, where’s your wine?”

Kim burst into tears.

“Forget it, okay?” she sobbed. “Forget I said anything. And forget the whole case. I just want to go back to planning weddings and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get upset. Let’s go and sit down.” I tried to steer her into the living room, but she grabbed the doorjamb and hung on.

“Not in there. I don’t want to go in there.”

“The kitchen?”

She stumbled along beside me, leaving her pumps behind in the hallway, and I sat her on a stool at the breakfast bar. When I first joined the police force, they sent the new recruits on a psych 101 training course, but that was six years ago and I’d forgotten almost all of it. I opened a few cupboards, but the strongest thing I found was a bottle of Mountain Dew.

“Kim, what can I do to help?”

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