“I’m all for elegant,” Hadley said with a laugh. “Anything I can do to help?”
She ended up getting some toast ready and grabbing Carter a beer from the fridge while he finished the eggs and took the plates out to the coffee table in front of the couch. The guy was such a bachelor that he didn’t even have a kitchen table. He really needed someone to take care of him.
The eggs turned out to be delicious, not to mention the perfect comfort food Hadley hadn’t known she needed. She and Carter sat cross-legged on the couch as they ate, knees almost touching as they faced each other.
“How did things go with Lydia and Kamden?” she asked as she ate, not ready to talk about the events at the prison, regardless of what she’d promised earlier. The eggs were perfectly fluffy and the addition of the spinach and tomatoes gave the dish a tangy, hearty taste. “Learn anything of value?”
“Yeah, we did,” Carter said, scooping up another forkful of eggs. “It turns out that skinwalkers have to change their bodies every few years and according to Kamden, the process isn’t all that fun. He and Lydia are in Dallas to see a witch they hope can use magic to allow him to keep his current body without ever needing to change again.”
Carter went on to tell her about Kat and how Kamden was willing to take any risk on the off-chance Kat could turn him back into a human.
“Why do I get the feeling Lydia probably isn’t as thrilled about the risks Kamden is willing to take?” Hadley said, wondering when her life had become so bizarre. She was having dinner with a werewolf, chatting about witches, skinwalkers, and the possibility of using magic to turn Pinocchio into a real boy.
“On some level, I think Kamden is scared he’s going to lose her if he has to change his body,” Carter said, finishing his fifth piece of toast, then placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “You know what they say about love making fools of us all.”
Hadley could understand why Kamden might see it that way, but someone needed to point out that Lydia would probably prefer to simply have him alive, no matter what he looked like.
They talked for a long time about witches, magic, and some of the more bizarre stuff the Dallas SWAT had found itself involved in over the past two years. If Hadley wasn’t friends with a supernatural vigilante for justice, she might have thought he was making everything up.
“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” Carter asked after Hadley finished eating and placed her plate on the coffee table alongside his.
“You do realize that would normally be my line, right?” she said with a smile as she sipped her wine.
He chuckled. “The thought did enter my mind, but I was thinking since you helped me out so much this morning and listened as I unloaded all my problems, I could do the same for you. I won’t lie and say I’m a great listener, but I’ll do my best. Like you always say, talking about what’s bothering you is the best therapy.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You remember me saying that? I’m impressed.”
“I have my moments,” Carter said, giving her a smile.
Sitting back on the couch a bit, Hadley took a breath and considered where to start. Unfortunately, it was surprisingly difficult. It made sense to start at the beginning, but in this situation, the beginning wasn’t easily deciphered.
“Part of my job involves talking to some of the most evil, twisted human beings that have ever been born,” she said softly, staring down at the glass of wine in her hand. “That first year or so was stomach-churning, and a few times, I even had to leave the interview room to collect myself after hearing the horrible things they told me.”
She took a sip, giving Carter a chance to say something, perhaps ask why she was doing it if it was so upsetting to her. But instead, he sat there, waiting patiently for her to continue.
“There were times back then when I thought that maybe this criminal behavioral psychology thing might not be for me, even if I did have a knack for it,” she said. “I almost quit a dozen different times, usually right after a particularly bone-chilling interview.”
“But you didn’t,” he prompted after she fell silent for a while.
“No, I didn’t. Instead, I learned to shut everything out. I refused to let anyone see how this stuff affected me. I refused to let it affect me. In time, I got a reputation for being cold and unfeeling. I’m pretty sure that some people consider me as much of a psychopath as the people I study, but I’ve never let that bother me. I simply did my job, sure that no one could get through the walls I’d put up around myself. And no one ever has.”
The hand holding the wine glass began to shake and Carter reached out to gently place it on the table. Then he took her hand and held it in his.
“Until now?” he asked.
“Until now,” she said. “I can’t explain it. I’ve had other criminals attack me during our interviews—including serial killers—and it’s never bothered me. But when Strickland grabbed my wrist and yanked me across the table to bite me, it completely rattled me. I vaguely remember fighting back, but it’s like I was buried in mud, barely able to move, much less think.”
She left unsaid the part about her protective walls, the facade that had always made her feel invincible, being left in tatters.
Carter took her other hand, holding both of them now. “Hadley, I can promise you that no one is going to think any less of you for freezing up in a situation like that. There’s something terrifying about the idea of being bitten, like it’s coded into our DNA or something. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.”
Hadley sighed. “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I like the idea of Strickland having that much sway over my actions. It’s infuriating.”
His brow furrowed. “You aren’t going to interview him again, are you?”
She opened her mouth to tell him that of course she was going to interview the man again, that she refused to be cowed by a dangerous psychopath, but the words got stuck halfway out as reality overrode her pride.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “The FBI agent that brought me in will almost certainly want me back in there, but I’m not sure I want to get within a half mile of Strickland again for as long as I live.”
