Page 31

Chapter 31

Tobias

The drive to the capital was a miserable three hours of construction delays, detours, and rain that never quite decided whether to pour or drizzle. My mood matched the weather—gray, unsettled, and threatening to turn worse at any moment.

First thing I did this morning, in an attempt to reschedule this madness was call Clark. His smart ass response was that the appointment was already set, meaning I had no choice. Then his asking if I want to meet for dinner was like the cherry on the top of my mood.

"Clark, I couldn't be leaving my team at a worse time. And why am I doing it? Because you pulled rank and think I need to talk to a psychiatrist to make sure I'm managing my stress the right way. Let me just say that if I see you, I'm going to clock you right in your pretty face. So, it's probably best if we skip dinner." I hung up on him when he started laughing.

The rest of the morning was spent making preparations, methodically checking off items on my mental list. Brooklyn was in charge, with explicit instructions to call me for anything remotely significant. Law had grudgingly agreed to stay in town rather than chasing down one of his "hunches" about Michael's whereabouts. I'd scheduled extra patrols through the business districts, particularly the areas we anticipated might be targeted next. And I'd made Holly promise to keep her radio on all day, just in case.

"For God's sake, you've left town before," she'd said, rolling her eyes as I recited her responsibilities for the third time. "It's not like you're going to another country, you're hours away. Stop micromanaging and leave."

"I'm not micromanaging. Okay, I am but I haven't left before with a killer on the loose and break-ins happening every few days," I'd replied, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had been plaguing me since I woke. But she was right, I was micromanaging. I knew my team was more than capable of handling things for a day. I'll be back tomorrow. What's the worst that can happen in twenty-four hours?

I'd decided to leave Ruth out of my thoughts today. I know I need to fix things, even if nothing comes from it. I can't leave her thinking what I said about her was the truth. Perhaps I'm not ready to tell her everything but I certainly don't want her thinking she's the reason I'm struggling. That's the coward's way out and I've already been down that road.

Now, as I pulled into the parking garage of the nondescript office building housing the state police psychiatrist, I was still questioning the necessity of this trip. The last thing Whispering Pines needed was its sheriff wasting time with mandated therapy while a murderer roamed free. But even more than that the last thing I needed was my badge pulled. I love Clark, he's been like my brother for years, so, I know when he's serious and unfortunately that bastard is serious about this. Jackass.

The elevator ride to the fifth floor gave me time to rehearse my approach. I'd answer the questions perfunctorily, demonstrate emotional stability, and show this doctor I can handle my job. Then I'd be at Joe's enjoying a cheeseburger before I knew it. Simple.

The waiting room was everything I expected from a government-contracted psychiatrist: beige walls, outdated magazines, and furniture that suggested comfort without actually providing it. A young receptionist looked up from her computer as I approached.

"Sheriff Trenton?" she asked, though the uniform made it obvious. "Dr. Salinger will be with you shortly. You can have a seat." The receptionist passed me a clipboard with standard medical forms for me to fill out.

I nodded, choosing a chair with a clear view of both the entrance and the inner office door. Force of habit. When the door opened it revealed a woman who exactly matched my expectations. A drill sergeant. Dr. Salinger was somewhere in her sixties, with a straight-backed posture that reminded me of the military officers I'd served under. Her silver hair was cropped short in a practical style, and she wore a crisp charcoal pantsuit, a sensible pair of black shoes and a single strand of pearls. No smile, no cheery greeting. Man, I was going to get Clark for this.

"Sheriff Trenton," she said, her crisp voice carrying a hint of an accent I couldn't quite place. "Come in."

Her office was exactly like her appearance. Walls lined with bookshelves filled with an eclectic mix of psychiatric texts, military history, and what appeared to be first-edition classics. A large window overlooked the capital building in the distance, and her desk was positioned to face the door rather than the view, another habit of someone who preferred vigilance to scenery.

"Take a seat," she gestured to a leather armchair positioned at an angle to her own. Not directly facing each other, an interesting choice that somehow made the arrangement feel less confrontational.

I sat, maintaining what I hoped was a neutral expression.

"I understand the Commissioner ordered this evaluation," she said, settling into her own chair. "How do you feel about that?"

"It's a waste of time," I replied honestly. "I have active investigations that require my attention."

"Mmm." She made no move to write anything down. "And yet here you are."

"I wasn't going to lose my badge."

"Tell me," she cocked her head to one side. "What made the Commissioner set up this appointment?"

"My son."

Her eyebrow rose as she locked eyes with me, "Your son called the Police Commissioner and reported you?"

"No," I put my hands up. "It's not like that. See, Clark is Tim's Godfather and Uncle. Clark and I have been buddies since the academy. We were each other's best man at our weddings." I found myself explaining more than I wanted to.

