The Masked Truth(83)

“And when the first one backed out, she got Lorenzo to fill in.”

I nodded. “But he didn’t play any role. He couldn’t—we weren’t his patients. Whoever arranged this had to make sure you and I were there. If Aimee wrote those notes before she went to the sleepover Friday, it was preplanned. We had to be there. You are the scapegoat and I’m the reason you went off. Like you, I resisted going—not my idea of a fun weekend. She also did an end run around me to my mother. It was Aimee who sent us after the cell phone that wasn’t there, along with the meds that also weren’t there. Did you hear what she said to Gray before he shot her?”

“Oh, it’s you.” Max nods. “I thought she mistook him for Aaron, that the lighting was poor and they’re of a similar size.”

“I thought the same. Then, after he shot her the first time, she said, ‘Why me?’ and he said that her job was done, we didn’t need more therapy, and he didn’t need any loose ends.”

“Which made sense in context, but makes even more sense if she was in on the scheme. You, Riley Vasquez, are absolutely brilliant.”

He gives me a smack on the lips, like a high-five. Then he pauses and gives me a real kiss, his arms around me, pulling me against him, and damn, it’s a kiss, and it’s far from my first, but at that moment, it feels like it. Then he stops short and backs up sharply with, “Right. Sorry. No. You need to stop letting me do that.”

“No, you need to stop that. Because it’s kinda not my responsibility.”

“Yes. Of course.” His gaze drops lower as he fidgets. Then he stops. “Does that mean you don’t mind it?” Before I can answer, he straightens. “No, sorry. Not the point. Not the point at all. If you don’t, that’s … well, that’s good. Or it would be. Except that the larger problem is that I can’t be kissing … That is to say, I shouldn’t … No, I cannot.”

“Then stop kissing me, Max, because you’re setting up an expectation you have no intention of following through on.”

“Yes. Of course. I didn’t mean … It was an impulse, and I apologize for indulging it.”

“Once is an impulse. You’ve kissed me more than once.”

“A repetitive impulse?”

I give him a hard look.

“A new symptom?” he tries.

A harder look.

He sighs. “All right. Not a symptom. It’s just me. I … You’re … Aimee may have been a poor therapist—and an accomplice to mass murder—but she was not entirely mistaken in thinking I fancied you. I just … It wasn’t the way … That is …”

“Let me cut through this, because as much fun as it is to watch you squirm, getting your name cleared is a little more important right now. You’re kissing me on impulse when you know you shouldn’t. Now, it could be that you’re pulling that bad-romance-novel crap.” I put on my best romantic-hero voice, complete with extravagant hand gestures. “ ‘No, we shouldn’t be together, really we shouldn’t … unless you want to and can convince me all my fears are for naught.’ ”

He sputters a laugh. “No. That’s rather brilliant, but no.”

“I didn’t think so. You’re not the type.”

“Not a romantic hero?”

“Not a bad romantic hero.”

That gets a grin. “So I’m a good—”

“Enough. Your ego may have taken a blow with your diagnosis, but in some areas I suspect it doesn’t need bolstering.”

“It can always use—”

“No. So cut the bullshit, Max. If you want to kiss me, kiss me. You’re good at it, though I probably shouldn’t admit that. But I’m not complaining, and I’m not expecting anything more out of it, because you aren’t the only one dealing with a lot these days.”

His smile fades. “Of course. Sorry. That was rather self-centered of me.”

“Forgiven. Point is, kiss me or don’t. Just stop apologizing if you do, and don’t you dare tell me I should be the one to stop you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, back to the important stuff.”

“Kissing isn’t important?”

“Focus, Max.”

“I can’t. It’s a symptom.”

“It’s an excuse. Focus. Or I’ll leave you behind.”

“Mmm, no, you can’t,” he says “I have a condition that makes it unwise to abandon me in public places.”

“Bullshit. But if you feel that way, I can make sure you’re well taken care of … with one call to 911.”

“You don’t have your mobile.”

“Pay phone.”

“They still have those?” he says. “All right. I’ll focus. Lorenzo was an innocent victim. Aimee was the inside connection. Or that is our working theory, and to substantiate it, we ought to pay a visit to her residence. We’ll need to locate the address.”

“I have it.”

He smiles. “Of course you do. Tallyho, then.”

I slide off the bike rack. “By the way, that’s a fox-hunting term, possibly derived from a French word used to work up hounds on a hunt. In fox hunting, it means that the target is in sight. NASA astronauts use it when they spot something in space.” I glance over. “I looked it up.”