Page 51 of Tainted Tempos

Nodding, I grip my glass of water and enter her office.

Then, I place my purse on the floor, sink into a comfortable chair, and take a deep breath.

I got this. I can do it. Everything is going to be fine.

And it is. Dr. Talia is understanding and patient. She asks specific questions and lets me answer with no interruptions. My hour with her passes quickly, and when I leave, I feel better. Lighter. I even have two more appointments scheduled for the following week.

I practically float from her office, filled with a sense of pride. Except when I enter the parking lot, the back of my neck tingles, and a sour taste explodes on my tongue.

I glance around nervously, feeling like I’m being watched.

Hurrying to my car, I keep my key jammed between my fingers in case I need to brandish it as a weapon.

No one jumps out at me, and I slide behind the wheel, locking the doors.

My heart rate quickens, and my temples throb.

I start my car and study the parking lot intently. A guy ducks into a car three spots down, and I narrow my eyes, knowing I’ve seen him before.

But where?

Campus. The quad. He was playing frisbee. Or reading a book?

I squint to recall the hazy memory. But I know I’ve seen him before.

Why the hell is he here?

He could be going to therapy, too,my rational brain thinks.

Or he could be following me, my panic replies.

My stomach tightens, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs.

What if I’m being followed?

Nausea crawls up my ribs and clogs the base of my throat.

What if Bran is having me followed?

Or worse, stalking me?

FOURTEEN

MAV

“You gotta havesomething else on him,” I tell Bart, the private investigator Aiden hooked me up with.

Bart’s silence travels through the line, and I fight the urge to swear.

My temples pound, and my eyes burn. I’ve been poring over the file Bart emailed me for hours, and there’s...nothing.

“There’s gotta be more,” I repeat.

“This is everything,” Bart replies, his tone less sympathetic than it was forty minutes ago.

Fuck. I lean back in my chair and scrub a hand over my face. Bart’s frustrated, and I don’t blame him. We’ve been at this for days, and the truth is, we haven’t dug up anything that will ruin Bran’s reputation or life.

A fact I’m unwilling to accept.

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