“I am the sane one compared to you all.”
“Who’s the woman?” Boston asks as I rub my wrists.
“Someone who’s lodged herself under my skin.”
“Is it the same one you got me to get information on?” When I don’t answer, he chuckles. “So, it’s Cora.”
I heave out a sigh. “Yes.”
“Interesting. Haven’t seen you ever take an interest in a woman like this before.”
“I just have to get her out of my system, then it will be all right.”
“Is that the advice you would give your patients?” he questions as we walk to his car.
“No, I would tell them to have no contact with the person.”
“And how is that going for you?”
“Shit,” I mumble.
And he laughs.
Maybe I should too.
TWENTY-SEVEN
CORA
“You’re back,” I say, unimpressed as I glare at him from the opposite side of the threshold. “And you know what a door is and how to knock,” I add.
The man behind him laughs as he leans against the wall.
“You called the police on me,” he accuses.
“You broke into my apartment,” I throw back at him.
“Some would call it an act of love.” He smirks, and his friend coughs. Love? Is he crazy? Surely he is right now.
“Some would say it’s crazy behavior.” I raise a brow, waiting for him to argue back. “And that would be insane coming from someone who is trained to help the crazy in people.” How this man is the highest-paid therapist is beyond me. “Why are you here?” I ask. “Trying to break back in?”
“I used the door this time since I know how angry it makes you when I don’t.” His friend laughs again. “I need the rest of my things,” he says, and it’s then that I notice he’s only wearing his pants.
“I burned them. They were covered in blood,” I tell him, then grab his phone from the console table. “What’s your PIN code?”
He smirks and, without hesitation, says, “Sixty-nine, sixty-nine.” Then he winks. At first, I think he’s joking. I go straight to his photos to see pictures of houses, businesses, and his office space, and then one single picture of me asleep in my bed. “You won’t find any other women in there,” he says, which makes me look up at him and squeeze my eyebrows together.
“Why not?” I ask as my heart starts beating fast.
“Because none have been worth my time to take a photo. Now since you did me the great honor of burning the rest of my clothes…” He takes a deep breath. “That shirt alone was four hundred dollars, by the way. Can I have my phone back? That is, of course, if you’re finished going through it.”
After locking it, I hand it to him and try to keep my composure. Maybe he forgot he took that of me.
“I figured since you invaded my privacy, I’d return the favor.”
“Should I call the police?” he asks, and his friend coughs again.
“This is Detective Boston.” He waves a hand behind him. “Did you happen to save my keys?” he asks, not bothering further with the detective.
