Cold Feet (Empathy in the PPNW Book 3)

by Olivia R. Burton

  He was just inside, talking to Rhonda, acting as if he was concerned and sympathetic. Too furious to bother with any sort of decorum or tact, I grabbed his arm, aiming to drag him out to the car so I could put him in his place. I forgot, however, that Mel has strength much greater than mine and wasn’t going anywhere unless he damn well wanted to. Rhonda frowned at me as I yanked, rubber-banded back, and smacked against his elbow.

  Mel looked mildly down at me and I snarled up at him as I regained my footing. Rudely, I pointed to the front door.

  “We weren’t done. I need to talk to you.”

  “You’re—”

  “Ordering you to get your pretty ass outside. Now. Honey,” I added as if I still cared a hoot about the ridiculous farce we were there to uphold. I stomped my foot for emphasis, let go of his arm, and pointed at the door again.

  Rhonda was surprisingly nonplussed by our behavior and I had to remind myself that she likely witnessed marital spats on a daily—if not hourly—basis. Mel sighed, apologized to her, and turned to face the door, moving toward it without waiting for me. He paused just outside on the porch and I shoved his shoulder, griping at him to keep walking. The push did nothing, of course, except tweak my wrist a bit, but I felt I’d made my point clear. Without looking back at me, Mel kept walking to the edge of the property, stopping and crossing his arms over his chest without turning to face me. Fists clenched in rage, I whirled on him, punching him in the chest, and hurting myself in the process.

  “Can we please be adults?”

  “I certainly can, I’m not sure—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Mel. This is your deal, not mine. You asked me to be here, I didn’t beg you to let me come.”

  “I had to bribe you to come.”

  “Yes, fine, I’m a shitty person who does nothing unless I get something in return. Fine. But that was then and now someone is dead. Someone is dead, Mel, and you’re acting like an asshole because you think I won’t have sex with you. What sort of behavior is that? Just fucking grow up and let’s work on making sure no one else ends up dead.”

  Mel watched me stone-faced for a few moments, but even without the benefit of being able to read him, I could tell I’d made an impact and put him back on course. This wasn’t about us, after all. We’d both seemed to forget that in all the moments where we’d been alone in the dark with our hormones, but it wasn’t something we could afford to ignore. Someone had died and, for all we knew, more people could be in danger. We couldn’t be sure Mrs. Heath wasn’t also around, waiting to be stabbed and dumped somewhere conspicuous. If that was the case, us concentrating on our yearning genitals and infantile feelings wouldn’t help her one bit.

  “You’re right,” he said after a few moments, and everything inside me unclenched. “You’re right. We have bigger things to worry about. We’ll go in there and see what we can learn. I’ve got my phone, so if Betty gets back to me we’ll know what direction to head in.”

  “Okay, good. Okay.” I sighed, glad we could set aside his hissy fit for awhile and get back to work. “So. Tell me what our plan is.”

  “Our plan?”

  “Yes, our plan. The one you’ve refused to let me in on so far. Which, fine, okay. I’m not a private dick,” (I admit, I could’ve avoided the emphasis on that particular word, but I’m only human,) “and so I don’t know what you need to get done or how to pick a lock. I don’t have bugs or binoculars or huge…rippling muscles.” I trailed off, unsure what my point was or how I’d gotten to where I was. Mel just watched me patiently, his brow furrowed like he wasn’t sure either.

  Get to the point, Gwen.

  “I just…mean…you’re the professional here and you’re not even doing much, as far as I can tell. You observe the other couples in the gardens, at meal times, but otherwise you just make up a lot of stories and fight with me.” I glanced past Mel, found Rhonda watching us through the front window. When she saw me notice her, she jerked back, out of sight. I stepped slightly to the side so his body was between the center and me just in case she had binoculars of her own and could read lips. Crossing my arms, I glared up at him, lacking any further point and hoping he’d apologize for starting this fight and explain what the hell we’d be doing from then on out.

  Mel watched me for a moment, his face unreadable, before his lip quirked slightly. I honestly didn’t know if he was amused by me or mocking me and I wanted to get mad at that alone. The powerless feeling of never knowing what was going on in his head was horrible. I don’t know how normal humans get along with each other at all.

