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He grinned. “I haven’t had any patients complain about my skills. Well, none of the ones that survived anyhow.” He winked at her. “All right, Sugar Plum, do you think you know me well enough after ten minutes of talking and some awful nicknames to get a hotel room together?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before.” She looked slightly overwhelmed, and he felt terrible for pushing her. But they had to get moving. The storm was going to hit soon.
“First time for everything, I guess. I’ve got chocolate in my truck, if that helps? And I just realized how that sounds.”
Idiot.
“Chocolate, huh? What’s your favorite?”
“M&M’s.”
“Good answer. That’s acceptable.”
“I’m glad.” He grinned. He felt lighter than he had in a long time. Since before he’d found out that his aunt had a stroke.
“That does go a long way in helping me trust you. I suppose I could come. But only because of the M&Ms.”
“Of course,” he replied solemnly.
“Did Aidan tell you that I don’t like snowstorms?”
“He did,” he said gently. “And it’s okay because I’m going to take care of you.” Standing, he held out his hand to her. “We’re going to backtrack a bit. I’ve booked us some hotel rooms in Sioux Falls. The storm won’t last long and I promise you can trust me, Greer Savage.”
“Somehow, I feel like that’s something a psychopath would say to his victims to get them to come quietly with him.” She chewed her lip. “Although I don’t think a psychopath would eat M&Ms.”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
“How do I know you are who you really are?”
“Well, I could show you the picture Sav sent me of you.” He grabbed his phone and brought up the old photo, turning it around to show her.
Her face went even whiter, and for a moment, he was worried that she might faint on him.
“Are you all right? Do you feel ill?” he asked.
“Oh, I feel sick all right. Sick. With. Rage.” To his shock, she snatched the phone from his hand. “That rat bastard. He sent that photo? That one? Why?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but she beat him to it.
“I’ll tell you why! Because he’s a rat bastard. Right?”
Hack nodded. “Absolutely.”
“I’m going to kill him. Oh, two can play at this game. I’ve got some photos of him that people would find hilarious. Soon as I get back to Savannah . . . he’s going down.” She pointed downward to emphasize her point, whacking her finger against the table.
“Ow.” She looked at her finger like she couldn’t understand why it hurt.
“You hit it on the table,” he told her.
She huffed out a breath. “I have pimples in this photo! And that perm was a terrible idea. But they were all the rage. I saved up all my babysitting money to pay for it, and then, my hair started to fall out. It was awful. Aidan yelled at the lady who did it until she coughed up a refund. Then he took me to get a wig. We shaved off all my hair and I wore a wig until it grew back.”
“He sounds like a good brother.”
She sighed. “He was. Too bad I now have to kill him. I will miss him. But what am I supposed to do?”
“He practically dug his own grave.”
She nodded sadly.
