Page 48 of The Bodyguard

Her mother’s standard operating procedures had turned Angela bitter and slightly paranoid. With that mood compounded by too little sleep and maybe too much coffee, she needed to ease up on the guy. Her stiff shoulders dropped. “Understood. Sorry.”

John nodded with professional understanding. “From what I gather, you’ve had a lot on your plate this week.”

“You can say that again.” She sipped the unneeded coffee. “How can I help? You’re interested in Mylene Hathaway?”

John pressed the top of the pen open and closed. “I want to talk to you about the day Pham’s associates took you.” He click-clicked the pen again. “Is it all right with you if we review the details?”

Angela wanted a pen that clicked too. They could communicate like dolphins and be just as capable of learning anything new. “That has pretty much been talked to death.”

He pressed the top of the pen with his thumb again. Click, click. “Humor me.”

She took a deep breath and recounted everything that she’d said before. This many years later, sharing her recollections of the abduction was robotic. She made sure to add details that hadn’t initially occurred to her years ago but that investigators always asked on follow-up. Weather? Sunny. Sounds? Normal parking lot sounds. Gut feelings or intuition about what was about to happen to her? Nonexistent.

After she wrapped up, Angela waited for the surefire follow-up questions meant to double-check her memories. But John Patterson reread his scant notes.

“Are you recording our conversation?” she asked.

“No, no.” He circled something on his notepad, click-clicked his pen, and laid both objects on the table, squaring them to the edge. “Besides, if I didn’t tell you I had been recording, the ethics on that…” He waggled his hand from side to side. “Not great.”

Angela snorted. Life with her mother had made her a little mistrustful about people in power and their ethics. “Didn’t look like you wrote much.”

“I didn’t.”

Her eyebrows arched.

“I’ve been studying Pham’s case for years.”

Now her stomach tightened. “You’re one of the Feds working on ways to infiltrate his network.”

John Patterson nodded. “And I’ve been told your thoughts on my work.”

Angela flushed. Had he heard her opinion on the ineptitude of the agents studying Pham? “Oh boy.”

“You’re not wrong.” He studied her. “When you said that I can only know as much as I can research, that’s true and infinitely less than someone like you who has lived it.”

Her cheeks warmed again. She nodded, not thrilled that someone had shared her thoughts on his job. Angela didn’t want to knock the man’s work now that he was in front of her. “Please don’t take what I said personally.”

John leaned against the back of the rolling chair and click-clicked his pen. “I didn’t, and you’re right. It’s one of the reasons I’m here, talking to you in person. I don’t want to miss a single detail. An eye tic. A quick intake of breath. My notes are basic and only serve to re-capture your thoughts on Pham, not analyze them.”

“Then what is it that you’re really interested in?”

“I want to analyze what you’re not saying, what you might not even realize you’re avoiding.”

“Well, then, the man you need to see is my therapist.”

“Your appointment this week had some fireworks.”

She snorted. “You can say that again.”

“You don’t seem scarred, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Angela paused, unsure how to explain that her scars were ugly, but they were hers. “I don’t know that anyone could go through everything that I have and not operate outside the lines of what’s expected.”

“Trauma affects everyone differently. Some overreact. A mouse farts, and they dive for cover. Others might slap the woman that had tried to kill them.”

Angela blushed. “I was upset. But, between Sawyer and Ibrahim, I was safe.”

“Ibrahim is a therapist who you regularly see?”

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