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I turned my music off and finished making breakfast. While I cut up some bananas and strawberries and put some in a bowl, he came over and took a seat at the kitchen island. I slid all the hashbrowns onto his plate, along with most of the bacon, added the few remaining to my plate, and took the other half of the fruit. I slid his plate over to him and said, “You can get your own damn silverware.”
The muscles in his jaw clenched, and it looked like it took effort for him to bite back his retort. That had me shooting a sarcastic smile at him as I exited the kitchen for the upstairs loft. His voice stopped me before I could put a foot on the stairs, the deep rumble making me shiver inwardly. “I wasn’t staring at your ass.”
I looked at him and cocked a brow. “Oh, baby. You’re a terrible liar.” I winked at him and made my way upstairs, satisfied by the stunned look on his face. “And ‘thank you’ was what you were looking for,” I shouted over my shoulder.
Chapter7
Lucas
It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to analyze why Tristan calling me baby gave me goose bumps.
He wasn’t even saying it in a sexual way.
He was being a dick.
I should have said thank you after he cooked me breakfast, but I was too angry at him to open my mouth. I didn’t think he caught me staring at the way he moved his hips while he was cooking. My eyes were glued to the gentle sway, how his back muscles flexed and relaxed, and the soft hum I heard from whatever music he was listening to. He’d shocked me. He had in AirPods, yet he knew I was behind him even though I didn’t make any noise when I walked—a by-product of being an agent. So how he knew I was there was a mystery.
Despite how much I didn’t like him, I couldn’t deny he could cook. The omelet was fluffy, had the right amount of seasoning, and the hashbrowns were cooked to perfection. I had been up for hours, trying to make myself get out of bed after an awful nightmare when I smelled the food. I knew it had to be him cooking, but I stopped hearing him move around, so I thought he was done. That’s why I came into the kitchen. Not to see how well his sweats fit over his ass and long, lean legs but to make myself breakfast. However, the visual I got wasn’t bad. Just embarrassing as all hell.
After eating and clearing my plate, I got up to put my plate in the dishwasher. When I looked at the stove, I saw the pans still there, so I decided to clean up. He did cook, so it was only right I washed the dishes.
After I finished scrubbing the last pan and loaded it into the dishwasher, he came sauntering back into the kitchen with his empty plate. I looked at it, then back at him, and rolled my eyes. I felt like he purposely waited for me to finish before he brought his dirty dishes in. The sardonic smirk on his face told me that was the case. Instead of waiting for him to drop off his dishes, I walked past him and said, “You can wash your own damn plate,” playing the same game he had. I heard him call me an asshole under his breath, and I chuckled. Yeah, it was childish, but it made me feel better.
My small victory was forgotten when I got back to my room and saw my bed. The sheets were hanging off the sides, and several pillows were on the floor. I had the worst nightmare yet last night. The first victim, Kathy, was the topic. She got it the worst. Since she was his first kill, it was clumsy, uncoordinated, and terrible. He used her as an experiment to see what got him off the most. Her screams haunted me and would continue to haunt me for the rest of my days.
I scrubbed my hands down my face and went to sit on the small couch in the corner. I needed to call Dr. Greyson. I hadn’t tried the sleep medicine yet because I was holding out hope that I would be able to avoid it altogether if I talked to him enough. We had another appointment via Zoom since I had been here, and my next appointment wasn’t until the next day. I needed to talk now. I grabbed my keys, shoved my feet into a pair of Nike slides, and headed out the door to drive to the small lake about three miles from the house so I could sit by the water. I needed the calming breeze and gentle waves to bring me down.
Dr. Greyson said I could call him at any time, but I knew he had other patients. Under any other circumstances, I would have waited until my appointment, but I couldn’t. I was on edge. I couldn’t seem to stop the loop in my head. I was normally able to suppress it while I was awake, but I couldn’t today. Kathy’s face and her screams were getting to me.
I brought up the Zoom link I was given and gave the doctor a call, hoping against hope that he had time for a quick session. Thankfully, he answered.
With a smile, he greeted me. “Good morning, Agent Blackwell. This is unexpected. Your appointment isn’t until tomorrow.”
“I know, Doc, but I had a tough time sleeping. I dreamed about…” My throat got thick, and I had to swallow three times before I could clear it. “I dreamed about Kathy, the first victim. And I can’t get it out of my mind. I tried the exercises you gave me, but they haven’t helped.” I stopped speaking, unable to continue. The tears that prickled my eyes were sure to spill over if I said more.
“I understand, and I’m sorry this is happening to you. Can I call you Lucas?” I gave a short nod. “Lucas, this is normal. You’re experiencing PTSD. I’m not saying it’s normal for everyday life and you’ll always feel like this. I’m saying you went through a traumatic experience, and your brain is trying to process that trauma, which is normal for this diagnosis. We can work together to get them under control, but it will take time. This is technically only our third session, but you’re really progressing.”
I gave a sarcastic bark of laughter. “Progressing? Doc, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months. I look at women on the street or on TV and see the faces of the victims on them. I see men that look like Bush and want to beat them unconscious. That’s not normal.”
“No, but you reaching out to me when you’re having trouble is progress. A month ago, you were alone. You had no one to talk to that could give you the help you needed. Now you have me, and you’re using me as you should.Thatis progress.”
He was right. I didn’t have anyone. Not anyone I could talk to about this case. The ones Icouldtalk to were on the case with me. So they were feeling the same as me. Probably not as bad off, but still not in a good headspace. I reached out to Dr. Greyson because, even after only two sessions, I saw him as dependable. He put me at ease and made it necessary for me to trust him.
“You’re right. What do I do?” I asked. I needed to know how to be normal again and live like I used to.
“Have you tried journaling as we discussed in our first meeting?”
“I haven’t. But I can. I will. Anything to help me. I can’t do anything for Kathy now, but I made sure I worked hard to catch her killer and put that fucker behind bars. For her and the other victims who didn’t deserve what they got. But I feel like I should have done more.”
Dr. Greyson cocked his head at me. “What else could you have done, Lucas? You didn’t know who this killer was or where he was committing these murders. You had no clue he was even a murderer until what? The third victim?” I nodded, unable to speak. “So what could you have done?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. When nothing came out, he said, “Exactly. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You and your team did well. Had you not acted, there would have been more murders. You stopped a serial killer. That’s something to be proud of.” His open praise made me feel warm inside. The things he was telling me were things I tried to tell myself, but I didn’t believe them. I couldn’t. Because women were dead, and it took us too long to catch their killer.
Blowing out a breath, I looked out at the water. My mind was calming, both from the lake and talking to Dr. Greyson. “Thank you, Doc. That means a lot.”
“Of course. I’m here for you at any time. I do have an appointment in another few minutes, but we can talk tomorrow. We can start to unpack some of the trauma you went through with this case, or we can start with your past.”
“My past?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.
