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“Who is this?” she asked.
“Doctor Franklin West,” the voice said. “Is this Special Agent Bold?”
“Doctor West?” Faith said. “I don’t know a Doctor West.”
“I’m a licensed psychologist retained by the Philadelphia Field Office to provide counseling to agents who have suffered traumatic events. I’ve been assigned to your case at the request of Special Agent-in-Charge Grant Monroe.”
“The Boss told you to call me?”
“Yes. He insists that you receive psychological treatment related to your trauma at the hands of Jethro Trammell.”
Goddammit.Faith was planning to see someone about her PTSD, but she wanted to do it on her own time and with a doctor she found herself. The last thing she wanted was weeks of haggling with the Bureau shrink.
“Look, Doctor,” she said, trying to keep her frustration from her voice, “I appreciate the help, but I’m not ready to see anyone just yet.”
“Does tomorrow at seven p.m. work for you?”
“No,” Faith said. “I told you, I’m not ready to talk to anyone.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll send my office’s address to your Bureau email.”
“You’re not listening,” Faith said, unable to hide her irritation any longer. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? I’m not ready to see anyone.”
“Shall I tell Mr. Monroe that you’re refusing counseling?” he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm.
Faith took a breath and released it slowly. She debated telling Doctor West to go ahead, but if the Boss was serious enough about this to tell him to call her, then he wouldn’t budge no matter how much Faith protested. “Tomorrow works fine, Doctor,” she said brittlely.
“Excellent. I have already emailed you my address. I look forward to working with you, Special Agent Bold.”
The line went dead, and Faith tossed the phone on the table. She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and released a cry of exasperation. The last thing she wanted to deal with right now was a shrink poking around her head.
"Goddammit,” she said.
Turk looked up at her with an expression that reminded her of her mother’s tolerant stare when Faith threw tantrums as a kid.
“What are you looking at?” she said.
Turk turned away and calmly finished his meal.
Faith stood and made herself breakfast—a poached egg on toast topped with avocado slices, diced tomato, and a sprig of cilantro. She ate quickly, staring morosely ahead at the wall and trying to think how she could manage to talk to Doctor West without allowing him to pry into the inner workings of her psyche.
She knew she needed help, but it wouldn’t help her to talk about Trammell while Greenwood, or whoever this copycat was, was still out there mimicking Trammell’s MO. If the Boss would just let her solve the damned case, then she would be perfectly happy to talk to any shrink she wanted.
Her phone rang again, and she sighed in exasperation as she answered it. “What?” she hissed.
“Well good morning to you too,” a far more pleasant voice than Doctor West’s said.
“David!” Faith said, wincing in embarrassment. “Sorry, I just, umm. I thought you were someone else.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m not,” he said. “I’d hate to be whoever that was.”
“Yeah,” Faith said glumly. “I would too.”
“I was calling to see if you wanted to grab coffee,” David said. “Maybe a little caffeine would help you forget about whomever it is you thought was calling you. You can bring Turk if you want.”
Faith glanced at her nearly empty coffee cup and said, “Sure! As long as they serve decaf.”
David chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that can be arranged.”
