animal facing a threatening foe. But after that first, revealingly apprehensive glance, his blue eyes had become shuttered. As the door slid silently closed behind him, Agent Benedict snagged a chair directly across from her and slumped into it. “You don’t look like a doctor.”
“No?”
“You look like a model.”
Anna managed not to sigh with frustration. She had, in fact, modeled as a young woman. And yes, she was blond and blue-eyed, long-legged, and reputed to be beautiful, if the European magazine covers she’d graced as a teen were any measure. But at twenty-nine, she’d long since put all that behind her.
When she’d first started her practice, she’d briefly explained her modeling past to each inquiring patient. She’d also revealed, to those who’d asked, the nature of the life-altering event that had taken her from modeling to trauma therapy.
But Anna had since learned not to reveal even that much about herself to patients. So she merely said, “Tell me about the shooting.”
“I already told my boss. I didn’t shoot at the kid. I shot over his head.”
“Why was that?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Anna watched the frown of confusion form on Agent Benedict’s very attractive face.
“Why didn’t I kill him, you mean?”
Anna heard the edge of rancor in his voice and said, “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“I’m not a killer.”
“But you wanted to kill him.” She made it a statement, to see if he would deny it.
To her surprise he said, “Hell, yes! I watched him kill a kid I’ve spent the past five months getting to know and like. I wanted to murder the sonofabitch.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He huffed out a breath and leaned his broad shoulders across the conference table, moving aggressively into her space. “Look, Miss—whatever your name is—I was a soldier. I’ve killed men. And women. And—” He cut himself off. “I’ve killed enough people that I’ve lost count of—Haven’t wanted to count them,” he corrected. “I’ve killed often enough to know what it means to end a life. I don’t take that power lightly.
“So I didn’t kill the bastard. I caught him, and he’ll spend a few years in juvie and be out on the streets to kill again someday.”
“You sound angry.”
He lurched to his feet. “You’re damned right, I’m angry! This is bullshit. Are we done?”
“Yes, we’re done.”
He shot her the same wary look she’d seen on his face in the doorway. “What happens now?”
“I’ll make my report to your boss.”
He perched his fists on his hips. “Which is what?”
“You could benefit from further counseling.”
“In your opinion,” he said with a sneer.
“In my opinion,” she said, meeting his gaze with a steady look, even though she felt a frisson of … something … pass between them.
“Would that counseling be with you?”
“I’m available.”
“Really?” he said, the sneer becoming a leer.
Anna flushed. She should be immune to the sort of look she was getting from Agent Benedict. It was a form of attack, when the patient felt defenseless. “ICE makes my services available to anyone who needs them.”
“I don’t need them,” he said flatly. “Are we done?”
“We’re done.”
He stalked to the door, yanked it open and headed down the hall without looking back.
Anna released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. That is a dangerous man. The thought was disconcerting, considering the fact that she’d made up her mind to clear Agent Benedict for duty. However, she would recommend additional counseling.
She realized something else equally upsetting. She still desired him. Still imagined what it might be like to have him hold her in his arms. Still imagined being possessed by him.
Anna sighed. She’d been single too long. Alone too long. Human beings had a physiological need for sex that was as basic as their need for food, water and sleep. A need she realized she would have been happy to fulfill with Ben Benedict.
Unfortunately, if he became her patient, Agent Benedict would be off-limits as a potential sex partner. Anna was glad he’d shown such animosity for her. Sessions with him would have been fraught with inappropriate sexual tension.
Anna felt a fleeting moment of regret for what might have been. If his behavior today was anything to judge by, she wouldn’t be seeing Agent Benedict again.
10
“It isn’t easy being rich,” Ben said.
“Tell that to the next poor man you meet,” Waverly replied.
Ben changed gears in his bright red 1963 Jaguar E-Type Roadster and accelerated. He and Waverly had spent an exhausting afternoon filing reports on the gang killing with their respective law-enforcement agencies. Now they were racing to Waverly’s wedding rehearsal and dinner at one of the several homes owned by the bride’s family, a former plantation called Hamilton Farm southeast of Richmond.
Racing was probably the wrong word for how they’d left D.C. Crawling fit better. They’d gotten caught in the crush of traffic on I-95 South close to the city. Ben knew they’d never arrive on time unless he kept his foot on the gas now.
“You’re going to get a ticket,” Waverly warned.
“You can flash your badge and get me out of it.”
“Flash your own badge,” Waverly retorted.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Which is?”
“Being rich is a curse.”
Waverly snorted. “You’re not going to get any sympathy from me. I earn a living wage. Period. I’d give my left nut to have a car like this.” His hand brushed the black leather interior of the long-nosed, ragtop, six-figure Jag.
“After you marry my sister tomorrow afternoon,” Ben said, “you’ll be rich enough to afford any car you want.”
Waverly frowned. “I don’t want Julia’s money. If I didn’t love her so much, her family connections would have scared me off.”
“I