  “I haven’t been doing nothing in therapy,” he said quietly. “I mostly listen.”

  “The hell you do. I can barely get a word out before you’re—”

  “Not to you,” he explained, gentler than my tone had warranted. “To everyone else. I’ve been, you know,” he tapped his ear, “listening. To other therapists, other couples, the staff. No one’s been at all suspect except Coontz, and that could be nothing. He’s not even the doctor who worked with the Bishops or the Heaths.”

  “Wow,” I said, relaxing as I realized the implications of what he was saying. “You can listen to what’s going on in the center and have a big, old, immature fight with me about what chores you’re not doing?”

  “Yeah,” he said, as if it was no big deal.

  “Wow,” I said again. “I can barely listen to the TV and talk on the phone at the same time.”

  “Well, you’re—” He cut himself off and I frowned up at him. Swallowing, he switched tactics, making it clear he was changing his mind about whatever he’d been about to say. “You’re not a werewolf.”

  We stared at each other for a while longer, me wondering what he’d been about to say, him giving me no hint as to what he was feeling or thinking. I felt my stance shift even further away from the outrage I’d started with.

  “So,” I stated, shrugging a shoulder. “What’s the plan today?”

  “Today I keep listening. I’m hoping more people will be talking now that someone’s dead. We may get lucky,” (He didn’t even bother with an eyebrow wag or a single finger-gun; we had a long way to go to get back to where we’d been just forty-eight hours prior.) “and someone will admit to something, or talk about who they suspect of something.”

  “Who do you suspect?”

  “Coontz, if I had to choose. Howard seems on the level, Kirby’s ancient, barely has the upper body strength to crush a paper cup, and Case just doesn’t give me the vibe.”

  “None of the other staff? Rhonda’s got something up her butt, maybe it’s a cult leader’s hand.” Mel lifted a brow and I flailed my hand as if that alone should be enough elaboration. “You know, like a puppet thing.”

  “No, not Rhonda. She’s…a handful, but she doesn’t ring any bells.”

  I considered the staff I’d met, the ones I’d been able to read and get a sense of and he was right, no one seemed especially murdery. I thought of the bombshell who’d taken my blood and shown up to interrupt Mel and I getting carnal.

  “Taylor doesn’t do it for you?” I asked, hoping I had her name right.

  “Oh, she does it for me,” Mel said with a trace of his usual chauvinism. “But she’s not bad news. She’s the newest doctor, only started here six months ago—replacing Driscoll, far as I can tell. If the Heaths are involved—and I’d bet my canines they are—she can’t be at fault.”

  “Well that makes no sense,” I mumbled, looking down at the ground.

  “Why?” Mel asked. I shifted my footing as I looked up and noticed Coontz step outside onto the porch. I leaned slightly to the side to get a better look at him around Mel’s beefy arms.

  “Because—”

  “Excuse me?” Coontz called from the bottom of the porch steps. “Are you two okay? Should we be discussing this in session?”

  Mel caught my intent as I sucked my bottom lip under my upper teeth and took a breath. Stopping me from screaming an expletive, he clapped a hand over my mouth, catching
my eye and smiling in such a way that I was reasonably certain he was amused rather than annoyed at my immaturity. I scowled at him but didn’t chew through his hand to force the issue.

  When he was certain I wasn’t going to launch into tirade, he dropped his hand and slid his arm behind my back, twisting to face Coontz while simultaneously pulling me up next to him. Throwing a wave to the doctor, he leaned in close as we walked.

  “Just play along for one more session and then I promise I’ll let you take over the investigation.”

  “That’s not—”

  “No, no, I promise,” Mel offered, as if sure he knew exactly what to say to keep me from throwing a tantrum. “I’ll get you a catsuit and some night goggles and you and your fabulous cleavage can get all up in this place.”

  “Shut up,” I sulked, though I liked that we’d moved back to being friendly enough that he was willing to compliment my cleavage.

  “I’m serious. I’ll leave the real detective work to you, especially if I can watch you squeeze into the suit.”

  I socked him in the kidney as we stepped up onto the porch.

