He didn’t answer Hans’s question directly. “You signed off on her psych profile after her second interview,” he said.
“I did.”
“I don’t have access to that report.”
“No, you do not.”
“Is she prone to panic attacks?”
“Has she done anything that gives you reason to believe that she’s a danger to herself or others?”
“She hasn’t been in the position to.”
“I’m not giving you the report, but I would not have signed off on her admittance to the Bureau if I didn’t think she was emotionally capable of fulfilling her duties.”
“At what cost?”
“Excuse me?”
“She doesn’t know how to compartmentalize. She is prone to empathy with victims, over and above what is required.”
“According to who?”
“No one can survive internalizing victimization.”
“Are you telling me that Lucy considers herself a victim?”
“No, I’m saying she personalizes the crime scenes. I don’t do that. Do you?”
Again, Hans didn’t answer his question directly, and his obfuscation was frustrating.
“We all bring different backgrounds, different experiences, to our jobs. Lucy is not a victim, but she has a deep understanding of victimology, far deeper than most of us. Because of what she endured, she sees victims differently. It’s not something that can be taught. Like playing an instrument. Most people can learn to read music and play the piano where the tune is recognizable. But some people become the music. Not only can they play, but they have a natural talent.”
“You’re saying her obsession is a gift?”
“Obsession?”
“For a moment this morning, Lucy would have said or done anything to get this case. It’s like she feels personally responsible.”
“Empathy, Noah.” Hans looked out at the near-empty parking lot. “We need people like Lucy in the Bureau. Too many of us are jaded, are focused on the job and not the people. She sees everything through a lens that I can’t even see. It’s not easy for her, or for you, or for her future partner. None of this is going to be easy. Look what happened with Stein. You know why he wanted her off the case, right?”
“Because she didn’t get with his program?” Noah honestly didn’t know what Stein’s problem was, other than he didn’t like sharing authority.
“She sees through him. And he knows it.”
Noah shook his head. “I don’t see any good coming to Lucy with this curse.”
“Curse? Is it a curse if it saves lives?”
“For her? Maybe.”
“She has a strong family unit, her foundation. And, she has Sean Rogan. I know you don’t like him, but he’s exactly what she needs to keep her focused on her talents without succumbing to the pressure.”
“You give him too much credit.”
“You don’t give him enough.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time Lucy got home, it was after eight and she had a miserable headache from suppressing tears during the Metro ride. Her body felt like it had cried for hours, but she hadn’t shed a tear.
Part of her problem, she knew, was the long day-brutal crime scene in the morning, followed by the afternoon at the morgue and an evening full of paperwork, coffee, and energy bars. It was no wonder she was emotionally off-kilter.
But the dressing-down by Matt Slater had been the bitter icing on the cake.
She unlocked the door and was surprised when the alarm didn’t beep, warning her she had sixty seconds to disarm it before it went off. The rich scent of spaghetti sauce filled the house. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything of substance since her breakfast bagel.
Dillon and Kate must have canceled their dinner plans. She suspected her sister-in-law, who claimed to hate cats, was secretly attached to their temporary pet. Lucy had caught Kate giving the cat milk this morning.
Good thing, it saved her from eating another peanut butter and honey sandwich, her favorite when her brother wasn’t home to cook and she was too tired to stand. Food, sleep, that’s all she wanted. She hoped they didn’t want to talk.
“It’s me,” she called, putting her purse and keys on the small table and walking down the hall to the kitchen. “I was at a homicide half the day, then the morgue. I’m going to get some aspirin and shower before dinner if that’s okay.”
She stopped, stunned to see her boyfriend, private investigator Sean Rogan, standing at the stove stirring a steaming pot. He smiled at her, revealing his solitary dimple, his dark hair falling over one eye, making him look both innocent and devilish at the same time. God, he was nice to look at.
“You’re back!” She ran to greet him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. She was grinning like an idiot, but she hadn’t ever been so happy to see anyone. Especially now. Especially after this evening.
He lifted her up off the floor and squeezed tightly, then put her down and kissed her. “Surprise,” he said.
She felt like a lovesick teenager. “I missed you.” She kissed him back, feeling light on her toes and ridiculously happy. “A lot.”
Her tension disappeared. Sean was just what she needed.
“I know,” he teased. Suddenly, she was off her feet again and in his arms.
“Sean!”
“You said something about a shower before dinner. And I know better ways to relieve a tension headache than aspirin.”
“My brother-”
“Dillon and Kate won’t be home for hours. It’s just you and me, Princess.” He maneuvered to turn off the stove without putting her down. “And apparently a cat.”
“Just temporary.”
“Tell me about it. Later.”
“I don’t think-” she began, not sure what she was objecting to because right now being in Sean’s arms was exactly what she needed after her difficult day.
He kissed her as he walked down the hall and up the stairs. “That’s right. Don’t think.”
At the landing, he continued to the end of the hall, then up half a flight of steps to her room. The attic above the garage had been converted long before the Kincaids moved in, giving her some privacy. Sean pushed open her door with his shoulder.
“You can put me down now.”
“I could.” But he didn’t. Instead he kissed her as he carried her to the bathroom. Only then did he put her down. He turned on the water in the shower, grinning impishly as he pulled off his shirt.
“What-” But she stopped mid-question and stared at the baseball-size bruise on his upper shoulder. “What happened?”
“I was stupid. Breaking into the warehouse the last time Duke modified the alarm, I didn’t expect him to put in a physical obstacle. A security guard.”
Sean’s brother Duke, one of the founders of Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid Protective Services, specialized in creating solid security systems. Sean specialized in cracking them. They made a great team, except Duke had yet to create a system Sean couldn’t hack.
