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“It’s instinct.”
“The nice thing about being human rather than an animal is the ability to think beyond our instincts. You have a mind. You have intelligence.” When all I do is groan, she groans along with me. “It’s what you said you wanted to learn, isn’t it? Getting over the habit of lashing out before thinking?”
“I’m not in the mood to learn.”
“Who’s surprised?” She cracks a grin. “Now that we’ve calmed down a little, I need you to explain something to me. What difference does this discovery make? What connection have you drawn?”
“The obvious connection. Dick paid her off somehow.”
“She wasn’t present during the attack.”
“So she says.”
“What about everything she’s told you before now?”
“Lies, obviously. She’s been covering her ass.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
Dammit. She had to use the word honestly. “Yes.”
“No, you don’t. You hesitated.”
I shouldn’t have bothered coming here. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were getting off on challenging me.”
“Who, me?” She shakes her head. “I’m truly not. But I do believe you have doubts about your theory.”
I can’t help but recall Delilah’s story. It doesn’t take much to imagine Dick Valentine being that cruel, and I already know how he raised his monster of a son. Blazing heat rolls through me at the thought of what my daughter suffered, thanks to that family.
“She’s too bitter when she talks about them to be faking it,” I admit. “I can’t make myself forget that.”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve examined enough students to know what it sounds like when they’re lying for sympathy. She strikes me as the real deal.”
“So what does it mean?”
“I don’t know. What do you think it means?”
“I think it means I shouldn’t have bothered with this.”
“Okay, fine.” She holds up her hands when I stand. “Hold it. I can take off my doctor hat for a minute or two since it’s clear you’re in no shape to get to the bottom of your feelings on your own. Have a seat and hear me out before you charge out.”
I lower myself to the couch slowly, staring hard at her. “This had better be good.”
“Even if you don’t like hearing it?” I can’t help groaning because who likes hearing shit they don’t want to know about themselves? Especially me. I admit I have faults, but that doesn’t leave me longing to shine a flashlight on them.
With her elbows propped on the table, she rests her chin on the tips of her fingers. “Are you sure you’re not looking for a reason to be outraged? Because there’s no proof she had anything to do with the trust being set up. The man owed her at least that much after years of ignoring and hurting her.”
The comment goes unaddressed. “Do you think it’s possible you’re looking for reasons to hate Delilah?”
I can almost taste her skin, even now. My cock wakes up at the memory of her screams. Reasons to hate her? Yes. To hate her and to hurt her. “It’s more than that,” I murmur, willing my cock to behave.
“What else is there?”
“Aspen, obviously. I can’t trust this girl until I know for sure she’s innocent.”
“And if she is? Are you willing to accept that and move on? Or will you continue looking for excuses to let that brutal side of yourself out to play?”
I’d normally return to my office at this time of day, but I wouldn’t get a moment’s work done with Delilah on my mind. Lauren’s little speech did nothing to ease the knot I’d carried in my gut all day.
I have to stop things with her. I have no idea how.
And I don’t want to.
When I enter the apartment, the pair of women who normally clean during the day are still wrapping up their work. They jump like they’ve been electrocuted at my sudden entrance. “We’re almost finished,” one of them babbles, and the other nods.
“I’ll stay out of your way.” They’re in the kitchen. I’ll go to my room. I’m waiting for Delilah’s return. I need to see her. I need to know she’s here, locked up, away from anyone she might be able to hurt. If she’s capable of it, anyway.
On my way past the kitchen table, a pair of scissors catches my eye. They’re the only thing lying there, shining against the polished wood.
One of the cleaners notices me studying them. “I found them under the mattress in the guest room while I was changing the linens.” It comes out sounding like an apology, delivered with eyes downcast.
Son of a bitch.
“Thank you for setting them aside,” I offer, with what little calm I still possess, while inside my skull, there’s nothing but a raging fire. My hands close around the back of the nearest chair. “Did you say you’re almost finished?”
“Just about.”
“Why don’t we call it done for today? I’m sure everything’s fine.”
