by Skylar Kade
A knock on her door jolted her out of those maudlin thoughts.
She was surprised such an interruption hadn’t come earlier, considering she’d hidden in her office all day to avoid David. Sleeping with their firm’s psychologist didn’t seem as wise a decision now that she was actually in the office.
With a resigned sigh, she braced herself for whomever was on the other side of the door. “Come in.”
Dr. Gunnerson, her mentor and the company founder, took one long, keen look at her and shook his head. “I figured you’d be here today.”
Carrie brushed her hair out of her face. The bags under her eyes didn’t need the added shadow. “Of course I’m here. I have reports to file.” She gestured to the towering pile of folders balanced on the corner of her otherwise sterile desk. “See what happens when I’m gone for weeks?”
Gunnerson pulled the chair back and took a seat. “If you weren’t so stubborn about doing everything yourself, you could have had an assistant to take care of this.”
Too weary to rehash this argument, she smacked her hand down on the table. “I don’t need a secretary. Or an intern. They all mess up my filing system, so I’ll do it myself, thank you.”
He pursed his lips, looking like a very contemplative Santa Claus. “At the very least, take home the files for tomorrow’s deposition and read up.”
She’d almost forgotten she was acting as a forensic expert in a pretrial hearing, until she’d seen the memo on her desk at work. The absent-mindedness infuriated her, but it always took a couple of days of transition back to work for her to run at full steam. A good night’s sleep would help, not that she had one of those coming any time soon.
Reviewing the case notes wouldn’t help her rest, but it needed to be done. The man on trial was accused of the kidnapping, imprisonment, rape and eventual murder of a young girl who lived a town away from him. Her lab had uncovered that the girl had been pregnant and, upon DNA analysis, found the baby belonged to the accused.
She’d only been eighteen—the same age as Carrie when…
No. Forcibly, she shoved those thoughts into the dank basement of her mind and padlocked the door. If this girl’s family was going to get any justice, she had to be on her game, not caught up in her past.
The long hours she’d spent looking over those remains had torn at her, and though her findings would likely convict the man, they didn’t ease her nightmares. Maybe sending this man to prison would help.
Finally flinching under Gunnerson’s steely stare, she snatched the file from his hands. “I’ll go home early, okay?”
A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Get some sleep tonight. You look like crap.”
Carrie rolled her eyes, used to his unvarnished truth. “Thanks, boss.”
At the door, he turned back to her. “I noticed you left one thing off your to-do list.”
She quirked an eyebrow then stood to pack her things. It was already late in the day, and she needed to scour her notes. Tomorrow’s testimony would be a huge asset to the prosecution.
“Did your debriefing with Dr. Cameron slip your mind? The rest of your team from Rwanda is already scheduled for this week.”
Glad she wasn’t facing him, Carrie let the heat wash over her face. No way was she unburdening herself to David. If anyone could strip her of pretense, he could, as she’d discovered during her initial evaluation when she’d transferred to the DC office of Gunnerson Forensics.
It didn’t help that her hormones had chosen that day to sit up and take notice of a man. He’d been so damn attractive, and his sensitive, penetrating stare practically dared her to unburden herself. A gauntlet thrown—the promise that nothing she said would shock him.
And like each time she saw him at work, she threw the gauntlet back unaccepted, though part of her yearned to see the shock, the horror even, on his face if she let loose the devil on her back.
“You know my policy on shrinks.”
Gunnerson’s eye-roll was thick in his voice. “I distinctly recall your voicing such an opinion quite thoroughly in the past. I also recall seeing the photos from this dig, so I thought I’d offer once again.”
Her throat squeezed and she nodded, but the door had already closed behind him. She snagged the folder with a tentative hand and flipped it open as nausea roiled in her gut. These crime-scene photos had taken up permanent residence in her brain. During her most vulnerable nights over the past year, the images had floated to the surface.
Files like this called for a warm blanket and hot chocolate. Maybe even a nice cat to curl on her lap while she read, which would have been a new addition to her routine. Until Rwanda, she hadn’t given house pets a second thought, but the sweet kitten who had adopted them had wormed its way into her heart.
Maybe she’d borrow Psyche from David after dinner. No. That wouldn’t work.
Last night’s events sat leaden in her stomach. Avoiding dinner at David’s would probably be wise. Ditto for the feline lending library.
Cold seeped through her light blouse. She didn’t particularly want to see her empty non-home or run into David, but sleep called. If she stayed much longer, she’d be too tired to drive and would end up napping in her desk chair.
Carrie got into her car and started the engine before panic overtook her. The pretrial proceedings would take up a couple of hours, but what would she do with a day off? She had no life outside of work, something Gunnerson knew well. When she had vacation time, she meticulously planned it out in advance so she was exhausted by the end of the day.
Maybe she’d explore the city, though she didn’t know where to even start—another thing David probably could have helped her with before yesterday.
Her breathing grew ragged, lungs holding her hostage until tears lined her eyes. She never let them drop. Instead, she dug her nails into her palms until the panic subsided. The tears dried up as quickly as they’d come, leaving an ache in her chest like she’d been hit by a semi.