"Seems there must have been a reason to talk about you. And from the conversation with your son the Commissioner must have thought you would benefit from us meeting. He has always believed in addressing psychological factors before they become problematic."

I wasn't sure what to say, I knew Clark's stand on mental health and I agreed with it. But I felt that if I said that this doctor would have me laid out on a couch talking about my parents.

"I'll be direct, Sheriff. I've reviewed your files. You have an exemplary record. I've also reviewed the reports about your recent cases: the trafficked women, the escaped suspect who is wanted by the FBI, murder victims, and the ongoing break-ins. You haven't dealt with crime of that magnitude in your small town before. That's an exceptional amount of stress for any department, let alone one your size."

"We're managing." My tone was clipped.

"I'm sure you are. But the Commissioner's concern, which I share, is that you're carrying too much of this burden personally." She leaned forward slightly. "You're a widower aren't you?"

I fought myself not to shift in my seat. "You read my reports, so, you know I am."

"When was the last time you slept through the night?"

That question caught me off guard. I'd expected inquiries about procedures, protocols, department morale. Not something so personal. And the truth was, I couldn't remember my last good night's sleep.

"I'm fine," I said instead.

Dr. Salinger's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes suggested she saw right through me.

"Sheriff Trenton, may I call you Tobias?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"Tobias, I've worked with law enforcement officers for over thirty years. I recognize signs. The question isn't whether you're managing, which I'm sure you believe you are. The question is at what cost."

"With all due respect, Dr. Salinger—"

"Eva, please."

"Eva?" Not in a million years would I have guessed that was her first name. She nodded her head. "My primary concern is catching a killer and stopping a crime spree. My personal well-being is secondary."

She studied me for a moment. "And is that what Joan would want?" The mention of my wife's name felt like a physical blow. She said simply. "This is a lot to manage on your own."

"I'm fine," I said stiffly.

"Tell me about your deputies. Any concerns?"

"None, not one concern. We're a family." I went through the list including Holly giving everyone of them such a glowing review I felt I should hand out raises when I got back.

"Interesting." She nodded. "Let's talk about more recent events, then. The Commissioner mentioned you haven't dated since your wife passed. And your concerns regarding a potential new personal relationship."

Oh, I'm going to get him for this. "That's not relevant to my job performance."

"Isn't it? If your personal anxieties are affecting your professional decisions, I'd say that's quite relevant."

I remained silent, unwilling to give her an opening into that particular area. The women in my personal life were off-limits.

Dr. Eva seemed unperturbed by my silence. She simply waited, her blue eyes steady on mine. The silence stretched, becoming uncomfortable, but I refused to break first.

Finally, she shifted strategy. "Tell me about these break-ins."

This, I could handle. I outlined the progression, the escalating violence, the calculated destruction that seemed aimed more at creating fear than achieving profit.

"And you believe the escaped suspect, Michael Thorne is behind this?" she asked.

"Yes." I explained the roses.

"And the lady you're interested in runs that flower shop?"

I nodded.

"Do you have any concrete evidence linking Michael to these crimes?"

"The circumstantial evidence is compelling," I said, a defensive edge creeping into my voice. "We know his methods, his psychology. This has his fingerprints all over it. Law Summers and I both believe it."

"Law is Wallace Summers? The government bounty hunter?"

"Yes, he's back in Whispering Pines to capture Michael."

"And how's that going? Bounty hunters are known to operate by their own rules. Especially ones hired by the government."

I unclenched my jaw, not wanting her to pick up on any tension Law and I might have. "We get along great. No problems, we've known each other since grade school."

"This Michael," She cocked her head the other direction. "What drives him, do you think? Why return to Whispering Pines? Why this elaborate game?"

Good grief this lady jumps topics like we're on a trampoline. "Michael is motivated by power. Power over people. Also, revenge and control. He likes playing with people, manipulating them. Making them feel helpless while he demonstrates his power."

"And how does that make you feel? Being targeted by someone with those motivations?"

"I'm not being targeted," I said automatically. "The town is."

Dr. Salinger raised an eyebrow, prompting me to reconsider.

"Alright, maybe I am a target. But I'm not afraid of him, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm asking how you feel, Tobias."

Taking a deep breath I answered. "Frustrated. Angry. I want to catch him before he hurts anyone else." I leaned forward. "Look, I understand what you're trying to do here, but digging into my feelings isn't going to help me catch Michael."

"Perhaps not directly," she conceded. "But understanding your own reactions might prevent you from playing into his hands."

That gave me pause. "How so?"

"People like this Michael, thrive on creating emotional responses. Anger, fear, and helplessness are the reactions that can cloud judgment, lead to mistakes." She studied me. "If he's targeting you specifically, it's because he believes he can manipulate your actions through your emotions."

