Page 77 of Torched Spades

“This Dr. Cromwell is a friend of hers?”

He nods. “A trusted colleague. One who, unfortunately for him, owed her a favor.”

Interesting. If this guy owed her a favor big enough for her to cash in with a referral for Providence’s resident pariah, then I’m sure there are others out there just waiting to collect. As they say, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

And where there’s fire, there’s an opportunity for blackmail.

“Fine. I’ll go,” I mutter, swiping the referral letter off his desk. “But if you think I wrecked Dr. Kerrigan’s nervous system, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

JOHNNY

Dr. Eli Cromwell’sreceptionist walks beside me in silence, her stiletto heels clicking across the obnoxiously shiny tile floor. I’m not happy about the escort, but making a scene in the lobby didn’t serve my purpose…

Which is to get out of this office as soon as possible and back into Becca’s.

A few turns and hallways later, she comes to a stop in front of a wooden door with a gold placard in the center proudly displaying his name. Nodding politely, she’s about to rap on the door when I hold up my hand.

“I’ve got it from here.”

“Mr. Malone,” she hedges, twisting her fingers into knots. “It’s customary for the patient to be introduced, not to intrude.”

Turning my chin slowly to the side, I pin her with a lethal stare.

“But I’m sure Dr. Cromwell is expecting you, so…” Her stilettos sound like fireworks as she shuffles backward, then scurries down the hall.

Good riddance.

Shoving the door open without so much as a knock, I invite myself inside.

Dr. Eli Cromwell pauses mid-stride across his office and arches an eyebrow at the empty space behind me. “Mr. Malone, I presume?”

“You presume correctly.” Walking past him, I sink onto a black leather couch by the window before he even gestures to it.

“Where’s Delores?” he asks hesitantly.

I slide a single playing card out of my pocket and slowly flip it between my fingers. “Assuming Delores is your receptionist, she’s back at her desk. I don’t need a babysitter, Eli.”

“That’s Dr. Cromwell.” Giving me a passing glance, he continues toward his desk while unbuttoning his tweed jacket. Clearing his throat, he sits down and folds his hands across his desk. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under such awkward circumstances.”

No, you’re not.

“I guarantee complete impartiality if that alleviates your concerns,” he continues.

It doesn’t.

Alleviating my concerns would require he pick up that phone and send me back to Becca. It’d be those fucking tapes reappearing so I could ensure my anonymity and Becca’s safety. It’d be erasing the memory of her screaming my name as she came around my cock.

“Mr. Malone?”

“Johnny,” I mumble, still flipping the card.

A deep cavern sinks between his graying eyebrows. “Considering your ‘unique situation,’I applaud you for continuing your treatment.”

That’s the second reference he’s made to the situation being “awkward or unique.” From the way Owen acted, I assumed Becca passed me off as a difficult patient, but now I’m questioning what all she wrote in that fucking referral.

And how much.