Right?
Fuck.
I was in too deep, and I was drowning.
The smack on my shoulder pulled me from my thoughts and startled me to the point where I almost jumped out of my chair. Victoria laughed and plopped in her chair as I scowled.
“God, you’re such a pain in the ass.” I turned away from her. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk to her about any of this. Iknew she was the best one to ask for advice, but she would also be the most judgmental.
But did I really have any other options?
“Part of my charm,” she assured me, and I rolled my eyes. “All right. Spill. How did the anniversary date with Nate go? Considering I didn’t hear from you all weekend, I assume it was good.”
Victoria leaned back in her chair. The smile on her face dropped and her eyes narrowed as she took in what I figured was my haggard appearance. “What went wrong?”
I let out a sigh and tried to think about what I could, or should, tell her. Logically, I knew there was no reason I couldn’t tell her the truth. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Plus, she had a background that could help me.
But still, I hesitated.
“Dinner went well. He loved the cufflinks but felt bad because he didn’t get me anything.” I chuckled, thinking about that night. “But he made it up to me,” I assured her with a wink.
Victoria made a fake gagging sound, but her smile at my words told the real story.
“All right. All right. Enough.” I waved her away. “We still have a psycho to catch.” I winced at my words.
Shit. Being with Nate and knowing he was a psychopath really opened my eyes to how people with personality disorders are unjustly vilified. I had to do better, not just for him but for the others out there like him.
“Hmm. Yeah. What have we got?” She turned to her computer and pulled up the file.
“Do you think this guy is an actual true psychopath? You went to school for this shit, right?” I schooled my face the best I could so she wouldn’t read anything in my expression.
“It’s hard to tell if he’s someone who has been, or would be, diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder.” She cast aglance at me with narrowed eyes. “You know the termspsychopathandsociopatharen’t really used anymore, so watch it.”
With a sigh, she shrugged. “But it’s possible. He’s methodical. There’s no hesitation in the cuts. These cuts—there’s skill there. But it doesn’t feel like he’s experimenting, so I think this is just who he is. He’s probably considered a loner and shy, though brilliant and perhaps has a successful career.”
“What do you think he does for a living?” Why did my breath sound so hollow and tight? Just because I was asking about ASPD and the killer in the same sentence didn’t mean anything.
Nate wasn’t violent.
Was he?
“You do know this isn’t the FBI, and I’m not a behaviorist, right?” She chuckled.
I shifted, uncomfortable, in my seat. “Yeah, I know. I’m just curious.”
Her eyes narrowed again and I knew I was tripping some of her alarms, but she didn’t say anything for a few minutes.
“It’s not like you see on TV and in the movies. They’re not soulless, mindless killing machines. At least, not most of the time. Some learn to channel impulses in creative or practical ways that make them useful members of society and never cause a problem.”
I let out a huff. “Yeah, I know,” I said with a scowl. “I know they can feel and have emotions. It’s just different.”
“Mmmhm. It still can be a concerning diagnosis.”
Her eyes stared at me like she was looking into my soul and I needed to turn away.
“Yes, Mother,” I teased, but it sounded wrong. Tight and forced.
With my back to her, I worked on the case to see if therewere any leads we could hit up or follow up with. But I could feel her eyes on me the entire time.
