I start to pull the door shut, but he catches it before it latches. “What did you say?”
My pulse thunders in my ears. “Your perceived feelings for me are a correlation of—”
“You called him Grayson.”
I did, and there’s no backpedalling. I stare into Agent Nelson’s sharp gaze and wonder whom has been deceiving whom. Was his advance a moment ago true desire, or a rehearsed method to lower my defenses? Either way, the damage is done.
“He was my patient,” I clarify. “And I was shaken…just now.” The explanation is weak, resorting to demure, skittish female versus oppressive male. But it seems to work.
Nelson’s expression softens. “I’m sorry,” he says again, then sighs heavily. “You’re right. It’s the case. And that fucking Foster.” He frowns. “Sorry.”
“No need,” I say, allowing him to use the excuse I provided to restore his ego.
“He’s constantly getting in the way. I think it was Foster who leaked the DNA evidence to the press.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “From your observations, do you consider him unhinged? Your assessment could help secure a restraining order to get Foster off my crime scenes.”
Truthfully, in this moment, I find both men to be bordering obsession and possibly unhinged in their pursuit of Grayson. But I say, “It’s difficult to evaluate someone properly with only sporadic encounters, agent.”
He nods, but he’s not finished. “And Sullivan is escalating. The murders have been spaced out until now, similar in nature. If he’s devolving so close…” He trails off, then looks at me. “He’s too close to you.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t in danger.”
He measures his response. “Let me take you back.”
This is the first time he’s spoken to me extensively about the killings in Rockland. The agent could be concerned for me, worried that Grayson will make an attempt to see me…or worse. Or he’s getting anxious. Knowing I’m his only real link to Grayson and not wanting me out of his sight for precisely that reason.
I grip the steering wheel with one hand, my other clamped around the door handle. “My plane leaves in less than an hour. I think it’s best for our professional relationship if I get on that plane.”
His gaze goes to the spot where he glimpsed the bruise on my neck before. “Has Sullivan tried to make contact with you?”
My features purse in bewilderment. “If he had, you’d have been the first to know.”
He studies me for a moment and then nods. “I’ll make sure your detail is at the airport for your arrival.”
“Thank you, Agent Nelson.”
He shuts the car door, watches me drive away. I glance in the rearview mirror to see him standing with his arms crossed, a formidable silhouette against the grim backdrop of my past.
I could’ve lied to him. I could’ve spouted my typical excuse, using my patients as the reason I need to get back to my practice quickly. I probably should have, allowing his ego to mend further.
But it’s time Agent Nelson and I stop all pretense.
He never asked me directly about the rape examination after I was taken to the hospital. The results were put in my file, and I’m sure he read those results.
The test was inconclusive. Proving that I’d neither been coerced by Grayson during my abduction, nor that I hadn’t.
At the time, I thought the agent simply deduced that, based on Grayson’s MO, a violation against a victim like that was extremely outside his methods. It was highly unlikely, and so the exam therefor gave credence to my statement where I affirmed my abductor had not sexually violated me.
But then, there are times like now, where I wonder if Nelson questions the results—wondering if my slip of the tongue in saying Grayson’s name with such familiarity reveals a shared intimacy with my patient. Not coerced in the least.
I turn onto the airport exit off the highway.
The truth is, I’m a doctor. That exam was botched right from the start. It’s not difficult to do if you know how. Unfortunately, Agent Nelson is intelligent enough to come to this conclusion.
9
Devolving
Grayson