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I squeeze my eyes tight to hold in tears, burying my face into Maceo sleeveless workout shirt. “I hate feeling like I have no control over anything. It’s like I’m a sitting duck, waiting for all hell to break loose. I want to feel safe again without having to rely on you to protect me.”
Maceo’s gentle, but strong fingers tilt my chin. “And I’m going to make sure you have the safety and security you deserve again. I know you don’t approve of my interrogation tactics, but it’s necessary and effective. As much as I want to hurt the kid for watching us, I’m well aware we have bigger fish to fry, and we need Tom to reel in Bianchi. I’ll do everything in my power to help you feel strong again.”
I’m not an operative or a Navy SEAL—I don’t know what goes into interrogating a suspect. What I do know is that I trust Maceo knows what he’s doing, and I am going to have faith in his ability to do what’s best.
His full, soft lips press firmly against mine before he stands us up, disrobes, and pulls me into the shower to finish cleaning up.
* * *
“How are you feeling today, Jo?”
Wow!What a loaded question.
Maceo was busy orchestrating how Tom was going to help us. Thus, I came to my appointment alone.
Well, not alone—Punk is waiting for me in the reception area. But I wish Maceo was here holding my hand like he normally does when he’s home.
I stare numbly at Heather, my counselor, realizing she wants a response from me, but I don’t trust myself to speak. In lieu of words, I settle on a shoulder shrug.
“That good, huh?”
“Pretty much,” I mutter. “It’s more of the same—crazy, obsessive guy hell-bent on destroying everything I love and staking a claim on me.”
Heather nods. “Well, is it something you’d like to talk about?”
I shake my head. With the Mercy Ravens doing their own investigation into Lorenzo Bianchi and his henchmen, I’m not sure what I’m privy to reveal. Heather swears our sessions are confidential, but she still writes what we discuss in her notes.
If those notes were to fall into the wrong hands…oy vey.
It’s disheartening to not be open in my own therapy appointments, but I’m starting to doubt my faith in anyone not linked to the Mercy Ravens.
What if Heather has been compromised?
The rational part of my brain argues my theory is preposterous, but the irrational part of my brain nags at me about conspiracies and treachery. My irrational side has been steering me for over a year and has proven to do right by me, making me pause when rational ideas float into my head. How whacked is that?
Jesus, I’m fucking losing it.My head falls into my hands and I stare numbly at the floor.
Heather waits a heartbeat before asking another question. “How has mending your relationship with your parents been going?”
Fuck.Another touchy subject I’m not willing to get into today. I feel I really need a day to decompress and not have to deal with everything. Unfortunately, my schedule has no opening for a mental health day.
Lorenzo obviously knows Maceo and I had a fight—thanks to the video surveillance feed getting hacked. But is Heather feeding Lorenzo information about my private life? She did tell me my feelings about being watched were ‘misguided.’ Maybe she knew all along and was trying to make me doubt my instincts.
Lorenzo’s words from our confrontation on the road last week replay in my head.
“But Pina, you look exhausted. I know you’re not sleeping.”
Heknows.Why would he say that? How would he know I’m not sleeping? I only talk about it during counseling or in private with Maceo.
“If you were in my bed, I would chase all those bad dreams away and keep you safe.”
How does he know about my bad dreams? There are no surveillance cameras in the bedroom for Lorenzo’s hacker to access.
While the two parts of my brain war with each other, Heather moves on to another topic. “How are you sleeping? Are the night terrors growing in severity? Lessening? Or no change at all? What about the panic attacks?”
Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!
I’m not sleeping. I’m hardly eating. Lorenzo knows it. And this woman may be an informant for the mob.
