Page 68 of Torched Spades

The words are barely out of my mouth before Johnny drops his hand, the space between us thick with tension. “Don’t analyze me, Becca. I’m not in the mood.”

Tough shit. I wasn’t particularly in the mood to throw my career out the window, yet here we are.“You say you relocated from Pennsylvania, but you’ve mentioned New Jersey multiple times.”

He shrugs. “I told you. I used to have family there.”

“And you speak Italian.”

I’m dangerously close to crossing yetanotherline, and I don’t know if my intentions are professional or to satisfy my own personal interest.

Johnny tilts his head to the side, the cords in his neck tightening. “Do you have a point to make, or are we ignoring the elephant in the room by stating the obvious now?”

“You said something in Italian when you…” Heat burns my cheeks as I gesture between us. “When you…”

“Came inside you,” he finishes, crossing his arms.

I wince. “Again, crude, but yes. It’s not commonly spoken here.”

“So, I know a few words. Big deal.”

“I’m a psychiatrist, remember? I’m trained to notice changes in behavior.”And right now yours is sending up so many red flags you might as well be humming the Star Spangled Banner.“So, what did you say?”

He glances at something over my head, the corner of his mouth curving up. “It’s five-ten. Your day is over, Dr. Brennan.”

Stupid clock.

“You’re my last patient, Johnny. I can stay as long as I want. Besides, you’re not getting off that easy,” I say, throwing his words back at him.

Especially now. If he thinks he’s getting that referral, he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does. I may look delicate, but so does a spider’s web—until you’re trapped in it.

“Well, speaking of personality roulette, look who finally came out to play,” he says, an odd hint of pride in his voice. “Hello, Becca. It’s nice to finally meet the real you. Unfortunately, I must be leaving. Some of us actually have a life outside of work.”

The moment he turns his back to me and starts toward the door, his confession comes barreling back, and a switch flips in my head.

“Johnny…” Rushing up behind him, I grab his arm, fearing the question on my tongue while still haunted by the answer on his. “What happened to her? The woman I remind you of?”

His muscles tighten moments before he glances up, the look in his eyes like jagged onyx. “I changed my mind about that referral. See ya next Tuesday, Doc.”

* * *

My stomach twists into knots as I re-read the six words staring back at me.

Forgive me for who I am.

That’s whatscusami se sono cosìmeans. It’s taken an hour of typing bastardized versions of unfamiliar words into Google translate to figure it out.

Words spoken in the heat of passion.

Words that now chill me to the bone.

Forgive me for who I am.

“Forgive what, Johnny?” I murmur out loud. Forgive his addiction to fire? Forgive him for wasting my time? Forgive him for stalking me? Forgive him for dragging me into his demented game?

Or is it an apology for something far more frightening?

The thought consumes me, opening all those locked compartments in my mind. As much as I try to ignore it, I find myself staring into the one spilling the scattered remnants of Jack’s warning.

“People are rarely what they seem, Becs. You know that better than anyone. Just do me a favor, okay? Whoever this ‘patient’ is, pull up his arrest record and see what you’re dealing with.”