I considered this. "So you're saying I should... what? Not care about the crimes he's committing?"

"Not at all. I'm suggesting that awareness of your own emotional responses gives you power over them and therefore over him." She folded her hands in her lap. "For instance, your anger at him, and at Commissioner Clark, and me for bringing up your relationships is palpable. How might that anger affect your ability to make a decision?"

"I make rational decisions," I insisted.

"Are you? Let's consider another example." Her tone remained even, professional. "Let's get back to the flower shop business owner."

My stomach tightened. "No."

"Touched a nerve, have I? Instantly I know you have feelings for this person. And by observing your body language and your response I know you have strong feelings for them. That gives an opening for someone like Michael to manipulate you and perhaps her."

The thought of Ruth being in danger because of me had kept me awake more nights than I cared to admit. "I've taken steps to ensure their safety."

"While maintaining emotional distance?"

"Yes."

Dr. Salinger's expression remained neutral, but I sensed skepticism.

"May I suggest an alternative perspective?" she asked. When I didn't object, she continued, "In my experience, attempting to compartmentalize personal and professional concerns often leads to poor judgment in both areas. Integration, not separation, tends to yield better results."

"Can you say that again in English? I'm just a small town sheriff."

Chuckling, she started. "Meaning that denying personal feelings doesn't eliminate them. Instead it merely drives them underground where they exert influence without conscious oversight." She leaned forward slightly. "You mentioned Michael enjoys making people feel helpless. When in your life have you felt most helpless?"

The question hit like a sucker punch. "When Joan was dying," I answered before I could stop myself. "There was nothing I or anyone else could do."

Dr. Salinger nodded. "And since then?"

"I've made sure I'm never in that position again."

"By maintaining control?"

"By doing my job," I corrected.

"Which you see as control." That noncommittal sound again. "And what areas of your life do you feel are beyond your control currently?"

I started to say "none," but the words died on my lips. The truth was, almost nothing felt within my control lately. The break-ins continued despite our best efforts. Michael in my jurisdiction. Ruth. Well, her situation was a mess entirely of my own making.

"It's difficult, isn't it?" Dr. Salinger said gently. "Recognizing our limitations. Tobias, anyone with a heart can be helpless and not in control and there are different levels of helplessness."

"In my position, limitations cost lives."

"As do poor decisions based on gut emotional reactions." She set a pad of paper and pen on the small table between us. "I'd like you to do something for me. Write down three things you're afraid might happen if you relinquish control and allow yourself to have a personal life."

I stared at the paper. "A personal life? This seems—"

"Indulge me, Sheriff. Professional to professional."

Reluctantly, I picked up the pen. After a moment's hesitation, I wrote:

People will lose respect for me

I'll be judged

People won't think I can do my job

Dr. Salinger read the list upside down, nodding slightly. "Now, three things you hope might happen if you allow yourself to be vulnerable."

This was harder. I sat for nearly a minute before writing:

I might be happier

Others might be happier

I looked at her tapping the pen on the paper. Finally I wrote.

3. I might stop feeling so alone

The admission, even on paper, felt raw.

"Thank you," Dr. Salinger said, her voice gentler than before. "Now, if you were advising one of your deputies who showed you these lists, what would you tell them?"

I looked at my own handwriting, seeing it suddenly as if it belonged to someone else. What would I tell one of them if they came to me with these concerns?

"I would tell them what I tell them now, that their happiness matters," I said slowly. "That people's respect isn't based solely on how perfectly controlled they appear. That making yourself vulnerable isn't the same as being weak."

"And what if one of your deputies wanted a relationship with someone outside of societal acceptance? Would you question if they could still do their job?"

"No, not at all."

"Would you think they were less of a person?" She looked at me without blinking.

"Not at all." I answered her honestly.

"Are you being honest?"

"Yes."

"And what if it was your son or Clark who were in this relationship?"

"If they were happy that's enough for me." I said. "Where is this going?"

"Just this, Tobias, why is it so difficult to apply that same thinking to yourself?"

I had no immediate answer.

Dr. Salinger let the silence stretch for a moment before continuing. "Tobias, control is an illusion. We like to believe we can prevent bad things from happening if we just maintain enough vigilance, follow enough rules, and build enough walls. But life doesn't work that way."

"Some things can be prevented," I argued.

"Some, yes. But not all. And the cost of trying to control everything is often the sacrifice of the very connections that make life worth living." She gestured to my list. "Your fear of losing respect, of people thinking you can't do your job, these are keeping you isolated when you could be supported. You could have someone share your life." She leaned forward in her chair. "Sheriff, Tobias, think about this, what better way is there to keep someone safe than to have them close?"