  ##

  I found myself watching Mel intently during the session and apparently Gordon noticed. Mel had no idea, or at least convincingly pretended he had no idea. The idea of Mel multi-tasking the way he claimed to be able to do was far too fascinating.

  Around the halfway mark, as Mel was describing all the feelings he had over discovering a dead body and talking about how he had just wanted to get home afterward and cuddle me, Coontz turned to me.

  “Gwen?”

  “Yeah,” I said, still staring at Mel’s face. He didn’t even look slightly distracted. Maybe no one else in the facility was talking and he wasn’t currently eavesdropping? Mel smiled knowingly at me and I realized I had been spoken to.

  “What?” I asked, glancing over. Coontz was staring at me, his expression blank, even though I could feel a thread of nerves thrumming through his body. It had been there since I’d gotten near enough to read him, but my empathy, like the rest of me, didn’t like being that close to him. I’d distracted myself by thinking solely about Mel and what he was supposedly doing while lamenting the state of things.

  “You look like you disagree with what your husband is saying, but you’re not voicing your concerns. It’s important for the two of you to communicate. Is there anything you feel you need to say?”

  “Uh,” I grunted. Biting my lip, I shrugged, shook my head. “Nah. He has it about right.”

  “Are you sure? I’m going to be honest, Gwen.” Though something wiggled through his psyche that told me he wasn’t really. “You’ve been less than cooperative during these sessions and I’m starting to wonder if maybe you’re just not as willing to work on your relationship as Mel is.”

  I looked back at Mel as he made an, “ooh, he got you!” face, but he blanked it before Coontz could catch him. I fought the urge to snipe and took a deep breath. Turning to face Coontz head-on, I considered my options, considered where we stood, and decided being less than cooperative was exactly the right response.

  “What about you?” I asked. Coontz lifted a brow and formed his mouth around the start of a sentence, but I pushed on before he could get it out. “You had a corpse show up on your property here less than twenty-four hours ago and you’re just sitting here, talking to us like it’s nothing. You don’t seem bothered in the least.”

  “Gwen,” Mel said gently. I ignored him, shifting in my seat to lean closer to Coontz.

  “No, I want to know why we should give any more time—or money—to a guy who may not even be emotionally stable. You don’t have any thoughts on what happened, here? You’re not bothered that your center may have managed to get a man killed?”

  “Tough Love is not at fault for Mr. Heath’s untimely passing,” Coontz said. I didn’t even need to parse his emotions to make sure: he was lying through his crooked teeth.

  “Then what would you blame for his death, hmm? You claim you’re here to help people and now someone’s dead!”

  Coontz stared at me, his expression tight. I poked at his psyche shamelessly, trying to get out anything that might be helpful. It was a gross, unpleasant experience rooting around in his feelings but I was desperate.

  Mel was considering that this guy was the problem and, while I could be sure he was a problem, I wasn’t seeing quite enough from him to be sure he was the problem. He smelled weird, he made me quaveringly uncomfortable, and I was reasonably sure he was a shit therapist, but there wasn’t any guilt in him at the mention of Bart Heath’s death. Maybe he was a sociopath, but my money was on Taylor as being at fault for the missing couples and bloodless corpse.

  Coontz was a waste of time, as far as I was concerned. A creepy waste of time.

  We stared each other down for what felt like an eternity and, thanks to the formless music he had piping out of the tiny player across the room, I couldn’t even discern time through song. Finally, Coontz swallowed, dropped his gaze to the table and tipped his head slightly. He was playing it cool and a little disappointed, but inside he was frustrated with my behavior. There was something malevolent in there, too, but it didn’t feel like him. It didn’t even feel entirely human, but I couldn’t get enough of a handle on it to reconcile it as anything but. Irritation and impotence gripped my internal organs with sharp, determined claws and for a second I felt like I was going to get ripped apart from within if I didn’t do something.

  “What you’re doing right now Gwen,” Coontz said quietly, sympathy ringing through his tone, “is called deflection.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” I spat, pushing to my feet. Coontz jerked like he would stand with me, maybe shove me back into my seat, but in the end he stayed sitting.

