The Soldier's Mission. Lenora Worth
“Now, think real hard and tell me if you’ve had any hard-case patients lately.”
“None, other than you,” she replied, the triumph she should have felt disappearing at the ferocious glare in his eyes.
“Look, lady, I didn’t ask you to come here. And up until about an hour ago, no one cared about me or what I’m doing. This place is about as remote as you can get. So I figure someone tailed you here and waited for the right opportunity to shoot at you. And that means you’ve probably got an unstable client out there with an ax to grind. So quit insulting me and think real hard about some of the people you’ve counseled lately.” He leaned over the table again, his tone soft and daring. “Besides me.”
Laura stared across at him, wondering how he could stay so calm when they were sitting here with a possible sniper still on the loose. “I don’t have a clue—”
“Think about it,” he said in that deep, low voice that sent ripples of awareness down her spine. “How many people have you talked to in say, the last three or four months?”
“Too many to tell,” she retorted. “I’d have to have access to my files.”
“You mean by computer?”
“Yes.” She tapped her big purse. “I didn’t bring my laptop with me. Besides, I can’t download every case history I have on file.”
Paco pulled a slick phone out of his pocket. “What if I get us some help?”
“But no one has access to my patient files. That’s confidential.”
“I know someone who can break into those files.”
She shook her head. “I can’t allow that. My clients trust me.”
“That won’t matter if you’re dead.”
The man certainly cut right to the chase.
“Who are you going to call?”
“Kissie Pierre. You’ve probably heard of her. She keeps computer records on all the CHAIM agents and she keeps files on anyone who has any dealings with those agents. And that includes counselors.”
“The Woman at the Well. But she can’t help us with this type of thing.”
“If you give her some names, she’ll be able to crack your files and compare notes.”
“Confidentially?”
“Yes, completely confidential, I promise.”
“Legal?”
“As legal as we can make it. This is an emergency. But if you think you can remember without us going to that extreme then talk to me.”
Laura preferred that method to hacking into private files. “Let me make a list of names. Maybe that will bring back some memories.”
“Good.” Paco grabbed her notebook. “Got a pen?”
She found a pen in her purse then handed it over to him. Walter passed by with phantom quietness, his rifle held at his chest. “Nobody coming to call. I think we’re in the clear.”
Paco looked at the door. “Keep an eye out, Grandfather. They might try to sneak up on us again.”
Walter nodded, his solid presence a comfort to Laura.
Paco and his grandfather were close. She could tell by the respect Paco offered the old man and by the way they teased each other, both serious and stoic but with a trace of mirth in their eyes.
“Are you thinking?” Paco asked, his gaze cutting to the windows and the door. “We don’t have much time. They might decide to come back for another visit. And bring friends along.”
Laura sank back, terrified of that prospect. “I’m a pastoral counselor. I mostly deal with church members with marriage problems, those who’ve lost a loved one, or teenagers who are going through angst. Things like that. And CHAIM agents and workers, of course.”
“Of course. Anyone who stands out in your mind?”
She put her head down, bringing her right arm up to settle on the table, then leaned her chin against her fist, a dark thought creeping into her mind. In that brief moment, Laura thought of only one possible suspect.
“About a month ago, we had a teenager come to the clinic. He was upset about something his father had done.”
“Go on.”
Not wanting to divulge the particulars, she shook her head. “I can’t talk about it—except that the teen was traumatized by what had happened. I counseled him, told him how to get help from the authorities next time it happened. He didn’t want to report the incident, but I could tell he was afraid. He was a lot stronger and calmer after our first couple of sessions, though. Then he didn’t come back.”
“Did he seem angry at you?”
“No, he was angry at the world.” And his father. The man had been extremely demanding and controlling. How could she tell Paco this without getting upset or giving away personal information? Or her acute sense of failure. “The young man killed himself about two weeks after he’d talked to me.”
Paco scribbled some notes. “What was his name?”
“Is this necessary?”
“We have to assume, yes.”
“Kyle Henner. He was sixteen.”
She watched as Paco pulled up a number on his phone. “Kissie, it’s Paco. Yeah, I’m okay. I need you to run a name for me. See what you can find out about a kid from Phoenix named Kyle Henner.” He held the phone away. “Father’s name?”
Laura hesitated then said, “Lawrence Henner. He’s a big-time developer of some sort. He owns a lot of different companies. Lots of money and lots of power. He was devastated about what happened.”
She didn’t add that the man was also a walking time bomb who’d verbally abused not only his son but his wife, too. His wife left him after Kyle’s suicide. And now that she thought about it, Lawrence Henner was just the kind of man to blame someone else for his son’s death.
Someone like her, maybe?
Paco finished his conversation with Kissie then turned to Laura. “She’ll get back to us. And if you think about anything else you can tell me about this kid, let me know.”
“His father is ruthless,” she said, her nerves sparkling with apprehension. “But I don’t think he’d try to shoot me. He’d just find a way to ruin my life, probably.”
“Or if he’s that powerful, he could send someone else to shoot you.”
She swallowed back her worries. “Last I heard, Mr. Henner had left the country.”
“That could be a red flag.”
“Or maybe he needed to get away from everything in the same way you did?”
He gave her a hard stare. “Maybe. Only I’m not the one out there in the hills with a gun, now, am I?”
Laura shivered at his words. No, he wasn’t out there trying to shoot people. But if he didn’t unload some of his own grief soon, he could be the next one.
How in the world could she help Paco Martinez deal with post-traumatic stress if someone was trying to finish her off before she even got started? That thought caused her to gasp and grab at Paco’s hand.
“Did you remember something else?”
“No, but I just realized something.”
His dark eyes swirled with questions. “Spit it out.”
“What if that person out there was trying to stop me from talking to you?”
THREE
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