Early on, the drugs had made his days bearable and the nights not quite so endless. He figured if he wasn’t thinking about blowing his brains out, the meds were working. Things began to improve after the Slaughterhouse case—after he met Kate. He weaned himself off the drugs. Not cold turkey, but one pill at a time. At first, everything had been all right. He started running. Taking care of a body he’d abused for more than two years. Just when he thought he was going to make it, everything went to shit.

Tomasetti wanted his life back. He wanted his job back. He wanted to go to Painters Mill to see Kate, help her with the case. The phone call he’d received from her earlier drove that need into his brain like a six-inch spike. She wouldn’t approve, but he worried about her. Too damn much if he wanted to be honest about it. But then he knew that bitch Fate had a habit of snatching away the things he cared about most.

His relationship with Kate was an anomaly; he’d never been a fan of female cops. Like their male counterparts, they could be a difficult lot. John figured he had enough problems just getting through the day without taking on a complicated woman. Not that he was looking. Not that she’d have him. Or so they both claimed.

She was one of the most interesting women he’d ever met. She was tough, capable and attractive as hell. This from a man who was not easily swayed by a pretty face. Evidently, he’d made an exception for her because she swayed him and then some.

In retrospect, Tomasetti knew that while it might have been the façade of tough that had initially drawn him to her, it was the barely discernible air of vulnerability that was the coup de grâce. Thrown together during a time of off-the-chart stress, and his fate had been sealed. Less than a week into the investigation, they’d ended up in bed. At first, it had been all about the sex. By the time he’d returned to Columbus, their relationship had turned into something else. Something he didn’t necessarily want, but he’d come to learn life didn’t give a damn about timing.

“So, you’re still having nightmares,” the doctor said. “How often? Once a week? Twice a week? More often?”

“A couple of times a week,” John answered. “Not as intense.”

“I wish you’d change your mind about the antidepressants.”

“I think my brain has enough problems without adding to the mix.”

“I know a few of the MAOI-class antidepressants have gotten some bad press in the last couple of years. But we could try one of the SSRIs. There are several good ones on the market. The supervised use of an antidepressant could be helpful in getting you back on track.”