Abigail’s gaze remained on the bite mark. “Of course.” She lifted her eyes, nailing Laurel with intensity. “Can’t we all? Take you, for instance. You can put yourself right into the mind of a psychopath, and you’ve convinced yourself it’s because of your intelligence and experience. And yet, what if that’s not it?”

Laurel decided to play along while ignoring the quickening of her breath. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning . . . perhaps you are a psychopath. You’ve convinced yourself otherwise and imitate emotion well, but is it real? Do you truly feel what you want to feel?” Abigail’s lips twitched, and the pink gloss shined in the light. “You think you’re awkward with people because you attended university so young and didn’t have normal relationships with peers. What if you’re awkward because you’re truly different? You don’t feel or think like they do.” Her voice lowered even more and the slight British accent emerged. “What if your awkwardness is actually psychopathy?”

Laurel barely kept her interested expression in place. Abigail had zeroed in on her biggest fear. “Are you talking about me or yourself?” Now her own voice lowered.

“We’re the same,” Abigail countered. “Of course, I would’ve bitten the good captain back. I don’t believe you did so.”

How had she lost control of this conversation? “Tell me about Davie or get out of my office.”

“Now, now. Let’s not get testy,” Abigail purred. “I’m here trying to make a connection with you, and girl talk about Huckalishous is one way to do that.”

Laurel drew in a heated breath. “You can’t connect, Abigail. You know you can’t, but that’s okay with you. Connections aren’t what you want.” Anger trilled through her veins, and she didn’t push it away. “People mean nothing except for how they intrigue or entrain you, and this is just another game or study for you. That’s all. Don’t think for one second that I fail to see the real you. You’re correct in that I am intelligent and well trained, with experiences that give me nightmares, but I do connect with people. I feel to a degree you can’t fathom because it’s out of that realm where only you exist. We are not the same.”

Abigail sprang to her feet. “Do you think it’s because of your mother? Because she was present during your childhood?”

“Maybe.” Laurel could be that honest with her. “I don’t know.”

“Well. How is Deidre lately? She seems both likeable and lost, if you ask me. Like somebody who’d spook easily.” Abigail brushed an invisible piece of lint off her jacket.

Laurel’s body chilled as her mind filtered through Deidre’s latest fears. “Is that a fact? Have you been harassing my mother to gain my attention?” Or to force Laurel to remain in town?