She stared at him for a moment, stunned. His hand felt very warm against her shoulder and she felt a jolt of regret when he removed it, folding it in his lap and turning to face the road again, a quiet sadness in his own posture.

For a moment, sitting there, his shirt brushing against her shoulder, she wanted to say more. Maybe it was his way with few words, or simply his silent presence. Maybe it was just her desperate need to tell someone. But a part of her wanted to say more. To confide in Agent Sawyer. To tell him…

Something.

But then she swallowed, and the desire vanished just as quickly. Who was she kidding anyway? If she told anyone… told an FBI agent of all people, she’d probably be locked up herself. No one would believe her. And even if they did, she wouldn’t even know where to start. She barely remembered.

No. Some things were best left unsaid.

“Do me,” said Sawyer suddenly.

She stared at him. “Excuse you?”

“You know what I mean. You’re a shrink, right?” He glanced at her bandages, and gave a little nod of approval. “Not bad for a couch-sitter.”

“Couch-sitter? Is that what you think therapists do?”

“It isn’t?”

“Do you in what way?”

“Read me. Like you do. Back at the station, you seemed to think I’d gotten in trouble with my boss.”

“So you did?” Ilse said, surprised at this volunteered piece of information.

Sawyer just shrugged. “Do me.”

“You want me to diagnose you?”

He scratched at his chin, then gave a bobbing nod.

Ilse watched him for a moment, her own eyes narrowed in thought. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to say. She’d botched it all so badly with Heidi—she couldn’t have been more wrong. Then again, at the same time, she knew she was good at her job. One of the best, in fact.

She wasn’t sure why, but a part of her wanted to impress the quiet, understated BAU agent. So she rattled off in quick succession, “I can’t give a diagnosis. Not without some time. But I did pick up some things… You’re recently divorced. A loner. I’d guess you don’t have many, if any, friends. Your family probably checks in on you now and then, but mostly by phone. You’re the sort that might use a term like ‘married to the job’ unironically. You value loyalty above all else. You’re honest, and hate liars.”

“Hmm. Nah.”

“Nah?” Ilse said. “Most of that is definitely accurate. I’d stake my job on it.”

“No family.”

“Oh. Well… How about the rest of it?”

Sawyer gave her a long look, and then got to his feet slowly, dusting off his jeans and clearing his throat. “You did good out there,” he said. “ Agency could use someone like you, you know.”

Ilse stared at him. “What?”

“I don’t really care about that therapy stuff. But you killed a serial murderer with a pair of craft scissors.” He shrugged. “Impressive.”