Page 7 of Torched Spades

I open my mouth to try to diffuse this hostile tension between us only to have him jab his pointed finger across the coffee table.

“If you think I’m going to agree to this,you’rethe one who needs a psychiatrist, not me.”

“How’s the hand?” I ask, intentionally changing the subject.

“Functional,” he mutters. As proof, he pulls some sort of card from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and starts flipping it between his fingers. “Did Holmes pay you extra to spy on me last week?”

The sharp accusation takes me by surprise, and my lips part, the tight rein I have on my emotions slipping. However, before those lethal eyes can register what’s happened, I’m back in control.

“Surely, you didn’t just insult meandquestion my integrity in one breath,” I say coolly.

“Then why were you at the courthouse?” he demands, continuing to flip the card with impressive speed. “Not only in the building, but also in the same spot?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”What the hell is that thing, and why won’t he stop?

“You’re right. You don’t.” Trapping the card between his fingers, he stands as if he’s about to walk out.

For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, I panic and break protocol. “I was testifying as a character witness for one of my patients.” I press my lips together to prevent any more words from spilling out, but the harder he stares, the more I talk. “Custody battle… If you don’t believe me, do a courthouse record search on my name.”

That seems to satisfy him, and he sinks back onto the cushion. “Didn’t expect you to fold so quickly, Doc. Why do you care so much about what I think?”

Good question. I wish I knew.

I shrug. “I value my principles… You challenged them.”

“I do like a good challenge.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I enjoy doing many things with women, Dr. Brennan. Spilling my guts isn’t one of them.”

I tilt my head. “That’s a bit sexist, don’t you think?”

“Says the woman who blackmailed me into her office.”

Touché.

“So because I don’t have a penis, you’re just going to write me off without giving me a chance?”

“That sounds about right.”

The indifference in his voice causes me to take a step back from all the rapid-fire banter and do what I’m paid to do… Dissect it. Moments of silence pass where I analyze every word, every sneer, every card flip, every physical power play…

And that’s when his staunch refusal to discuss anything of substance, blatant innuendos, subtle gaslighting and baseless accusations, and strategic game of therapist roulette suddenly make perfect sense.

“You’re afraid.”

Those chiseled features harden. “Choose your next words very carefully, Dr. Brennan.”

“Or what?” I challenge. “You’ll give me a twenty-minute monologue detailing the finer points of slow-burning human decomposition?” I dismiss his threat with a wave of my hand. “Already read that session note. Wasn’t impressed.”

I’m not sure if his lips curve in a smirk or snarl. When it comes to Johnny Malone, I’m beginning to see there’s not much of a distinction. However, one thing’s for sure… I have his undivided attention.

“You don’t scare easily. do you?”

“Worse men than you have tried…and failed. That being said, we seem to be at a crossroads, Mr. Malone. You can swallow that chauvinistic pride and complete the remaining four months of your required treatment with me, or you can take your chances with the next doctor. However, the Providence psychiatric circle is relatively small. I know your next three to five stops, and if you think Dr. Kerrigan was insufferable”—plucking the old man’s rantings out of Johnny’s folder, I wave the note in front of him—“you’re eyes are about to be opened, my friend.”

“Are you implying you’re the best because you have avagina?” Leaning forward, he flicks the paper with his middle finger. “That’s a bitsexist, don’t you think?”