After a moment, she started the car and drove home, intent on staying awake for at least another couple of hours. The victim’s family depended on her.
She was tempted to ignore the case file photos. Reviewing the gory images wouldn’t bring her any measure of relief. But since nothing would provide a respite as strong and pure as her night with David, she vowed to review everything. The goose bumps popping up across her skin provided a visceral reminder of how good they’d been together.
Carrie started counting stoplights to forget everything, aside from the mechanics of driving. She didn’t want to think about the case, or David.
Somehow, she made it to the parking garage, up the elevator and down the hall, and through her apartment door. She dropped her keys and purse onto her foyer table, and then stumbled into the main room of the condo.
She wanted to collapse into an exhausted heap on her couch, which almost bore a permanent imprint of her body from the many nights she’d fallen asleep there, but she had work to do first. She needed fuel.
Her fingers flew over the buttons of her espresso maker to dial up two shots for her hot chocolate. That would keep her going for a bit.
While her espresso dripped down, filling her condo with its invigorating aroma, she nuked an extra-large mug of water and tugged two packets of hot chocolate from the lone cardboard box in her cupboard. As steam rose off her mug, she dumped in the powder, followed by her double shot, and retreated to her couch with mug and spoon in hand.
The offending file stood out on her dark-wood coffee table. It was the only thing in her condo out of place. Resignation mingled with the thrill of the chase, and she settled into her spot on the couch, opened the file and spread the gory pictures over the bare, expansive surface of the table.
Two hours later, eyes drooping over the crime-lab photos, Carrie called it a night and let sleep claim her.
Chapter Three
The hot air worked her lungs as she fought to breathe, even in the shade. Though it was midday, she was the onl
y one at the mass grave. She waited under the tent for the rest of her crew to show up, but the ground was still for miles around her. It was just her and the bodies they were in the process of uncovering.
A cry split the air and she spun, scanning the horizon for signs of life.
Nothing.
When she turned back to the grave that marred the otherwise serene village, two sunken eyes within a gaunt face peered at her over the lip of the chasm.
“Help me.”
She ran to the edge to help the boy escape. She reached out her hand to pull him from the dirt-packed excavation hole. Instead of hauling him free, Carrie was pulled in by his unexpected strength. She yelped as her back hit the bottom. The pit sank much deeper than she remembered. She’d have to wait for her crew to send down a ladder.
The grave was endlessly wide, filled with half-living children reaching out for her, calling for their mothers, crying for mercy. Tears poured down her cheeks while fear and pain warred in her chest.
A young, pregnant girl approached, her red hair lying lank around her sallow skin. “Save me,” the girl mewled. “Help me!”
The tiny emaciated hands of the dying children grabbed for her clothes and tugged her downward. She sank into the soft mud with them. How could she help them from down here? How could she help if she was dead?
She struggled forward, clawing up the dirt sides and almost escaping. David poked his head over the edge and reached for her. He pulled her out and she sagged against him.
Her sigh of relief choked to a halt when David’s hands wrapped around her neck. She took a closer look at him—rotting flesh, bullet wounds, everything the children had suffered. “Yes, Carrie,” he hissed through a rotting jaw, “you’re going to break when you lose me too.”
“No!” The floor beneath her quaked in response and the ground broke apart around her. Her body shook from phantom hands on her shoulders.
“Carrie, God, wake up!”
Carrie’s eyes, swollen and itchy, popped open to reveal David’s face. He shook her again. She flinched away, cowering on the couch until the lingering fingers of her nightmare let go and reality seeped back into her awareness.
She sat up, her back rigid with knotted muscles. “What are you doing in my apartment?” She tried to keep the accusation from her tone, but it was either that or vulnerability, and she knew the greater evil in such a choice. The weak part of her wanted to let him wrap her in his arms. The logical part of her created a very organized list of reasons why that path led to disaster.
His frown deepened, looking odd on his usually cheerful face. Pangs of regret hit her chest. She’d put those lines there.
“Gunnerson called you, and when you didn’t pick up, he sent me over to check on you. The deposition starts in thirty minutes. He was worried.” He looked away when he answered, his eyes only flickering back to her once.
Bloody hell! She leaped up from the couch and rubbed the nightmare from her eyes. With frantic hands, she scraped all the photos together and shoved them back in their folder before she stripped out of her work clothes, leaving a trail of laundry from her couch to the kitchen. She pressed a few buttons, and manna, in espresso form, brewed into her favorite travel mug. She grabbed milk and sugar from the fridge and her mouth watered in anticipation of her morning latte.
A choked sound made her spin around. David’s eyes were glued to her almost-naked body.
“Shit!” She scrambled to cover herself and darted into her bedroom. She’d definitely flashed David her goods, and if she wasn’t consumed by anxiety about her meeting, she’d probably panic about that too.
Instead, she swept all other issues aside and, hands shaking, dressed in one of the five navy suits in her closet. She fumbled with the buttons of her cream blouse, huffing in frustration when her post-nightmare jitters made it nearly impossible to dress herself.
