“Dr. Young feels the continuity is important for your own well-being,” he said.

Jeremiah wanted to spit. No one other than Brent gave two shits about his well-being.

“I think I know something about that, too,” he told Scott, masking the venom in his tone, “and I’m telling you it’ll do me good to take some time for myself. Just a couple of days.”

Scott pursed his lips and looked at Brent, who just shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe he’s right,” he said. “You read my report. It could help.”

Scott said nothing and, in that moment, with Brent looking directly at him, Scott’s eyes became momentarily unfocused. For an instant his whole face looked unnatural, went slack in a way, as though he’d completely lost control of it. Jeremiah looked at Brent and saw a stunned surprise in his eyes. He’d seen it, too.

Scott smoothed his hair in a useless effort to hide what had happened. He hesitated and then looked back to Jeremiah with mild exasperation in his eyes.

“All right, Mr. Adams. A few days. That’s all. And I will have to insist that Mr. Higgins remain here during that time.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jeremiah said for good measure. Inwardly he saw the benefit of Brent having to stay.

“You need to be monitored. I’m afraid that point is not open to debate.” He turned back to Brent. “Mr. Higgins, you will clear your schedule.”

“Of course. I’ll just go home to pick up a few things and be back within the hour.”

“One hour,” Scott told him. “No more.” He stood to leave and Jeremiah stood up, as well.

“Thank you, Dr. Scott,” he said, the words almost sticking in his throat, and with considerable effort he put out his hand to the murderous worm of a man. “I appreciate this.”

Scott shook his hand and took his leave without another word. Brent exhaled deeply and stared at Jeremiah.

“He is sick,” he said.

“I told you.”

“And you are good,” Brent added. “You just got two days off and all the time we need to see this through.”

Chapter 35

In less than an hour, Brent returned with a suitcase, a bag of burgers and two more bottles of whiskey. Jeremiah tore at the food, realizing as soon as he smelled it that he was ravenous again, despite everything. He’d been pacing the apartment since Brent had gone, a nervous ball of energy. He’d logged more time on that treadmill in the past forty-eight hours than he’d typically done in a week. Something in his stomach, he thought, might help him calm down.

“I don’t know about the whiskey,” he said. “We need our wits about us.”

“I have a distinct feeling I am going to need it before this night is over. In case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Besides,” Brent said, “we have ample time now. Might as well have one good bender while we can.”

“I drink like a fish now, thanks to you.”