Page 34 of Once a Killer

He sighed and stared at his hands. “I wouldn’t even know where to start to fix the mess I have.”

“What would you like me to say about your program in my article?” she asked gently.

“That it will help with… with budgeting. Money management. Investments.”

“Sounds pretty good,” she said. “We all need help with that stuff, right?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I guess. I should use it myself. But it seems like too much trouble.”

She asked him several more questions but got only disjointed answers. Finally she said, “Thanks, Stu. That was very helpful. Good luck with your program.”

“Thanks, Ms. Jones.”

“Please call me Bree,” she said.

He nodded. Turned away and paged through a book. Pushed it away, then fiddled with the wires on the table.

Wow. Stu Rivers needed help. Immediately.

Chapter 12

After everyone had left the lab that evening, Jameson looked at Bree. “You ready to leave?” he asked casually.

“Yeah, just finished writing up my notes for the two interviews I did today,” she said. She loaded her computer and her notebook into her bag, then stood up. “You good?”

“I am. Let’s get out of here.”

They got into the elevator, but by some unspoken but mutually agreed-upon decision, neither of them spoke until the doors slid closed and the elevator began moving.

“What did Stu and Joe have to say?” he asked her. “Could either of them be behind the incidents?”

Bree leaned against the railing at the back of the car. Sighed. “Based on my interviews with all your engineers, any of them could be your problem. But Stu…” She shook her head. “I’d put him last on the list. From what he said, he’d have a motive -- it sounds as if he’s lost in the weeds and his project is stalled. But I also think he may be clinically depressed. I doubt he’d be capable of stealing your project.”

Jameson frowned. “Really? Why do you think that?”

The doors opened into the lobby, and she didn’t speak as they walked toward the door. He said good night to the security guard, and Bree did, as well. But as they walked out the door, Bree nodded at the picnic table in the corner. “Let’s sit there for a few minutes. I don’t want to talk while we drive.”

He slid onto the seat and watched Bree settle in across from him. She took a deep breath. “Stu is completely disorganized,” she began. “His worktable was covered with books. Twisted coils of wire. Tools. His computer. One giant jumble.” She hesitated. Looked away from him. “I feel as if I’m tattling on him, but he hasn’t shaved in a while. Hasn’t bathed, either, I’m pretty sure. And when we talked, he was, well, he was despairing. As if he’d never finish his program. When he was telling me what it was supposed to do, he could barely speak in complete sentences. He jumped from one thing to another.” She took a deep breath. “Most of those things are symptoms of severe depression.”

“Poor Stu,” he said, remembering the cheerful, excited guy who’d signed up to work with him. “Any suggestions of how I could help him?”

“You may want to recommend he get a physical. Do you know a physician you trust? One you could call and say I’m sending this guy to you and I suspect he’s depressed?”

“Yeah,” he said, thinking about the woman he’d been going to for a long time. “Dr. Walters is a good physician. And I think I could call her and tell her I’m sending Stu because I’m concerned about him. Think he might be depressed. She wouldn’t tell him I’d called her, and she’d be grateful for the heads-up.”

“Maybe wait a few days before you talk to Stu. And don’t tell him I talked about him.” She pursed her lips, and his fingers twitched. Unlike the calluses on her fingers, those smooth pink surfaces would be silky. Smooth. He wanted them on his chest. His back. His cock.

Hs shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench and forced himself to focus on Bree’s words.

“Although it shouldn’t be hard to figure out what’s going on with him,” she said. Frowned as she studied him. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Hanging on every word,” he assured her.

“Yeah. Right.” She started to roll her eyes but stopped. Sighed. “All your doctor would have to do is talk to him for a while. It’s pretty obvious that something’s wrong.” She tilted her head. “Have you had a conversation with him lately?”

“I’ve asked him how things are going. How his program’s coming along. He mumbles a few things. Doesn’t really answer.”

“Give your doctor a call,” she said. “Get Stu some help.”

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