“When was the last time you talked to DocTailor?”
She blinked. “A couple weeks ago.Why?”
“Because you are so far off the mark about who you are, it’s not even funny. You save puppies, for crying out loud. It’s not like you’re trolling bars for unsuspecting guys to torture in your basement of horrors. It was your job and you did it. It doesn’t define who you are as aperson.”
“But I was really good at it,” Denise said. Really, really good atit.
“So? I’m good at myjob.”
“You helppeople.”
“So did you. Maybe not in the conventional way, but how many lives were saved from the intel you got fromdetainees?”
“It’s not the same,” she said, shaking herhead.
Bree pursed her lips in frustration. “I think you need to talk to Doc Tailor about these particular ideas you have, but why exactly do you think it will affect K-Squared?”
“What if they try to wake me up during a nightmare? What if I hurt them somehow? Lose my temper because I’m having a bad day? What if I start to havethosethoughtsagain?”
“You mean hurtingyourself?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been years, Denise, why do you think it would happennow?”
Because it was always in her, playing in the far corners of her mind. That one moment when it seemed like it would be so easy to make everything stop. It was never an active thought—more like a bad memory that lingered. Shame that, no matter how hard she tried and no matter how much therapy she had, would never go away. It would always be there to remind her that at her weakest, she’d almost givenup.
“I still have dark moments. Never as bad as it was then, but still. They don’t need to see me like that. Not after watching their mom get sick. How can I be there for them, when there are times I have a hard time being there formyself?”
The door rattled, followed by aknock.
“Hang on.” Bree squeezed her leg and answered the door, opening it acrack.
“Everything okay?” Jaseasked.
“Yeah. We just need a fewminutes.”
“Okay. Chris’shere.”
“Oh,” Bree said. That word contained a wealth of questions she knew Bree would ask. “Okay. We’ll be out in abit.”
Denise dropped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, errant tears sliding down her temples into her hair. She heard them kiss and indistinct whispering before the door clickedclosed.
A dull pain echoed in the hollowness of herheart.
Bree sat on the bed, one leg bent, and looked down at her. “I’m going to let you in on asecret.”
This should be good. Bree had become very philosophical since almost being killed by her deranged assistant. “What’sthat?”
“When you care about someone more than yourself it makes you stronger. Moreresilient.
Not likely. Denise turned her head. “I think that ship hassailed.”
“I was talking about the kids. Who were you thinkingof?”
She stared back at the ceiling. “No one inparticular.”
“Then what ship were you talking about?” Nope. She wasn’t going to let it go. “The S.S. Christopher Nolton, bychance?”
