What’s curious is why she chose now to do it. She’s obviously had these issues for a long time.”

“Any guess?”

“Like I said, she feels she can’t trust her instincts anymore. Next stop, that bar and the end of that guy’s fist. Her punishment.”

“Punishment? For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if she doesn’t want to admit herself to the facility?” Sean said.

“We’ll never get an involuntary commit from a judge. Either she puts herself in or I have to counsel her on the outside.”

“Then I’ll get her inside, somehow.”

“How?”

“By wearing my lawyer hat and lying my ass off.”

THAT EVENING SEAN SAT DOWN with Michelle back at the motel.

“Look,” he began. “The guy you beat up filed assault charges against you. I can get them dropped without you appearing in court, but I know the judge is gonna want something from you.”

She sat huddled in front of him. “Like what?”

“Psychiatric treatment. Horatio knows of a place you can go.”

She stared up at him. “You think I’m crazy?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. Now if you want to get prosecuted for assault and spend some time inside another facility, fine. But if you voluntarily agree to admit yourself the charges get dropped. It’s a sweetheart deal.” He silently prayed she would never learn that this was all a concoction of lies. Thankfully, Michelle agreed to admit herself. She also signed a release that allowed Sean to be informed of her treatment and progress. Now all Horatio Barnes had to do was work his mental magic.

“But don’t expect miracles overnight,” the psychologist told Sean the next day at a coffee shop. “These things take time. And she has a fragile personality.”

“She never struck me as being fragile.”

“On the outside, no. On the inside, I believe it’s a whole different dynamic going on. She’s a classic overachiever with clear obsessive instincts. She told me she used to work out for hours every day. Is that true?”

Sean nodded. “An annoying habit, but one that I actually miss seeing right now.”

“Is she also obsessively neat? She wouldn’t really address that question.”

Sean almost spit out the coffee he had just put in his mouth. “You wouldn’t need to ask that question if you’d ever seen the inside of her truck. She’s the world’s biggest slob and she never saw a pile of junk she couldn’t add something to.”

“And she’s the youngest of five and the only daughter?”

Sean nodded. “And her dad was a chief of police in Tennessee and her brothers are all cops.”

“That’s a lot to live up to, Sean. Maybe too much. If I were in that family I would’ve been busted about twenty times before I graduated from college.”

Sean smiled. “A felony machine, were you?”

“Hey, man, it was the Sixties. Everybody under thirty was a felony machine.”

“I haven’t contacted her parents yet. I didn’t want them to know about this.”

“Where are they?”

Sean said, “Her mom and dad are in Hawaii on a second honeymoon. I did talk to her oldest brother, Bill Maxwell. He’s a state trooper in Florida. I told him some of what happened. He wanted to come up, but I told him to hold off.” Sean asked bluntly, “Is she going to get better?”

“I know what you want to hear, but it’s really up to the lady.”

Later that day, Sean visited Michelle in her room at the facility. She was dressed in a pair of jeans, sneakers and a floppy sweatshirt with her hair pulled straight back in a ponytail.

He sat in a chair across from her and took her hand. “You’re going to get better. You’re in the right place to get better.”

He might have been mistaken but he thought she’d gripped his hand in response. He immediately squeezed back.

That evening Sean went to an ATM and almost laughed at the insignificant amount in his account. Even the initial private clinic bills were overwhelming and unfortunately not covered by Michelle’s insurance. He’d already dug money out of a retirement account and cashed in an old insurance policy but he hadn’t worked a day since Michelle had gotten hurt and now things were at a crisis point.

He tried every contact he had but no one had anything of substance to throw his way. The most lucrative investigative work in D.C. all required high-level security clearances that Sean had once possessed but no longer did. And getting new ones was a time-consuming process. He notched his belt tighter and kept making calls and knocking on doors.

Finally, out of options, he decided to do something he’d told himself he never would do. He called Joan Dillinger, an ex-Secret Service agent and now a vice president in a big private investigation firm. She was, also, unfortunately, his ex-lover.

Joan took his call and said, “Absolutely, Sean. Let’s have lunch tomorrow. I’m sure I can find something that you and I can do together.”

He hung up the phone and stared out the window of the crummy motel room he could no longer afford. “I was afraid she was going to say that,” he muttered.

THE WOMAN LOOKED GOOD, Sean had to admit. Good and lethal. Hair and makeup were immaculate. Dress short and tight, heels high and thin yet lifting her petite frame only up to within eight inches of his six-two. Her legs were slender and firm, her chest large but soft and all her own, he knew from experience. Yes, she looked good, actually better than good, terrific, in fact. And he felt absolutely nothing for her.

Joan Dillinger seemed to sense this and quickly motioned him to sit down on a couch. She sat in a chair beside him and poured out coffee.

“Long time, no see,” she said pleasantly. “Catch any more mass murderers?”

“Not this week,” he said, attempting a smile as he spooned sugar in his coffee.

“How’s that obnoxious little girl you hooked up with? Mildred, was it?”

“Her name’s Michelle,” he answered. “And she’s fine. Thanks for asking.”

“And you two are still working together?”

“We are.”

“Wow, she’s really good with the cloak-and-dagger thing, because I can’t even see her.”

Now Sean became suspicious. Had Joan found out about what had happened to Michelle? That would certainly have been in keeping with her control freak personality.

He said casually, “She’s busy today. As I said on the phone, we just moved back into town, and I was wondering if you had anything you might want to throw our way on a freelance basis.”

Joan put down her coffee, rose and started walking around the room. Sean didn’t know quite why she did this, but it might have been simply to show off her body some more. A usually complex woman, Joan Dillinger could be oddly transparent when it came to things like sex and personal relationships. In fact, he strongly suspected she used the former in substitution for the latter.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to throw you some work on a freelance basis although I have a whole company of seasoned investigators to do any assignment that comes in the door? And I haven’t heard from you, in what, over a year?”

“It just seemed better to keep our distance.”

Her features hardened. “You’re not making it easy for me to help you here, Sean.”

“If you didn’t have anything, why meet with me?”

She perched on her desk and crossed her legs. “I don’t know. Maybe I just like looking at you.”

He stood and came over to her. “Joan, I really need some work. If you don’t have any to toss my way, fine. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time.” Sean set his coffee down and turned to leave. Only then did Joan seize his arm.

“Just hold on, big boy. You have to let a girl have her pout. It’s only fair.” Joan sat down behind her desk, all business now as she slid a legal agreement across to him. “Take a few minutes to read this. I know you’re a lawyer after all.”