She sat beside me. “No, this is perfect. She is bound by confidentiality. She can’t tell anyone.”
“Unless she thinks I’m a threat.”
“That’s true. But she doesn’t. I told her that you help people and would never intentionally hurt an innocent person.”
“That makes me feel so much better. Why are you here on a Sunday?”
“Sometimes I see city employees and I try to work with their schedules.”
She was totally hiding something. I felt the air around her wobble.
“And I figured I could get some paperwork done, too,” she added.
“Are you scared of him?”
She turned back to me. “Officer Pierce? No. Why?”
That got me nowhere fast. “Fine. Who are you seeing?”
“What? No one.”
“Gem,” I said, rolling my eyes so far back, I almost seized, “you can’t lie to me.”
She put her cup down and pointed at me. “That is so unfair. Even when we were kids, you cheated.”
“Cheated?”
“Yes. You shouldn’t get to use your powers on just anyone.”
“I didn’t. You have an infinity symbol drawn on the inside of your wrist.”
“Oh.” She blushed.
“You only do that when you’re seeing someone.” She’d picked up the habit in grade school, and I quickly learned that when she started drawing infinity symbols, she was secretly in love. I couldn’t believe she still did it. She was like thirty or something. Who did crap like that? I nonchalantly covered the letters R-E-Y-E-S I’d drawn on my knuckles.
“I do not only do this when I’m seeing someone. I’m thinking about getting some ink. Making this permanent.” When I thinned my mouth, she caved. “Damn it. I’m not seeing him. I just would like to.”
“Bummer. Unrequited love sucks ass. So, who is this mystery idiot who clearly has no taste if he hasn’t asked you out yet?”
“No one. And you’re not meeting him. Ever.”
I placed a hand over my heart. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“Yes.”
“No.” I held up my palm. “Don’t hold back. I can take the truth.”
“I’m ashamed of you,” she said, sitting behind her desk and shuffling through papers.
“Give it to me straight.”
“I’m embarrassed to have you as a sister.”
I slammed my eyes shut. “Just be honest with me, for the love of applesauce, Gemma.”
“I’m mortified that we came from the same womb.”
“So, who’s the cop?” I asked, taking another swig of the good stuff.
She put down the paper she was studying. “I thought you knew him.”
“I met him once. On a rainy night. Our love was all-consuming for about five minutes. Then it kind of dwindled. Much like my bank account.”
She hitched one corner of her mouth. “Didn’t give you the time of day?”
“Not even when I asked nice. And I was serious. I’d forgotten my watch. What can you tell me about him?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“How did he get those scars?”
She finally gave me her full attention. “Charley, I can’t talk about my clients.”
“Just making small talk. Holy cow. Besides, I thought he moved to Montana or something.”
She gave me her best glower. If I’d had cards to hold up, I’d give it an 8.5 with higher marks for a crisp execution.
“What’s he need a shrink for?”
After releasing a long breath, she said, “Since this is nothing you can’t get off the Internet, he had to return fire at a crime scene and an innocent man was killed in the cross fire.”
“Oh, I remember that. How’d he get the scars?”
“I don’t know.”
She was lying. Whatever. “So I have a problem.”
“Just one?” she asked. “Aren’t we being a bit unrealistic?”
“My apartment has been invaded by a plethora of departed women who seem to have been strangled by a serial killer.”
She stopped.
“They are all blond but different ethnicities and ages and such.” She wasn’t a profiler, so I didn’t go into the details much. “But they are absolutely terrified. I need to know how to get through to them. I can’t get any information from them like they are. They won’t talk to me.”
“What behaviors are they exhibiting?”
“Think the psych ward from that horror movie we snuck into in grade school.”
“Holy sh – Really?” Despite her best efforts, her face showed the horror she felt at the memory. She’d never been the same after that movie, which luckily for me made scaring the bejesus out of her all the easier. She cleared her throat and began again. “How many did you say there are?”
“About twenty. I don’t know for certain. There are more every time I look. They are completely despondent, frantic, and/or catatonic. But there is one, a young girl around seven —”
“Seven?” she asked, her face the picture of heartbreak.
“Right? Serial killers are ass-hats. Anyway, she made eye contact. Other than her, however, none of them have made any kind of connection at all. Besides the one who kept her hand on my foot all night. I nigh froze to death.”
I couldn’t miss the shiver that rushed over her. “Okay, so you need information on what happened to them?”