burnt coffee was heavy in the air.
She followed Pat toward his office, holding her tongue as she hurried down the hallway behind him. He opened a door at the end of the corridor, and led her inside a small room with two desks and a rolling leather chair positioned between them.
“I’m sorry, Pat,” she said as soon as he closed the door.
He looked like she’d caught him off guard, so she pressed on.
“Whatever is between you and your human...Sydney,” she added at his warning look, “is none of my business. I was feeling a bit off my nut after being surrounded by humans all day. But that’s no excuse. You’re one of my oldest friends, and I shouldn’t have bashed your relationship.”
Pat’s office chair groaned beneath his weight as he dropped into it. He exhaled, his blue eyes boring into hers, as if he was trying to figure out how to respond.
“Letty,” he said finally, “I know how you feel about humans. And I know why you feel that way. But Sydney is my soul mate. I’ve waited my entire life to find her, and I don’t have the words to tell you how important she is to me. You’re going to have to accept that, when it comes to her, I have no patience for your prejudices.”
Scarlett swallowed and nodded. “I know, Pat. I’m going to try harder to get my head straight about the human thing.” She grimaced. “Between you and Doyle, I’m going to have to. It’s just that it’s...difficult for me to spend time in their realm. It brings up memories that I can’t seem to let go. No matter how hard I try.”
The sorrow in Pat’s eyes was so sharp it should have cut her. “You’ve never told anyone what happened, have you?”
She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I can’t. It would make it too real. It’s bad enough that you know.” She realized she was picking at her finger again and she wrapped her other hand around it, hiding it from view.
“It is real, Letty,” he said softly. “It happened. You were only sixteen, and you were raped. It shouldn’t have happened, and it wasn’t your fault, but it did happen. And it’s not something you’re just going to be able to ‘let go’. Keeping it a secret is like leaving an open wound untreated. It can’t help but to fester. Don’t you know that by now?”
She took a shaky breath, and admitted to herself that he might be right. But when she played through the scenarios of talking about it with her mother, her father, her brother...it was simply too awful. She shook her head in denial. “I can’t. I just can’t, Pat, okay? Not right now.”
She hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly he was standing beside her. He enfolded her in a fierce hug and she stiffened in his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Letty,” he murmured brokenly. “You’ll never know how sorry I am that I didn’t get there sooner. But you have to promise me you’ll deal with it. You can’t let it fester any longer. It’s like a shadow that’s been hanging over you your entire life, and I can’t bear to see it anymore. I want to see you happy.”
His words hit her with quiet force, his sympathy breaking apart the fragile barrier she’d been working all day to erect against the memories. A sob shuddered through her frame and tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking into his white cotton shirt as she hid her face from him.
Her muscles began to shake, as if the past had become a physical weight she could no longer carry. Finally she relented and sagged in his embrace, allowing him to hold her as she wept.
She didn’t know how long she cried, but as her tears began to subside, she was mortified that she’d broken down in front of him. She cleared her throat and tried to pull away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered raggedly.
He grasped her shoulders and gave her a stern shake. “Don’t you do that, Letty Thresher,” he insisted. “You’ve had nigh on a hundred and eighty years of holding that shite in, and you deserve to let it out.”
There was a catch in his voice, and when she lifted her gaze, his eyes were moist. She let out a fractured laugh, loving him more in that moment than she ever had.
“You sappy wanker,” she sniffed, giving him a tremulous smile. “Is this what I can expect from you and Doyle now that you’re both in love? A bunch of talking about our feelings and weeping like little girls?”
He chuckled. “You are such a hard ass. And I’m so going to remind you of it when you find your soul mate and turn into a big, sappy puddle of goo every time he comes near you.”
Scarlett snorted. “Please. Never going to happen.”
“I’ll bet you a shot of whiskey you will,” he goaded.
“You’re on,” Scarlett agreed confidently as she brushed away the last of her tears.
“We’ll see,” he taunted. He tweaked her nose and retreated behind his desk before she could retaliate. “And one more thing, Letty,” he added.
She raised a brow at him.
“Crying doesn’t make you weak.” He held her gaze stubbornly until her lips twitched and she accepted his words with a slight nod.
He grinned. “Well, now that that’s sorted, didn’t I interrupt you groveling for forgiveness or something?” he asked, dodging her half-hearted punch.
“Actually, there is something…” she sighed. She told him about her encounter with Agent Greyson Derrington of the FBI and the Morpheus potion she’d smelled on him.
“He must have picked up the scent at the murder scene,” she insisted.
Pat frowned at her. “Are you certain he was human?”
She gave him a dry look.
“Right. Stupid question,” he apologized. “But has it occurred to you that he might not have been who he said he was? Maybe he made the whole thing up, or maybe he was the killer, and you scared him off when he realized he couldn’t subdue you.”
Scarlett shook her head slowly. She could still see Agent Derrington’s dark, mesmerizing eyes as he tried to show her his badge and explain what he was doing standing in the shadowy yard.
“He was telling the truth. I’d bet my life on it.”
Pat leaned back in his chair, astonishment etching his features as he stared at her. “You’d bet your life that a human was telling you the truth,” he repeated.
She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing how crazy that sounded coming from her. Her reaction to Agent Derrington confused her, but she knew she was right about him.
“Just run a check on him, will you?” she demanded in exasperation.
Pat leaned forward to type something into his computer system, glancing up at her as he waited for the results. The calculating gleam in his eyes made her feel edgy.
“Greyson Derrington,” he read, taking in the features of the rugged black man pictured on the screen. “Male, age thirty-seven, Lead Investigator for the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Behavioral Analysis Unit Two, specializing in serial and mass murders, sexual assault, kidnapping, and other
