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.
They ordered drinks and, thankfully, Jeffery steered the conversation back to the fires. He and Harper talked as though they were experts comparing notes.
“These have been intense, white hot,” Jeffery said. “Most chemical reactions are.”