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He wasn’t a lawyer or even a cop, though he’d been through law enforcement training in order to get some of his licenses. But he was an investigator. He knew how to get evidence that would stand up in court.
“I’ll make some calls,” he told her. It was a long shot at best.
The light in her eyes was driving him. He didn’t kid himself a whit about that.
He let go of her hand. “I guess I’ll go, then...”
“What?” Kacey sat forward, causing the gown to drop away from one of her shoulders, exposing the swollen skin and bruises that we
re already forming. Mike almost puked. His skin went cold. Lacey pulled the gown back up.
“You just got here,” Kacey said. “And you were coming over to the house.”
“Kace. Maybe he has someplace to be.” Lacey’s voice was soft and filled with compassion. She sent him an apologetic look.
He caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but he was looking at Kacey, seeing the need in her eyes.
“Of course I can stay,” he said. “My sister’s spending the night with Willie. I didn’t know if I’d have to head back to work to handle something with the photos,” he improvised.
Lacey sent a glance to Jem and stepped back.
“Don’t go.” Kacey turned to her sister, grabbing Lacey’s hand. “I just... Michael and I are friends. From the Lemonade Stand. He’s there every Friday morning, too. And we...talk. Our victims...you guys know...”
Of course they did. Jem was still in private counseling with Sara Havens, though, from what Mike understood, not at the Lemonade Stand. Jem’s choice.
And just like that, because Kacey was now a victim, he gained access to her inner circle.
Not at all the way he’d have wanted it to happen.
But he was there.
And he would do whatever he could to be the friend Kacey Hamilton trusted him to be.
A friend who understood.
And nothing more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HER WRIST WAS badly bruised but not broken. Tendons and ligaments were intact. She was going to be sore. But physically, she’d be 100 percent recovered in a matter of days.
The doctor who delivered the good news also gave Kacey the card for a private therapist in town whose entire practice was pretty much made up of female victims of violence.
Kacey recognized the name. She’d never met Bloom Freelander, but had heard plenty about her. The woman had been a resident at the Lemonade Stand before Kacey’s time. She’d been a psychology professor at UC, married to another psychologist and the head of the department. He’d been her mentor at one time. And had slowly been drugging her, dumbing her down, to keep her from surpassing him.
The man had been tried and convicted, and then just a year or so ago had been released from prison on a technicality that had had his case thrown out. He’d gone after Bloom again, but the detective on the case had had her in a safe house.
If anyone would understand Kacey’s frantic emotions, she would.
“The most important thing you can do for yourself right now is talk,” Dr. Morgan said, his eyes kind. He’d also written her a prescription for sleeping pills. Kacey figured he was probably a great guy. She wanted as far away from him as she could get. “Whatever you do, find someplace where you can let it out, or images and feelings will grow larger and larger in your mind.”
He meant well. She was sure he did. But he was scaring the shit out of her. She glanced at Lacey, who thanked the doctor and picked up the clothes she’d brought for Kacey to put on. Clean jeans, one of her favorite sweaters and pretty undies. Things Kacey kept in her room at Lacey’s house. The clothes she’d arrived at the hospital wearing were now in police custody.
Michael was the first one out of the cubicle. The doctor and Jem followed. While she dressed, all Kacey could think about was hurrying so Michael didn’t leave without saying goodbye.
She felt her first real smile since the attack when Lacey pulled back the curtain to reveal Jem and Michael in conversation just beyond them. Standing there like guards.
Guarding her and Lacey.
