Inside the safety of her own apartment, her brother tried to soothe her, but there was nothing to be done.

“We will figure this out. We will take care of this,” he said, echoing Jack’s sentiments from the plane. The two men she cared deeply about were here, having met in the most bizarre of circumstances when Davis was waiting at baggage claim. Her brother had wrapped her in a hug, and then shook hands with the man she was sure he’d rather not be meeting. He had known they were together—she told him before she’d left for Paris who she was traveling with—but he didn’t know the details that were now being splashed all over the papers.

She curled up in a ball on her dove-gray couch, grabbing a blanket and huddling under it, clutching her phone. As if she could protect herself from more bad news by staying close to it. Making sure she didn’t miss a single solitary piece of shit being flung her way.

“Do you have any idea how this happened? How someone got your emails?” Davis asked.

Michelle shook her head, too shell-shocked to even think rationally.

“Who would have a reason to do this?” he said, continuing to prod. “There’s always a motivation. Whoever did this had to have motivation.”

Michelle managed a humorless laugh. “You’re such a director. Always thinking about motivation. Even at a time like this,” she said.

“He’s right,” Jack said, weighing in. “Someone has it out to get you. Is there any chance it could be one of your patients?”

“No,” she said emphatically. She wanted to believe they wouldn’t skewer her like this. But she knew it would be foolish not to consider the possibility.

“Wait,” Jack said, snapping his fingers. “You mentioned something in Paris—”

The phone rang, stopping him and she flinched all over. “Let me answer,” Davis said firmly.

She shook her head. “It might be a client.” She put the phone to her ear. “Michelle here.”

“On the couch? Is that true?” It was Shayla.

“Hi. And no,” she said, because the time in her office was on the chair.

“Oh, thank God,” she said with a relieved sigh. “Anyway, I’m so glad you’re back. Because my husband is freaking out. When can I see you?”

Michelle was amazed that Shayla was completely focused on herself when the world around her was cratering. But then, at least one client was interested in someone other than Michelle, and she vastly preferred not being the center of other people’s attention.

“I just landed. We can set something up for tomorrow. Is that soon enough?”

Shayla agreed, but when the call ended, Michelle latched onto something. My husband is freaking out. Could it have been Shayla’s husband who did this? Was Clark Shayla’s husband after all using a fake name? Was this his way of driving some sort of wedge between his wife, and the shrink he thought was encouraging her to leave him?

“Michelle,” Jack said, and she flipped over and looked at him, amazed that mere hours ago she’d been flying home, blissfully unaware that her career was being tanked. “You said in Paris that you had a new client. You thought he was checking you out during a session, and then in the next one he knew too much about you,” he said, repeating her words back to her. He’d remembered every single one. “Standard businessman, you said. He had dark hair, dark glasses. He looked like someone you bumped into outside your office.”