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All that got in response from her was a grunt.
“Look, you go into another bar like that, some guy’ll probably pull a gun and put a hole in your head and that’ll be it.”
“Good!”
“What is going on with you?”
She stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. He c
ould hear her upchucking.
“Michelle, are you all right? Do you need help?”
“Leave me the hell alone!” she screamed.
Sean stalked outside and sat by the motel’s pool, dangling his feet in the warm water and breathing in chlorine fumes while he finished his beer. It was a beautiful evening. And to top it off a cute, twenty-something lady had just slipped into the pool wearing a bikini that was so small it hardly qualified as clothing. She started doing laps, her strokes efficient, powerful. On the fourth lap she stopped and treaded water in front of him, her full breasts bobbing on the surface. “Care to race?”
“From what I’ve seen of your performance, I doubt I could give you much competition.”
“You ought to see me really perform. And I don’t mind giving lessons. I’m Jenny.”
“Thanks for the invite, Jenny, but I’ll have to take a pass.”
He got up and walked off. Over his shoulder he heard Jenny say in a disappointed tone, “God, why do I always pick the cute gay guys?”
“Damn, this has been such a great day,” Sean muttered.
When he got back to the room Michelle was asleep. He lay on the other bed staring at her.
Two more days passed with no improvement. Sean made a decision. Whatever was hurting the lady, he simply didn’t have the tools to help her. Apparently, a deep friendship didn’t cut it with matters of a wounded soul. But he knew someone who might be able to help.
CHAPTER
5
THE NEXT MORNING Sean called an old friend, Horatio Barnes, a psychologist in northern Virginia. In his fifties, Horatio wore a ponytail and sported a furry, silver goatee. He favored faded jeans and black T-shirts and rode a vintage Harley. He made a specialty of helping federal law enforcement folks through myriad problems caused by the stress related to their work, which is how Sean had met him.
Sean filled Horatio in on the event at the bar and his discussion with Rodney about the fight. He made an appointment and took Michelle to see him under the pretense of a doctor’s visit for her injuries.
Located in an otherwise abandoned warehouse, Horatio Barnes’s office was large and airy, with rows of dirty windows and books stacked on the floor. His desk was made out of construction sawhorses with what looked to be a large door placed across them. The man’s black Harley motorcycle was parked in one corner.
“In this neighborhood, if I left it outside, it wouldn’t stay there, now would it?” he explained with a broad smile. “Okay, Sean, out of here. Michelle doesn’t need your sorry butt listening in while she tells me everything about herself.” Sean obediently left them, waiting in a small, cluttered anteroom. After an hour Horatio came out, leaving Michelle sitting in his office.
“Okay, she’s got some serious issues going on,” Horatio said.
“How serious?” Sean asked cautiously.
“Deep enough to qualify for some inside time.”
“Don’t you do that when you think the person’s a threat to herself or others?”
“I believe she went into that bar partly to die.”
Sean flinched. “Michelle said that?”
“No. It’s my job to read between the lines.”
“Where is this place?”
