Cajun Justice(16)

He walked into the lobby and checked in with the receptionist.

“You’re all checked in. Please help yourself to one of our magazines and the doctor will see you as soon as she can.”

Cain looked at his Omega Seamaster. “I had an appointment for nine.”

“Yes, sir. I see that. Dr. Spencer is usually really great about time, but today she seems to be going a bit over with her eight o’clock patient.”

“Who is that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t disclose that. You know: patient privacy rules and laws.”

“I understand that. I just thought I might know the person.”

“It’s certainly possible. Your agency has kept us very busy lately.”

Cain nodded before he took a seat and perused a few magazines on the coffee table. He skipped the celebrity news and went straight to a Time magazine. The cover’s headline caught his attention: TEN IDEAS THAT ARE CHANGING YOUR LIFE. Above that, in smaller print, was a caption about Japan’s unity after disaster. He tried to follow Japanese current events so he could have a better understanding of his sister’s life in the Far East.

He flipped open the magazine and started reading about Japan. The article was about the extraordinary resilience and unity of the Japanese people; it allowed them to cope with the previous year’s 9.0 magnitude earthquake, tsunami waves, and breakdown of the nuclear reactors. Seeing the devastating pictures and reading the traumatic story of how twenty thousand people perished caused his heart to pump faster. The words and pictures made him feel as though he was there—right in the middle of it all. He heard their screams. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and drops started plopping on the pages as he thought of the rushing waves of water.

A door creaked as it opened. One of his colleagues was walking out of the psychologist’s office.

“Mike,” Cain said, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“She’s good, Cain. Really good,” Mike said in an exhausted tone. “You’re going into the lion’s den. Be careful.”

Before Cain could respond, Dr. Anna Spencer appeared at the doorway. Her pale-blue eyes pierced right into Cain’s.

“You must be my next victim,” she said with a disarming smile.





Chapter 15



She looks as though she’s in her late thirties, at most forty. Cain began creating a baseline profile of Dr. Spencer. She’s single—no ring. Attractive, keeps herself in great shape. Not surprising: one of the unwritten rules of the Secret Service is to hire only pretty women and athletic men. The Service knew that politicians were always concerned about who surrounded them, and how that would impact their public image. The agents groaned and, with self-deprecating humor, referred to themselves as “window dressing” and “expensive chauffeurs.”

“If I’m one of your victims,” Cain replied with a smile, “I’m a victim of circumstances.”

“Oh.” Dr. Spencer smiled back. “I like you already. We’re going to have a lot of work to accomplish in a short amount of time. Please, come in.” She invited Cain into her office with a wave of her palm.

“It’s just what I would have imagined a shrink’s office to look like,” Cain said once he was inside and she’d shut the door.

“Please explain,” she said. He detected a faint European accent, possibly German.

“Everything’s black leather—the chair and couch. Probably faux, but still leatherlike. In that corner is a healthy spathiphyllum plant that stretches toward the ceiling. That’s very relaxing, and I’m sure the oxygen it produces helps aerate this room when it gets stuffy.” He smiled again. “And I’m sure a lot of hot air gets blown around in here.”

She listened but didn’t reply.

“The only thing missing,” he continued, “is a minibar. In vino veritas.”

“Yes! In wine there is truth,” she said. “But I’d probably lose my license if I gave alcohol to my clients.”

“The irony,” he said. “You might lose your license, but you’d probably help some of your patients.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, we better get started. We’re already behind schedule. Your time is important, so I apologize for that, Mr. Le Mayor.” Cain winced as she mispronounced his surname. “But I’m glad you came.”

He cleared his throat. “I had no choice, doctor. My boss ordered me here. But I’m quite confident you’ll quickly determine that I’m perfectly fine and not in need of any further psychological evaluations.”

“You’d be amazed at how many of my clients tell me that,” she said, and smiled that disarming smile again. “Nevertheless, I think you will find some benefit in our session, Mr. Le Mayor.”

“It’s actually pronounced Le Mare,” Cain said with a smile.

“Pardon?” she said.

“It’s French,” he replied. “It means ‘the sea.’ But I’m pretty informal. You can just call me Cain if you’d like.”

“Perfect. I prefer being on a first-name basis with my clients.”

Cain chuckled nervously. “Well, I’m not really a client. I’m just in here for this one session, and once you sign me off as capable of protecting the president, I’ll be back to work.”