He let out a long breath as he stood outside the door. The episode felt strangely anticlimactic. Maybe because he hadn’t punched the guy or perhaps because they were all so freaking exhausted. This was a good result for Torgerson. Should help her career.

He called Lincoln Frazer to discuss the confession, but it went straight to voicemail.

Eban rubbed his eyes, tiredness dragging at him. It had been a hell of a few days. He headed over to the conference room and poked his head inside. Allan Robertson was fast asleep slumped over the table. He walked around the screen and found Darby dozing.

He hunkered down beside her and she blinked awake. She removed her headphones.

“Time to go.”

Her green eyes slowly widened. Up close, streaks of gold threaded through her irises. “How’d it go?”

“Gleeson confessed.”

She leaned forward and touched his cheek, kissed his lips in a quick motion that made his heart spin. “It’s over?”

“It’s over.” He hoped.

“Thank god.”

“Yeah. Let’s head back to the cabin.”

* * *

In the SUV, Darby rubbed the back of her neck which was stiff from hunching over her laptop all day today. She’d peeled off the steri bandages earlier because the cut on her throat had scabbed over nicely and although it looked ugly, it was healing well.

Emotionally, she was relieved and excited that the police had caught this killer and that Dr. Gleeson had admitted to his crimes. The fact it was her therapist was beyond disconcerting. The number of times she’d been alone with the man, trusting, vulnerable…and the idea he’d killed Martin because of her was both guilt-inducing and heartbreaking. If she could go back in time and simply not attend the ceilidh, Martin would probably still be alive. Adele too.

She wasn’t sure where to put those feelings. Nor the fact a lot of her recovery had come about from work she’d done with a man who’d turned out to be a vicious killer. How could he treat trauma on one hand and inflict it on the other? She genuinely believed it was the methods used rather than Dr. Gleeson himself that had helped her, and she needed to find a way to separate the results from the person who’d overseen the therapy.

She shuddered. She now needed therapy for her therapy.

“Are you okay?” Eban asked, reaching out to squeeze her fingers. Even though they both wore gloves, his touch was welcome and wanted.

“I’m feeling creeped out,” she confessed. “Not least about the fact I told Gleeson about some of the things that happened to me in Indonesia. With a little more time, I’d probably have told him everything and that idea is nauseating.”

“Don’t think about him. He is obviously adept at deception.”

“Yeah. Ugh. But the idea other people’s torture was a turn on for him …”

“There doesn’t seem to be a sexual component to the murders.”

She hugged herself. “I guess that’s something.”