How was she coping? Was she terrified about what was happening to people she knew? Was she worried she’d be next?

I’d never actually hurt her. I understood what she’d been through in a way no one else ever would and I’d be there when she needed me. Maybe it was just as well the cops had let her go. She’d suffered another scare. It should be enough to get her back on track. I’d help her through it.

My foot bounced and I had to consciously stop the involuntary motion. I looked around, wondering if anyone had noticed my nervous tic.

No one had. The server with the mop wiped her brow with her forearm as she finished cleaning up the mess left by an endless stream of dirty snow melting off winter boots. She placed a caution sign a few feet from my table. The sight of it amused me.

I placed a few dollars next to the empty plate and mug. I would have left more but I didn’t want to be memorable. She smiled her thanks and I nodded.

I pulled on my coat and collected my things. I couldn’t afford to rush into anything else. I had to stay calm. Let the cops scurry around like worker ants. Let them fumble and fail like they always did. I’d done enough to keep them off my tail—for now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Eban didn’t like this latest development. Darby was inside the vortex of this crime spree and he didn’t like it at all.

They’d ordered pizza and he’d picked up a few things from a nearby office supply store while they’d waited for it to be ready. Now the pizza was on the backseat and the smell was making his mouth water as they drove back to the cabin.

Darby peered out at the snowy scenery, a faraway look in her eyes. Was she remembering the things that happened last summer, or was she thinking about waking up in Martin Carstairs’s house and finding the man dead? Or about Adele Surrey’s brutal slaying, or the fact private, personal details of a supposedly confidential healing session might now be made public?

Someone had an unhealthy obsession with the woman at his side. Figuring out who would lead them to this UNSUB. “Who knew which therapist you were seeing?”

Darby tucked her chin into her coat collar as she looked at him. “A lot of the other grad students in the Institute, as well as my boss, knew I was seeing Dr. Gleeson. I tried to be open about therapy, so they knew I was being proactive about dealing with everything that had happened. Then all the people who attended the group sessions. I guess if the person doing this is targeting me, there’s no reason they couldn’t have followed me from work to the church or the therapist’s office.”

“What else do you do?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Nothing. Therapy and work.”