“Let me.” David, tall and imposing, pulled Carrie’s hands to her sides and out of his way. All business, he did up her buttons and helped her into her coat before he grabbed her travel mug from the dresser and placed it in her hands. “Double shot, skim milk, two sugars. Let’s go before you’re late. And no, you’re not driving.”
She would have complained if she hadn’t been sucking down her coffee like it was oxygen. On the way out, she stuffed that damned file into her tote and fished out her phone—dead battery. Hard to hear an alarm, or phone calls, from a bricked phone.
“Twenty minutes, Carrie.”
In a daze, she followed David out of her apartment and let him lock it behind her. Her fingers clenched, like a tight enough grip could stop the tense threads of her life from unraveling around her.
They traveled in silence down to the parking garage where David ushered her into his car before backing out with a well of patience Carrie couldn’t fathom. If she’d been driving, she would have pealed out of there, as much running from her morning as rushing toward her appointment.
Once on the street, David poked at the radio until classic rock piped through the car. A few heartbeats later, he broke the silence. “Must have been some nightmare.”
She was not going into it, not before this trial and certainly not with him. “I overslept. My phone battery died.”
“Bullshit.” His harsh curse sliced through the heavy tension. “You don’t wake in a cold sweat, screaming, from sweet dreams.”
The nightmare images swamped her and she relived the whole thing as David drove through the relatively calm streets of Crystal City. Dread paralyzed her vocal cords. She locked away the fear until it faded from her consciousness, something she’d nearly perfected after Afghani insurgents had held their camp at gunpoint a few years back. Her panic attacks had earned her more than one gutshot from their steel-toed boots.
The technique didn’t always work, but today she was in luck. “I’m sorry to have worried you. It’s nothing.” She was impressed by the evenness in her voice, even as she felt echoes of nightmare-David’s phantom hands around her neck.
At the stoplight, he turned to her and swept an angry thumb across her cheek. It came back wet and Carrie’s hands flew to her face, skin heating in shame.
“Yeah, nothing. Like Wednesday was nothing.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he made his retreat and sped toward the courthouse. “I just want to make sure you are okay.”
Despite her embarrassment and reluctance to talk about her issues, part of her wanted David to ask about the nightmares. She’d dealt with her fair share of psychologists, therapists and psychiatrists after the death of her father and Grace, and none had helped. “David—” She cut herself off. Now wasn’t the time or the place. Instead, she shifted her focus to the trial. “Thank you for driving me.”
“It’s nothing.”
She recognized the resignation in his posture from the one time she’d heard him talk with his mother—the only time she’d seen him upset. Something deep within her knew once he dropped her off, the ball was in her court.
Losing him would hurt like a flock of carrion birds pecking at her flesh. And though needing someone—needing him—terrified her, so did being alone without the promise of a long, exhausting workday to distract her.
David made her feel part of something beyond her small existence. She credited him with her tenuous hold on sanity over the past taxing months, though she’d just come to understand that while in Rwanda.
He screeched to a stop in front of the courthouse seven minutes before she was due to take the stand. She popped open her door and the muted sounds of traffic filled the car.
Shifting back into Drive, David looked at her tote bag expectantly, and she snatched it off the floor before she got out. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Desperate, she ducked her head back into the car. Words worked free from her throat. “Don’t go.”
He looked at her and shook his head. “That’s not how it works, Carrie, not after Wednesday night. I understand why you ran, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallo
w.”
She winced at his words. Her muscles ached from her nightmare and protested the motion. “About that—”
He shifted the car back into Park and jabbed at the hazard-lights button with resignation twisting his features. “You don’t get to brush that aside or say it didn’t mean anything.” He got out and shut his door so gently the car barely moved. She’d just closed hers when he spun her around and pulled her against his chest. For a psychologist, he had a remarkably muscled body.
The heat of his skin shook away the lingering chills from her nightmare. When his fingers speared into her hair and brought her eyes to meet his, all other thoughts fled her mind. Thank God.
“You used me, damn it.”
“Yes.” The ugly truth painted her in self-loathing.
He leaned in, then grimaced and backed off, hands out by his sides. Her skin froze where she missed his touch. “I’ll be in the parking garage, waiting to take you home. We’ll finish this later.”
With that brush-off, she stumbled up the courthouse steps and found the assigned trial room.
Gunnerson half stood when she slipped through the doors, but Carrie waved him off. From the looks of things, they were running behind. Perfect—she’d get some much-needed time to calm down.
She slipped back out the doors and dashed to the ladies’ room across the hall. A little cold water, mascara and eyeliner, and maybe she could pass for the focused, competent woman she was supposed to be.
A grueling ninety minutes later, Carrie left the stand, anxiety a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. The defense attorney had been brutal, taking advantage of every exhausted fumble she made. Though their case was strong, guilt nagged at her. She’d let down the family.
“Carrie, hold on.” Gunnerson caught up and guided her into a nearby alcove rimmed with hard benches. He guided her to sit near the edge of one, then sat on the bench to her left. “Are you all right?”