"Since you've seen my file," he said, prying a magnet off the file cabinet, a clear plastic cover over a family photo taken ten years ago, "it's probably no great leap to assume I don't have a lot of experience on how to deal with male authority figures in my life."
"Why would I assume that?"
"How come you're getting paid for me to come up with all the answers?"
"Great job I have here, isn't it?" She smiled.
He grinned back. "All right. I'll play along. It's the government's nickel paying for this anyhow." He held up the family-portrait magnet. "There aren't any photos like this in my past. My old man cut out on us when I was five, cracked under the pressure of paying for all those bicycles and gym shoes. My mother opened a vein rather than live without him. Cops tracked down my old man, who still didn't want the responsibility of picking up the tab for my Nikes and Huffys."
Bo's smile, reputed to have charmed women on every continent, turned tight, hard, lending credence to his fallen angel reputation. He slapped the magnet back on the cabinet. "To give him his due, at least the bastard had enough conscience to make sure he dumped me somewhere decent rather than just cut me loose into the system."
"A Catholic orphanage."
"Ah, so you're reading my file after all. Nice work." He sprawled in one of the two government-issue chairs in front of her desk. "The sisters did good by me. I've got no complaints from then on. Guess I just relate better to women because of those hundreds of mothers in penguin clothes taking care of me."
"And that's a part of why you picked me for your sessions, because I'm a woman."
"Maybe." He grinned again, charming without stepping over the line. The guy was gifted at maneuvering.
She was better. "And since I'm married to 'one of you' then you figured I'd be more likely to cut you some slack."
His boot slid off his knee and thumped to the floor. "Hell. You're as good as Sister Nic."
Nikki? Her daughter? "Sister Nic?"
"At the orphanage, Sister Nic, short for Sister Nicotine. She said most of her prayers in the garden so she could sneak a smoke. I never could get anything past her, either. She was one tough lady, just like you."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one. She's the finest person I've ever known."
"Is she still alive?"
"Oh yeah, raising hell sneaking her smokes in a nursing home. Just hope she doesn't blow up an oxygen tank with her contraband cigarettes someday."
"Sounds like the two of you are still very close."
"We keep in touch."
"How did she handle your being taken captive?" Even J.T.'s normally stoic mama had broken down on the phone. Rena's fingers tightened around her pen.
In the most horrific call of her life, she'd finished relaying the rest of the facts to the oldest of J.T.'s eight brothers for him to pass along. The hell of it was, she hadn't realized until then that J.T. hadn't told his family about the split. Of course, she hadn't told hers, either, but they hadn't spoken to her since she married J.T.
"You're good at this talking stuff, yes, ma'am. Got me right where you wanted me in the conversation twice in less than five minutes. The government's nickel is being well spent on you."
"Only if you answer my question." She set her pen aside so Bo wouldn't see her hand trembling.
"I never told Sister Nic. I didn't want to worry her. Since the crew members' names weren't on the news, it wasn't a problem keeping it under wraps."
She recognized well that macho mind-set resistant to sharing troubles, always protecting the women without realizing the worry quadrupled without information.
And if they were so busy talking in shortened phrases punctuated with macho backslaps, where was the sounding board for what he'd been through? She would be more reassured if she knew J.T.—
Whoa. Hang on. This was about Bo. She would feel better if she knew Bo had vented to someone like Sister Nic, who could have perhaps drawn upon religious-counseling training.
J.T. had been cleared, right? He was fine.
Except there were levels of "fine" and some of them weren't so "fine." Cleared to work wasn't the same as being a hundred percent when off work. Who would J.T. talk to when the time came to vent?