We both fell silent. There it is. Take it. I’m done.

He searched my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“McIntyre’s the only one who does.” I thought of all the conversations I’d had with her over the past few months, including our talk that day. “She’s been pushing me to tell you. She’s convinced that would make a difference somehow.” I paused. “I took a psych screening when I applied for this job. I want you to know that.”

“I’m sure Mac just wanted to make sure you were okay to work.”

“I didn’t do it for her. There’s a standard protocol for PTSD. It’s minimal—a debriefing, a mental health screening, and you’re done. I kept up with therapy way longer than I needed to. Technically, I was cleared to go back to work months ago. I wanted to take the test. Mac said it wasn’t necessary, but I insisted. I wanted to make sure. But I worry that deep down she’s still scared I’m going to lose it. I’m scared of that possibility, too. I have no business being here right now. What you saw before?” I said. “That was the memories rearing up. The fear. How do I know I’ll be able to tell the good guys from the bad? You saw what I did to Flynn. What if I hurt an innocent person because for a split second I look at them and see Bram? When flashbacks happen, I react. I don’t know if I can control it.”

“What happened doesn’t erase who you are. You’ve got years of experience and instinct and skills to protect you. But if you thought you might lose it, why didn’t you tell me?”

“This is why. Because of what you’re thinking right now. Because of that look on your face. I don’t know how to trust anyone anymore. Not them, and not you.”

I broke eye contact, but he caught my chin and lifted my face level with his. “You may not trust me, but I trust you,” Tim said. “I didn’t know any of this, and yeah, it’s alarming. But we’ve been working together for months. You’re a good person, and a good investigator. But you have to trust yourself. Why do you think those psych screenings exist? There are thousands of officers who’ve been through traumatic situations. They get the help they need, and they move on. You can, too.”

“My situation is different.”

His expression was indecipherable. “Who told you that?”

“It just is. I was taken. Locked in a room for a week and—”

“The therapy you got after it happened,” Tim said, interrupting me. He was still looking at me, but his gaze was unfocused. “It was from Carson, wasn’t it?”

“He was doing his job. I stopped seeing him professionally before we started dating.” I couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of my voice. I wore what Carson told me after we met like a brand on my skin, how Bram went from enemy to ally in my mind because without his help my basic needs wouldn’t be met. Carson said that’s why I couldn’t see him for the criminal he was. There was more to it than that, but I couldn’t deny he was right. “Carson helped me figure things out. It was his idea to move up here. Get away from the bad memories.”