Page 95 of The Redemption of Remy St. Claire

“And?”

“And that’s all ended. He hasn’t touched me since I told him. We act more like roommates sharing a bed than an actual married couple.”

“At least you’re sharing a bed.” Kennedy wasn’t mincing words.

“For all the good it does.” Frustration reared its ugly head. “You could fit an ocean between us.”

The psychologist gave her an intense look. “Have you told him how you feel?”

“I’m telling you.” God, this was getting her nowhere. “You’re supposed to know how to fix this.”

“Remy, you’re an adult. You know very well that I can guide you, but I can’t do for you. I can counsel you—and I will.” The other woman leaned forward in her chair. “I’m suggesting you need to talk to Rusty. If the physical attention he paid you before made you feel good, ask him to do it again. View it from his perspective. His wife just told him she was violated in the most intimate way possible. He’s now walking on eggshells, afraid to trigger you. He also feels some guilt.”

“Guilt? Why would he feel guilt?”This is so confusing.

Kennedy shrugged, but the deliberateness was obvious.

“How would you feel if, after the fact, you found out that someone had hurt Calleigh?”

The answer came swift and clear. “I’d kill him.”

“There’s a good chance Rusty feels the same way. But he probably can’t do anything about it, am I right?”

“You’re right.” The mere thought had her gut clenching. “My rapist is in jail. But I didn’t put him there. I wasn’t brave enough, so he went on to rape someone else. I could’ve stopped him, but I didn’t.”

“You, of all people, should know you can’t blame yourself.”

The scrutiny had Remy squirming in her chair.

“Have you forgiven yourself? Have you ever acknowledged you did the best you could? Because there’s another way to see this. This event had a big impact on your life. Look at what you do for a living—you make sure monsters go to jail. You protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

Remy dropped her gaze to the floor, avoiding Kennedy’s too-seeing eyes. “What if I can’t be fixed?”

“Let me ask you this…who says you’re broken?”

Kennedy’s words followed her on the drive home.

Who says you’re broken?

The therapist had a valid point. She’d then reiterated that talking to Rusty was the only way to solve this problem. Although she offered couple’s counseling, Remy had declined. Seeing Kennedy today’d been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, and just the thought of adding Rusty to the mix was more than she could handle.

When she pulled into her driveway, she gave herself a little pep talk.It’s Friday night. You’re home on time.Her briefcase was full but not overflowing.

Prince George police were planning to charge Graham Henrikson. A victim, Christa, had picked him out of a photo line-up.

Five years ago, Christa’d given the police a description after the rape, and a police artist had made a sketch.

Even to Remy’s untrained eye, similarities abounded.

Henrikson had left Prince George two days after the sketch was released to the public. As in Danica’s case, he’d been careful. He’d used a condom so as to not leave any DNA. He’d threatened Christa’s life, but that hadn’t stopped her. As soon as she’d freed herself from the ropes he’d tied her up in, she’d gone straight to the police. She had, in the intervening years, become a victim’s rights advocate.

Remy admired the woman. And then she remembered Kennedy’s words. She, herself, protected the weak whenever she could. Locking Graham Henrikson up for life was to be her vindication.

Monday morning, they were set to meet.

She could taste victory but tamped down the jubilation because she couldn’t get ahead of herself. She couldn’t let him see that she knew she had him. The murder and additional rape charges had to be a surprise.

Deep breath.She was home.

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