  “Honey,” Mel mumbled, as if trying to placate a screaming toddler. Coontz held a hand out, palm up.

  “I understand you’re distressed by the events of yesterday. Why don’t I give you two a moment? You can have some snacks, take a second to calm—”

  “No, I don’t want to be in this tiny, windowless room, anymore. I need to take a walk. You two—” I paused, jabbed a finger at Mel. “You go ahead and say whatever you want about me. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  Unsure what my plan was in that moment, or even whether or not I had one, I stormed toward the door, swerving wildly when Coontz bolted up and reached for my arm. Without looking back to see if Mel’s expression held any clues as to what he thought of my fit, I tore out into the hallway and slammed the door.

  No orderlies ran out to restrain me, no alarms went off, and no one jammed down the hall aiming a butter knife right at my throat. I took a deep breath, considered it my victory, and then headed down the hall, peering in to any open room I could find to see if something jumped out at me. Unfortunately, I found nothing labeled CLUE (not even the board game, how about that?) so I just kept moving. Halfway down, I noticed a familiar swoop of red hair stepping into view in the reception area. Rhonda stopped to speak to someone, giving me time to jiggle the handle of the nearest door and rush in. I shut it quietly behind me, cursing to myself.

  Pressing my ear against the door, I listened to see where Rhonda might be going. When I heard her strike up a conversation with someone else, closer this time, I swore again, hoped she knew how to keep discussions short and to the point. When a minute or two had passed, I felt along the wall for a light switch, flicked it on, and then rested my head on the wall. I sat that way for a bit, feeling lost.

  Turning to face the room, I sighed, still wondering how the hell I’d gotten stuck in such a stupid situation. I’d let my pity for Mel and weakness for sweets drag me all the way out to some island to be jabbed with needles, fed bland chicken, and tempted into wanting to sleep with Mel. Now I was hiding in a room from an uptight admin, unsure if I’d ever escape.

  Time passed with my brain running in circles before I focused enough to realize that I recognized the exam room I’d chosen at random. It looked the same as it had
a few days ago, right down to Mel’s test results being exactly where they’d been abandoned after I’d handed them to the brunette bombshell.

  Nothing had been moved since then. Even the needles and tubes were where they’d been left after she’d shuffled about, pulling them all out. They were empty of my blood, thank god, which made things even worse. If she hadn’t used those to pierce my skin and drain me, what the hell had she used?

  Lifting my arm to inspect my inner elbow I grimaced as I started to realize that I’d been had.

  I could only hope it hadn’t been had as in, for dinner. Something was up. The bombshell—Taylor, I’d assumed later—who’d shown up and made me feel greasy and sick had been in this room with me, doing something that involved piercing my skin, but not with needles.

  The situation had just gone from bad to gross.

  “Oh god,” I mumbled. “What the hell did Mel get me into?”

  I folded his test results up until they were small enough to fit in my pocket and then started poking around the room. I opened cabinets, rolled stools, attempted to find something that might explain what had happened. Heart racing, I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation. Could it be a vampire?

  I considered that, feeling myself go a little light-headed at the very idea. The woman hadn’t felt like a bloodsucker, but I’d also only met one. He hadn’t made me sick at all; he’d felt sort of good, in a strange way. His emotions had been liquid, burbling against my skin like a hot tub or oozing like honey. This wasn’t that, but who was I to say other vampires were the same? The one I’d met had been under the influence of a demon most of the time I’d been around him; maybe that had confused my empathy enough that it just didn’t know what it was sensing?

  Mel hadn’t been able to smell that vampire either; what if that was exactly what we’d run across?

  My palms were sweaty, enough so that rubbing them on my clothes didn’t help even a little. Swearing quietly, I moved to the sink, twisted the knob for cold water.

  When nothing happened, I grumbled, twisted the hot water knob. Again, nothing happened. Like an idiot, I tried both once more before crouching down to pull the cabinets open again. The pipes looked fine to me. I’m not a plumber and, in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever even met a plumber, but they looked like pipes, so that meant they should work, right? Leaning in, I grabbed and prodded at them as if maybe they just needed the proper encouragement to work.