Page 100 of Pressure

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"I don't give a fuck how you have to do it, I want you to find that fucking bastard and turn him over to the FBI."

Lance slammed the phone into the cradle and raked a frustrated hand through his hair.

It had been three days since Marissa left him at the airport and he wasn't handling it well. All he wanted was to catch Sebastian Forcythe and win Marissa back. Difficult to do when she wasn't taking his calls.

He wanted to honor her wishes, but he couldn't stop thinking about the aftermath of their one therapy session.

His assistant buzzed him on the intercom. "I've got Jackson Fischer on the line for you, Sir."

He sighed and picked up the phone.

"Hanging up on me doesn't exactly make me want to help your cranky ass," the cowboy drawled.

"Bite me, Jax. Tell me what you can about Forcythe."

Jax laughed. "You hired me thirty minutes ago, man. Pretty sure you know more than I do. What proof do you have that he's the one attacking your systems?"

Lance sighed. "None. I can fucking plant some though."

"Dude. Not cool. We can do this the right way. You said he was Nicholas Sutton's cellmate. That's something. Let's start there. I know Holly paid him a visit, so I'll give her a call. We'll get this sorted. Will Marissa talk to me?"

Lance sighed. "I don't know. She doesn't want to talk to me, though."

"Tough spot," the man muttered. "You'll figure it out. In the meantime, just be patient."

Lance gave a short laugh. "You don't know me very well, do you?"

When Jax ended the call, Lance stood and stared out the window. He'd been looking forward to having Marissa here with him again. How had he fucked this up again?

On a whim, he picked up his phone and searched for the number for Dr. Hoffman and asked to speak directly to her.

It took some convincing, but he finally got the receptionist to patch him through.

"Mr. Moss, how are you?" the doctor said, sounding irritated.

"I'm wondering if I could make an appointment with you."

The woman was quiet. "You could have done that through my assistant. Why talk to me directly?"

"I fucked up with Marissa again."

The doctor gave a knowing, "ahh. I'm afraid I can't see you then, Mr. Moss. But I can recommend a good therapist for you if you ever decide to see one."

Lance scowled. "Why can't you talk to me?"

"Because I suspect you're just fishing for ways to win my client back and that's not the business I'm in. You'll have to figure that out on your own. I have my patient's well-being to think of, not to mention her privacy."

"And you think she would be better off without me?"

"Now you're putting words in my mouth. I really have to go, Mr. Moss. Let me just leave you with this. You probably know her better than you think you do, and the answer is right in front of you."

He scowled as the call ended. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

He paced his office and glanced at his watch. It was rush hour, it would take forever to get across town. But he had to try something. After their last therapy session, she'd been happy he came to see her. Did she want him to chase her again? He had no idea, but he knew he had to try.

Ninety minutes later, his driver pulled into her apartment complex parking lot. He strode to the door, still irritated that she lived here.

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