Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [582]
Gwen reminded herself that just because he said it it didn’t mean Rubin Nash was capable of doing it. She had heard plenty of strange rantings from patients. Most of the time, the threats were simply a part of the process, a verbal exercise to blow off steam. It wasn’t necessarily a sign of destructive or dangerous behavior when patients shared their darkest secrets, urges, or even their desire for vengeance. More often it was a sign that they felt comfortable enough and trusted her enough that they could share such things. However, Gwen had spent too many years profiling and assessing the criminal mind to let the violent comments, especially those delivered as calmly as Rubin Nash had delivered his, to go unnoticed. And perhaps out of habit, she had already started listening and watching Nash a bit closer even though he was a patient and not a suspected killer the FBI had asked her to psychoanalyze.
Maybe her father was right. Maybe it had been an obsession. At one time she had spent so much time at Quantico, consulting with the Behavioral Science Unit, Assistant Director Cunningham joked that she should have her own office. But in recent years when her District practice finally took off, she was surprised to find herself relieved, almost anxious to trade in the analyzing of rapists and murderers for listening to frustrated wives of senators and the nervous ramblings of overambitious members of congress. In fact, she had recently bragged to Maggie that she hadn’t been in the same room as a killer since two years ago in Boston when survivalist Eric Pratt had threatened to shove a sharp lead pencil into her throat.
What a thing to brag about, her father would tease her. If he only knew. But she had always been careful not to tell him or her mother about the dangers her so-called obsession had often put her in the middle of. Would he take her seriously if he knew or would he consider her reckless?
Of course, it didn’t matter now. It was no accident the FBI called on her expertise less frequently, respecting her wishes. These days she preferred to write books and articles about criminal behavior. She liked it that way. It wouldn’t have bothered her in the least to never have to sit across from a killer again, coaxing and prodding his psyche to get him to trust and confide in her. And yet, despite her best efforts, she found herself being dragged into another killer’s world. The bastard had decided to coax and prod her into being his accomplice. Only it wasn’t a knife or pencil shoved against her throat or a gun pointed at her head. She would have almost preferred any one of those rather than the threat he had chosen. And he had chosen wisely. She couldn’t risk telling the police and she wouldn’t dare tell her father. That’s why she was certain she must know him. She wondered if it could possibly be someone who sat across from her every week, examining and studying her all the while he paid to be examined and studied by her.
She checked the clock on her mantel. She had a couple more hours before she needed to get to the office for her Saturday-morning sessions; the first one had been rearranged to accommodate Nash’s new travel schedule. Suddenly Gwen remembered what Maggie had said about the torsos of the three Jane Does being dumped somewhere else, perhaps somewhere outside the District. She couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t a coincidence that Rubin Nash had suddenly started to do more traveling for his business.
Her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. She had to pull it out of her briefcase.
“This is Dr. Patterson.”
“Hi, sweetie, it’s Dad.”
A chill came so suddenly she