Shattered (LOST #3)(15)

His secrets are as dark as my own. He was a man who understood the ghosts she battled every day. Her fingers trailed over the scar on her left wrist. A scar that she’d always kept hidden from her fellow LOST agents. She’d worn long-sleeved shirts or her bracelet—one she’d picked just because its large width covered the wound. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know how desperate she’d been on that long-ago night.

But Jax knew. She had the feeling that Jax could learn all of her secrets.

She slipped through the gate.

And that’s why I have to leave him.

“SARAH . . .” JAX put his hand against the windowpane. “You can run, but I’ll find you.” And she was running. Vanishing through that gate. Clever lady, she’d learned his alarm codes last night. He hadn’t even realized that she’d been watching when he keyed them in. Now he would remember that Sarah was always focused, even when it seemed her attention was elsewhere.

He turned from the window. The room smelled of her. Sweet vanilla and sex. He’d had her, but taking Sarah hadn’t ended the odd obsession that he felt for her. If anything, the obsession had intensified because now he knew what it was like to sink into her, to hear her moan, and to watch her eyes go wild with pleasure.

“You can run,” Jax murmured again as he touched the pillow she’d lain on moments before, “but I like the hunt.”

EVEN THOUGH IT was early, the New Orleans police station was already buzzing with activity. Uniformed officers hurried around the bullpen. Tired-looking detectives hunched over their desks. Phones rang. Voices rose.

Chaos was all around her. Luckily, Sarah was used to chaos. Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the dark-haired detective who had just risen from his desk. He was one of the detectives she’d spoken with after her attack—Brent West. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and had a no-nonsense attitude that she’d respected. His skin was a dark cream, totally unlined, so he could be anywhere from twenty-five to forty.

He turned toward her, and she saw that his gaze looked . . . tired. As if he’d been up all night. When he saw her, a furrow appeared between his brows. “Dr. Jacobs?”

She gave him a quick smile. One that she hoped didn’t look particularly nervous or desperate. “Do you have a moment to spare for me?”

The furrow deepened between his eyes. “Sure. I mean, has something happened? Are you all right?”

She waved away his concern. “I’m fine. I actually . . . I wanted to talk with you about Eddie Guthrie.” She kept her voice mild and her hands stayed loose at his sides.

“Oh, ma’am, you don’t have to worry about him.” Brent gave a firm nod. “With the evidence we have on him, it’s going to be an open-and-shut case.”

Yes, right, but . . . “Is there any chance I can see him?”

The detective blinked at her. “You want to run that by me again?”

She straightened her spine. “I’m a psychiatrist, and I’ve interviewed literally hundreds of criminals over the years.”

He waited and didn’t look particularly impressed. Right. Sarah cleared her throat. “What if he just needs help?”

His sharp look questioned her sanity. “Ma’am, he attacked you. He had a knife to your throat. You’re lucky he didn’t slice open your jugular.”

What a lovely visual. She swallowed. “My father . . . killed Eddie Guthrie’s mother.” Such an understatement. Her father had tortured Gwen Guthrie. And I heard her screaming. I was just a kid. I heard her . . . but he told me it was nothing. He tucked me in bed. Kissed me good night, and said I was safe.

Only Sarah hadn’t realized the truth of that long-ago night, not until far too late.

“Because of what you father did, you think that makes it all right for that guy in there to come after you with a knife?”

Sleep tight. You know you’re safe tonight.

Sarah shook her head. “No, no, I don’t.” She stared into the detective’s eyes. “But I think losing a parent so violently can have a lasting impact on a person. Eddie was so incredibly young when his mother was murdered.” She knew he’d just been a baby. His sister had only been a little older. “Before he’s thrown in jail, I’d like to see if . . . if he needs—”

“What? Counseling?” He laughed, but the sound held little humor. “You’re one of those, huh? You think you can fix everyone with some therapy.”

She thought of her father. “Therapy can’t fix everyone.” Not even close. “I just want to talk with him, okay? Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.” The detective didn’t understand the guilt that tore through her whenever she thought of Eddie. “I mean, he can have a visitor, right? Put us in an interrogation room, and, if it makes you feel better, you can watch the whole scene.”

He hesitated. His eyes—a dark green—swept over her. “You’re with LOST, right?”

She nodded.

“Heard about all you did down here recently.” His breath expelled in a rush. “So, yeah, fine, I figure we owe you five minutes considering the lives you probably saved by stopping that freak who was hunting in my city.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Thank you, Detective.”

He nodded. “Hell, maybe you’ll even get the guy to spill a full confession. That’s part of your deal, isn’t it? Getting the criminals to spill their secrets to you.”