“From what I hear,” Jeffery said, “there’s not much to tell.”
“I recognized you when you were talking to my partner earlier. You’re Jeffery Cole from CNN.”
Sam almost laughed. She should have looked away. She already knew what Jeffery’s response would be.
Too late.
She saw him smile and his chest practically puffed out as he straightened his tie.
“What is it you think you can help us with, Mr. Firefighter?”
“Actually my name’s Wes Harper. I’m a private firefighter with Braxton Protection Agency.”
“Private? I didn’t realize there was such a thing. That’s interesting, but I don’t think we need any more footage.”
“I saw that piece you did last night.”
Now that Jeffery had decided this guy wasn’t one of the “real” firefighters and that he wasn’t interested, he had started to shut down, like an actor done with his role and donning his own persona. Even his smile waned, polite because he couldn’t resist a compliment and would certainly wait for this guy’s, but beyond that Sam could see he was no longer interested in resuming his role as Jeffery Cole, investigative interviewer.
“I know you’d probably rather interview my partner, but since he turned you down maybe I could fill in.”
“That’s nice of you, but I think we’re good.”
“Aren’t you doing like a part two on his sister tonight?”
Sam almost dropped the lens she had taken off and was carefully putting into its sleeve.
“Excuse me?” Jeffery said, stepping closer to Harper as if he hadn’t heard him. “That young guy, that rent-a- fireman, is Agent O’Dell’s brother?”
“That’s right,” Harper said with a smile, not the least bit bothered by the derogatory remark about his occupation.
“Well, well,” Jeffery said. “It’s certainly a small world, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER 49
This would be a piece of cake, Maggie thought. A disabled Kernan wouldn’t be able to see the reactions his insults and swipes registered. She saw his head tilt, his chin track up—signs of a man depending on what he heard and smelled rather than saw.
“Once again,” Maggie said, “I’m here only because my superior insisted.”
“Oh, that’s right. And they’re always wrong. Aren’t they?”
“They have rules and regulations they need to follow. I understand that.”
He leaned back and his head cocked to the side as if gauging her response. He intertwined his fingers and laid them on his thick chest. That’s when Maggie realized his tie was navy blue but his suit was dark brown. He had no one to help him dress. No one to offer advice before he went out the door. Just the dog, who although he rested in the corner, still kept his eyes trained on his master. But a dog couldn’t tell you that your tie doesn’t match your suit. And suddenly Maggie wanted to kick herself, because she actually felt sorry for Dr. James Kernan.
“But you still believe they’re wrong? That you shouldn’t be here?”
She sat back in the chair, fingers no longer clenched and now resting in her lap. She stared at him and wondered what it was like to be cunning and sharp-tongued, to be brilliant and to win every mental game, and yet be totally alone in the world. No, she didn’t feel sorry for him, she felt uncomfortably
Was this her future? Instead of the paraphernalia from the history of psychology, she’d have strange tokens and memorabilia of the serial killers she had tracked.
Then Maggie thought of Lucy Coy, the old Indian woman she had met in the Sandhills of Nebraska. She’d be content to be like Lucy, surrounded by dogs and quiet and a beautiful landscape.
“Have you become hard of hearing, Ms. O’Dell?”
She’d forgotten to respond and now Kernan would read something into that hesitation.
“You’d much rather be shooting some killer between the eyes. Isn’t that right?”
Ordinarily that jab would have made her wince, but now Maggie caught herself smiling. Kernan’s power to intimidate and humiliate, to make her question herself—all of that was gone. The only thing she saw now was a pathetic, white-haired old man who couldn’t even see her smile.
“I’m a different person than I was five years ago, Dr. Kernan.”
“Is that right?” He smacked his lips together and did his trademark “Tis tis,” which announced he couldn’t be fooled when, in fact, he already had been.
Maggie was about to remind him that he also was a different person than when they last met, but he cut her off by asking, “How long have you been getting the headaches?”
Maggie hadn’t told anyone about her headaches. She knew it wasn’t in the ER report. Sometimes when a person loses one sense the others become more alert. Was that what had happened with Kernan?
“How did you know?”
This time it was his turn to smile.
“You just told me,” he said.
She felt the blood rush to her face. It was the oldest trick in the book and she had fallen for it.
“Now we’re even,” Kernan said. “Perhaps we can start over. I may have lost the better part of my sight, O’Dell, Margaret, but do not underestimate me. Never underestimate your opponent, no matter what you perceive to be his disability.”
“Perhaps this would go much better if you didn’t perceive me as an opponent.” She said it out of anger, but it was exactly how she felt. Wasn’t that what this session was supposed to be about? How and what she was feeling.
She steeled herself for one of his silly, cutting word plays. Instead, he said nothing and stared at a spot over her head, his watery blue eyes magnified behind the thick lenses. He pursed his lips then blew out air, sending his lips vibrating and making a sputtering sound.
Finally his eyes came close to where they might meet hers and he said, “Fair enough.”
CHAPTER 50
Sam understood exactly why Jeffery had suggested Old Ebbitt’s when he offered to treat them to dinner. The restaurant was a favorite of politicos and the District’s movers and shakers. Every time they walked through, it would take three times as long to get to their table because Jeffery had to stop and chat, shake a hand or two, or wave to anyone who recognized him. He even insisted on having a table instead of the high-backed booths that Sam loved. She wanted the quiet and privacy. Jeffery wanted to be at a table where he could be seen and be on display. But first he wanted to stop next door for a drink.
Sam understood all this. She knew Jeffery too well. She could predict and anticipate his actions. What she didn’t understand was why he had invited Wes Harper to come along with them. She didn’t like the guy. There was something about him that creeped her out.
“He’s an interesting guy,” Jeffery had admonished her. When she rolled her eyes, he added, “You could do worse.”
Of course Jeffery hadn’t noticed the lurid body swipes Harper’s eyes had been giving Sam. Jeffery rarely noticed anything that didn’t involve him. And Harper was sly enough to know that. He had been lavishing Jeffery with compliments, laying it on thick. And Jeffery appeared mesmerized by all of Harper’s talk about fire.
Sam had agreed to have one drink, then she wanted to go home. She made it plain she wouldn’t be joining them for dinner next door, telling the men that she had spent too little time with her son this week. The comment, meant to dissuade Harper, only seemed to encourage him.
“Divorced?” he asked, not just in a hopeful tone. Instead, he made the word sound sexy, but in a naughty way. There was something about the way he stared at her with gray eyes that reminded her too much of a wolf. It made her skin crawl. Maybe he’d missed her mention of a young son. Usually that had the same effect as throwing cold water on men.