The clock on her desk showed we'd been talking for nearly an hour. I shifted, ready to conclude this session that had veered far deeper than I'd anticipated.

"I appreciate your insights, doctor."

"Of course." She made no move to stop me. "But before you go, I'd like to suggest an exercise."

"An exercise?" I repeated skeptically.

"Yes. The next time you're facing a decision where your desire for control conflicts with your capacity for connection, I want you to ask yourself: what would it cost me to choose differently this time?"

I stood, considering her words. "That's it?"

"That's it." She rose as well. "Just an honest accounting of what you might lose, and what you might gain simply by making a different choice."

She extended her hand, which I shook automatically. "Thank you for your time, Sheriff. I'll be sending my report to the Commissioner, but I'd be happy to schedule a follow-up session if you find it beneficial."

"I'll... consider it," I said, surprising myself with the realization that I meant it.

Outside, the rain had stopped, and watery sunlight was breaking through the clouds. As I drove back toward Whispering Pines, Dr. Salinger's question kept repeating in my mind: What would it cost me to choose differently this time?

I thought about Ruth, about the hurt in her eyes when I'd pushed her away. About my refusal to acknowledge what I truly wanted because I was afraid of losing control, of what others might think, of making a mistake. The truth was, I'd already made the mistake. I'd hurt her, pushed her away, all because I couldn't bear the thought of being vulnerable. Of needing someone.

Sitting at Joe's enjoying a drink while waiting for my cheeseburger, I spotted Clark as soon as he walked in. As soon as he saw me he headed straight for me.

"So, how was the session?" He said sitting down, uninvited.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked but he was too busy giving his order to the waitress who had run over. Apparently a perk of the Police Commissioner eating in a cop bar.

"Where else are you going to eat? You love Joe's burgers." Clark smiled a wide smile. "Fill me in," he rubbed his hands together.

"Not on your life."

"Why?"

"Why? You made me come here." I growled.

"Yes I did." Clark leaned forward placing his forearms on the table. "Can you honestly tell me it wasn't helpful?"

"I don't know. Maybe it was, maybe it was a waste of time." No way was I going to admit to him it was helpful talking to Dr. Eva. Clark would have me up here weekly.

"A maybe from you is as good as a yes." He slapped the table. "I'll take it." The waitress set down a beer and Clark took a long drink. "Now, tell me about this woman you're interested in."

"No." I glared at him.

"Ohhhh, I know you and if I'm getting that kind of response that means you either really like her or you've messed up and ruined it." Clark looked giddy waiting for my answer.

"Dr. Eva said I should allow more people into my personal life." I pointed at him. "You're in my personal life. Now, why would I want more of you?"

"Ha! Because I'm great and you know it."

I did know it. Make a different choice, I told myself. "Alright, I'll tell you." I proceeded to tell Clark all about Ruth, I told him everything, other than the most juicy details. About her age, my mess up, the grocery store and what Holly thought.

"First, thank you for sharing." Clark held up a hand. "I know that took a lot." I rolled my eyes.

"I saw that. Second, what's the problem? She sounds fantastic for you."

"Her age?"

"Who cares. Tobias, stop living in the dark ages. Nowadays once you're past thirty no one cares. And the ones who do care can go suck themselves." Clark shook his head. "Don't you miss having someone at home to talk to?"

I nodded my head.

"Well then, what do you have to lose if you make a different decision about Ruth?"

"That's what Dr. Eva said."

"I know, she's smart, that's why I sent you to her."

We spent the rest of the night talking about old times and our kids. It was almost ten when I made it to my hotel. Tired from all the introspection I quickly changed and got into bed.

Two hours later my phone rang, interrupting my sleep. Picking it up I had to blink to focus. Holly's name flashed on the screen.

"Holly?" I asked, looking at the time. I was immediately alert. "What happened?"

Holly was quiet for a half second and I almost thought this was a butt dial. "There's been a break-in." She said in a voice that told me there was more.

I sat up leaning my legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh Tobias, it was at Blossoms."

My heart stopped. "Ruth?"

"I don't know, the ambulance took her to the hospital. Joey too, John rushed him to the emergency vet. It sounds bad, Tobias. She was working late, on her own. She called as soon as she came too. Luckily she woke up before the guy did."

"What guy?" I snarled as I put my pants on.

"She knocked out one of the three men. That's all I know. I haven't heard anything else from John or Sang."

Working late on her own. I closed my eyes and took a breath. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Ruth and Joey were hurt because I wasn't there. Because I'd pushed her away instead of staying close. Because I'd chosen control over connection.

"I'm on my way," I said, throwing things into my bag. "I'll call from the road."

Starting my truck, I gripped the steering wheel with both hands. "Michael, you asshole, you just got yourself your worst nightmare."