A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)(40)

And I’m the clown.

“Drew,” Salma says. “The longer you wait, the harder this will be. I understand your concerns for Lindsay’s mental health, but they wouldn’t have brought her home from the facility she was in if they didn’t think she was emotionally strong enough to handle whatever the world throws at her.”

Salma has no idea how much that is.

“I -- ”

“And you deserve to clear the air. To own your experience. Until you can talk with her, I’m not sure you’re going to be able to move on.” She’s using shorthand. We don’t have to go through all the layers of the past because Salma and I have processed what happened. Jargon and shortcuts mean we can get to the heart of the matter fast.

Too fast.

“Move on from what? Lindsay?”

“Move on from your victimhood.”

“I hate that word. Victim. Let’s use the word survivor.”

Warrior.

She nods slowly. “It’s a better word. It is. But you were a victim before you were a survivor, and we need to honor that phase.”

Victim.

My fingers dig into the arms of the chair I’m in. The pain radiates into my knuckles and I welcome it. Fuck. It was a mistake to come here. I don’t have time to dig up my past.

My future is in jeopardy.

And Lindsay’s present is nothing but danger.

“I shouldn’t be here.” I feel a trickle of sweat run down the back of my neck. My underarms are soaked, like I’ve run a 10K.

“Drew. Drew.” Salma says my name firmly. “We don’t have to talk about anything. Not at all.”

She goes silent.

My heart beats. And beats. And beats, each thump for Lindsay.

Who is at home now, confused, being watched by whoever Paulson assigned to her, all my texts to her unanswered since I saw her yesterday morning in the kitchen. Who knows what Harry has her security team doing now. I know they’ve shut me out. That much is certain.

She slipped one through to me somehow, on Jane’s phone.

It just says, Shore. Tonight. Eight.

Clarity hits me between the eyes, the feeling so intense it’s tangible. I pinch the bridge of my nose as if a mosquito just stung me.

“No. I do have to talk. I’m here because even I know this is destabilizing. I love Lindsay more than life itself and I’m afraid I’m f*cking this up already.”

She glances at the newspaper. “I see.”

“That punch got me fired. Harry Bosworth took me off the case protecting Lindsay. We were just getting closer again,” I say, my voice filled with regret.

“Intimately close?” Her voice is so neutral she might as well be screaming. The dichotomy makes no sense, but nothing makes sense right now.

“Yes.”

“And how was that?”

I shoot her a speculative look. “I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy.”

She laughs, the sound genuine. I’ve surprised her. “I’m not looking for lurid details, Drew. I’m asking about your psychological health.”

“What does sex have to do with that?”

Her turn to give me an incredulous look.

My laugh surprises me. It’s deep and rough, and sounds like it’s coming from outside my body. “Sex was good. Great, actually. Especially when she doesn’t steal my gun afterwards.”

Peering intently, Salma asks, “Is that a euphemism for something sexual?”

“I wish.”

Her eyebrows go up.

“It’s a long story.”

“You booked two hours.” Her comment comes with a small smile.

I give her one back and cross my arms over my chest. I’m playing games. I shouldn’t. The mess with Lindsay is a tornado filled with flaming pieces of my soul, my career, my life. All of it spirals, pushed by forces beyond my control. I hate it.

I hate not being in charge.

But I’m here because it’s the right place for me to be. Paulson nudged me, and being fired was all I needed to call and get in with Salma.

I’m here.

I should be productive with my time.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important,” I start.

“Of course. Reconnecting with Lindsay is important.”

“And destabilizing,” I add.

“You’ve used that word twice now,” Salma notes.

I shrug. “You introduced me to it. It’s a good word. Fits how I feel.”

She nods and stays silent.

“Four years ago,” I start, my mouth going dry. I cough, clearing it. “Those bastards drugged me. Made me watch. And then...”

I close my eyes.

It’s like the last four years didn’t happen. I’m back in that room, at that party in a rented beach house. We were all buddies from high school. Blaine, John and Stellan had been on the lacrosse team with me. I’d known them since middle school. Wasn’t a fan of Blaine and John, but they were okay. Good for partying and having fun. Lindsay was with Tara, Mandy, and Jenna, and Jane was there, shy, against one wall in her own little category. Alcohol flowed.

I was graduating from West Point in a few weeks, home for some family event. The Saturday night party was a fluke. Lindsay’s dad was running for re-election to the U.S. senate, and earlier that day he’d talked to me about my future. Said he could help me get in with the Secret Service.