Free Flawless by Heather Graham Page B

right. He’s not really a friend. He was a friend. Not anymore.”
    He looked down a moment, a slight smile curving his lips. “Care to explain?”
    She shrugged uncomfortably and looked away, but she told herself that was okay. Explaining an awkward divorce would make anyone uneasy.
    â€œGary Benton was—is—married to a close friend of mine. They’re going through a very nasty divorce. I went to see him to remind him that they were adults and that...” She felt herself stiffen, but she was so angry at Gary that she couldn’t help it. “She went out of town to give him space, and he locked her dogs in a crate and didn’t feed them or let them out the whole time.”
    â€œShe should have called animal control,” he said.
    â€œThe logical answer, of course, but she was too upset to think straight, and—” She paused and looked away again. “She went to the store and said some pretty awful things. I went to ask him to stop being so nasty and trying to upset her. But he wasn’t there and, well, you know what happened next.”
    He seemed to believe that. “Well, thank you again for your help,” he told her. “I’ll get you back to work.”
    â€œThanks,” she said.
    He rose. She kept sitting.
    He smiled at her. “I meant that literally. I’ll get you back to work.”
    â€œOh! Okay, thank you.”
    She stood quickly, dismayed to feel herself blushing.
    She felt his hand at the small of her back as he politely ushered her out.
    She told Millie goodbye and passed another half dozen men and women in well-tailored suits as they left the building, walking past the line where people were still lined up, chatting as they waited to pass through security.
    She noticed an interesting group waiting their turn. They weren’t in suits and didn’t look at all like members of the FBI.
    â€œWho are they?” she asked.
    â€œA teachers’ group,” he told her.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œThey’re going to take a class in keeping schools safe.”
    â€œI didn’t know the FBI offered anything like that.”
    He flashed her a smile. “We’re a friendly crowd, not the enemy,” he said.
    â€œI wasn’t suggesting that. I just never thought of the FBI as being so...open-door,” she told him. “Practically warm and cuddly.”
    â€œWell, that depends on who you are and what you’re up to,” he told her.
    A car was waiting for them. Double-parked again, she noticed. Craig Frasier seated her before walking around to slide into the driver’s seat himself.
    â€œIn a city full of very different crimes, I find this to be an especially interesting case,” he said as he drove.
    â€œI think it’s a terrifying case,” she said. “Men holding up jewelry stores and killing people, but making it look as if other people are the killers.”
    She realized from his expression, which had hardened as she spoke, that he was accustomed to dealing with people killing people. That had to be difficult. Then again, she had known when she took her job that she would be dealing with criminals whose behavior made her brothers’ previous escapades look like child’s play.
    â€œActually, I was referring to you,” he said.
    â€œMe?” She prayed there was no fear—or guilt—in her voice.
    â€œBartender by night, assistant crime fighter by day.”
    â€œI’m a psychologist, not a crime fighter.”
    â€œA therapist.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat sort of cases have you handled?”
    She took a breath and shrugged. “I haven’t been in the role that long—I’m pretty fresh out of school. But so far I’ve spoken with a woman regarding a competency hearing. And I was asked to speak separately with a husband and wife suspected in the death of their newborn. That one was very sad.”
    â€œLife can be sad,” he