his chain of command for not seeing it—”
“Yourself for not stopping it.” Those thoughts never should have left his mouth, echoing guilt she was bound to hear. He cleared his throat. “He cared a lot about you, you know.” So did I.
“I know.” She sniffed. “You know what the hard part is? Not knowing. Did he do it on purpose or was that the one hit that was too much for his body to handle?”
“I think—” He stopped. Now was not the time for that discussion.
“I’m so done with thinking right now.” Her voice dragged low, like the emotion gave added weight to the words.
What was going on in her head? Did she want to talk, or had she had enough of him for one day? His presence had to be a reminder of what she’d suffered. He’d err toward not making a pest of himself. “I’ll let you go and eat. I’m sure you’re starved after—”
“No. Don’t.”
Those short words he understood. “Anything wrong?”
The silence hung heavy. “I... Don’t hang up yet, okay?”
Her request grabbed his heart in a fist. Never. After an appeal like that, there was no way he could. At the rate things were going, he’d likely never leave her alone again.
THREE
The midmorning sun baked the red brick of the counseling center and poured heat onto the brown metal roof of the eighties-era building. Reflected light bounced off the glass doors at an angle that obliterated the view into the lobby.
Andrea gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were the color of kindergarten paste. She twisted her fingers on the vinyl and squinted against the glare to see if anyone moved inside the building, but she could see nothing. She should have called Josh and asked him to meet her early, although that bordered on a paranoia she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Acknowledged or not, it was there. The photos she’d received in the mail were safely at the police station, dropped off on her way to work this morning, but not before she’d photographed them with her phone. Andrea pulled up the most detailed image and studied it, trying to calculate the angle from which it was taken. Twisting to look over her shoulder, she scanned the wooded area across the street.
The trees were thick and dark, marking the line between Columbus and Fort Benning with thick pines and low-growing foliage. There were a thousand places to hide. Whoever took those photos could have walked into that undeveloped spot from anywhere, could have hidden behind any tree. Likely, there wouldn’t be any witnesses. Worse... Was the person there even now, aiming at her again?
A shadow fell across the interior of her car as someone tapped on the driver window.
Andrea’s shriek ricocheted off the windshield. She jumped sideways, away from the driver’s-side door and the steely eyes of the man peering in.
“Doc, it’s just me.” The voice, colored in concern, drifted toward her on a wave of familiarity. A craggy, sun-weathered face peered into the window, a sunwashed black Dale Earnhardt baseball cap pulled low over faded blond hair and concerned gray-blue eyes. “You okay in there?”
Andrea swallowed a cry of relief. “Dutch.” She pressed a hand to her chest to force her heart back into its rightful place.
The older man stepped back as she pushed the car door open and stepped out on shaky legs. He grasped her elbow to steady her as she gripped the top of the door and tried to find her wayward composure. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Dutch had shown up in the parking lot of her building a couple of months ago, looking for work to help him get back on his feet. When the center grew busier as more units redeployed from overseas, he picked up the pace, showing up several days a week, right on schedule, to sweep the floors and neaten the parking lot. Andrea had no idea where he slept at night, but most of his days were spent drifting up and down this end of Victory Drive, rain or shine, picking up cans and bottles or helping shop owners with odd jobs.
“I’m fine. At least now that you’re here.” Thank God for Dutch. She’d all but forgotten it was Friday, one of his regular days to drop by.
Dutch slipped his cap back and scratched his hairline. “Whatcha mean by now that I’m here?”
Andrea jiggled the keys in her pocket and gripped her bag tighter as they neared the front of the building, only half hearing Dutch’s question. At the door, she ran her hand over her name etched there, the tangible mark of a dream years in the making. There was no way she’d let a hulking monster with a camera scare her away from her calling.
Still, as she stared through the glass at the lobby floor where she’d clawed desperately for freedom last night, her stomach tightened. It had seemed like a million miles across that floor at the time, but it was more like two feet in reality. It was amazing how fear could wreak havoc on perception.
“Doc?” Dutch’s deep Southern drawl drew her out of the vision of angry eyes and a menacing figure.
The keys jingled like bells as she pulled them from her pocket. “It’s nothing.” It took all of her strength to keep her hand from trembling as she unlocked the door. Once they were inside, half the battle was over. She’d done it. Crossed the threshold and not lost her senses doing it. Still, nothing could stop her from staring back through the window at the trees.
“Well, now.” Dutch glanced around the exposed lobby, pulling on his earlobe. “Looks like you don’t—” He stopped, eyes focused on the floor, head tipped to one side.
“What’s the matter?” Andrea followed his gaze and instantly landed on what had caught his attention.
“What is that?” Dutch knelt and studied the rust-colored smudges near the door. “Is that blood?” His head came up, jaw set. “Did somebody hurt you?” He stood and squared off as though prepared to protect her from giant robots.
“I’m fine.” She forced nonchalance into her voice. “If you want to know the truth, I drew that blood.”
Dutch took a step back. “What did you do? I’m not ’bout to be in here mopping up evidence, am I?”
Laughter bubbled up at the suspicion in his stance. “I didn’t kill one of my patients, if that’s what you’re thinking. And the police have come and gone, so you can do whatever you’d like.”
“Well, if it’s not your blood, then whose is it?” He didn’t quite believe her.
“I wish I knew. A man came in here and tried to take one of my files.” And me, if he could. She dared not say that aloud. She might find herself with a homeless man as a permanent bodyguard. “I kicked him in the face and he left.”
“One of your patient files? Which one?”
“You know I can’t tell you who my clients are.”
For a moment, it seemed he was going to ask again, then he changed course. “You kicked a man in the teeth? Was he a big guy?”
“Huge.”
“Always knew you
