While it was early November, it was almost unseasonably hot today and the overhead fans provided a nice breeze. The decor on the outside was similar to the interior from the wood tables and mismatched chairs to the colorful chalkboard menu.
“Maybe you can call me Hadley when your friends get here?” Dr. Delacroix said from beside him after their server brought iced tea to hold them over until everyone else showed up. “Since we’re not in my office?”
“Sure.” He sipped his tea. “As long as you call me Carter. I wouldn’t want it to be all weird or anything.”
She laughed. “Okay…Carter.”
It was then that he realized how much he liked hearing her say his name. For some reason, it sounded completely different when she said it.
“So,” he said, forcing his mind back on track, “you have to go to Coffield? I don’t mean to pry, but what’s that all about? I’ve had to pay a visit there more than a few times. It’s not a nice place.”
Hadley lifted a shoulder in a gentle shrug, and Carter couldn’t help but notice that even the casual movement was graceful and elegant. Of course, after the events at her office and how she’d handled his inner omega, he could admit that his perception of her might be skewed somewhat. He’d thought she was amazing before. Now, she was pretty much perfect.
“It’s not a big deal,” Hadley said, sipping her tea. “The FBI called me in to interview an inmate they think might be involved in as many as a dozen other murders. They’re hoping I can get the man to confess to the crimes so they can close the cases. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”
Carter’s heart began to thump out of control for no damn reason that he could figure out. “You sit in a room with FBI agents and prison guards, chatting with serial killers on the regular?”
“Not exactly. There are never any FBI agents or prison guards in the room with me when I’m with them.”
Carter’s heart threatened to explode out of his chest, his fingertips and gums starting to ache, and that horribly familiar curtain beginning to draw closed across his eyes. But then he felt a hand on his, slim fingers caressing his, that familiar lullaby reaching his ears, distracting him. The haze retreated slowly until he found himself sitting at the table again beside her, a glass of iced tea in front of him and her hand squeezing his.
“What was that about?” Hadley asked softly, gazing at him curiously. “You started to slip again and you weren’t angry or riled up from a fight.”
“I wish I could tell you.”
He was pretty sure the answer had something to do with being scared that she was going to purposely put herself in the same room with a serial killer that afternoon. Not wanting to dwell on the implications, he threw out the first excuse that came to mind.
“Maybe it was a flashback to this morning’s events at the lake,” he said.
Hadley looked dubious at that, but he hurried on before she could say anything.
“While I appreciate you pulling me back before I completely lost it, I’d much rather talk about this serial killer you’re planning to chat with. Is he dangerous?”
“You mean there are serial killers who aren’t dangerous?” she quipped. “The FBI has connected this guy to as many as fifteen gruesome murders. Assuming there are others that we don’t know about, the man is probably responsible for twice that number of deaths. So, yeah, I’d say he’s dangerous.”
Crap.
“How gruesome are we talking about?” Carter asked, not sure why he wanted to know.
She sipped her tea and glanced casually around the patio as if they were talking about the weather. “Well, he has a history of eating his victims.”
Carter cursed silently. “Wait a minute. You’re interviewing Eugene Strickland, the Cannibal Killer of Westover Hills?”
It wasn’t exactly the moniker Carter would have given him—depraved a-hole seemed like a much better fit—but media types always liked catchy nicknames.
Hadley glanced his way. “You’ve heard of him?”
Carter felt his control start to slip again at her casual-AF tone. Fortunately, movement over by the back door of the restaurant caught his attention, jerking him back to the real world.
His pack mate, Trey Duncan, moved over to join them at the table, clearly curious to see someone with him. When Carter introduced her as his psychiatrist, Trey lifted a brow. While he could understand why his buddy might be confused since he was her patient, it was still hilarious as hell to see the baffled look on Trey’s face. He considered telling Trey it was take-your-shrink-to-lunch day but went with something more acceptable and less snarky.
“Even though I’m curious about this thing you need my help with, right now I’m more interested in what happened during that raid this morning,” Carter said after Trey took a seat across from them. “Is everyone okay?”
Trey threw a covert glance Hadley’s way, no doubt wondering if Carter wanted him to talk about this kind of stuff in front of her.
“It was pretty ugly,” Trey finally said, waiting while the server set a glass of iced tea in front of him before continuing. “We were briefed to expect heavy resistance as we neared the warehouse where the cartel was storing their drugs, but no one mentioned there’d be machine gun nests. We all made it through okay, though not without some injuries.”
He gave Carter a pointed look, making it clear that some of the pack had been hit during the raid—maybe all of them. But they were fine. That was the important thing. Although, Carter still felt crappy about not being there with them. Unfortunately, he’d be stuck on the sidelines for the foreseeable future.
