Nowhere Certain (A Harley Cole FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 7), page 12
“Why’s that?” Cole asked, puzzled.
“He can be very…cryptic. You may have to listen to his words more than once to understand the meaning behind them.”
Cole thought that the therapist’s cryptic way of communicating might have rubbed off a little on Mrs. Bond, but she did not say so. Instead she smiled and said, “Thank you. We’ll do that.”
“Drive safely, now,” Callaway said.
Nodding, turning, Mrs. Bond opened the door, unleashing a barrage of canine howls, and then shuffled out into the hallway, leaving the door ajar behind her.
Cole looked thoughtfully at Callaway. “Didn’t Newbury say something about Alison Young being estranged from her parents?” she asked.
Callaway nodded. “I think so, why?”
“Maybe she was in therapy for it. I’m not sure what it would have to do with climbing a cliff, but this Bishop Raine character could be using the cliffs as a cure-all of sorts.”
“If you can face this fear,” Callaway said in a tone of mock optimism, “you can face anything.”
Cole nodded. “Precisely. Maybe, though, our victims weren’t as easily convinced as he had hoped, so he kept pushing and pushing.”
“Right up until he was pushing them off a cliff.”
Cole stared into Callaway’s eyes, sensing he felt the same growing excitement she did. Finally, they had a theory that made some sense.
Then Callaway’s eyebrows pulled together. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“We don’t even know if the other two saw Bishop Raine. Victoria might’ve been the only one.”
Cole pulled out her car keys and smiled. “Then we’d better go ask him, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cole watched the lighted numbers with impatience as the elevator rose, carrying her and Callaway to the fourth floor where Fear-Free Living, the private office of Dr. Bishop Raine, was located.
She kept thinking about Callaway’s remark that they did not know how many others the killer might be extorting, and she sensed it was only a matter of time before he brought his next victim out to La Majestad.
Keep your cool, she reminded herself. You won’t do any good barging in and making a scene.
A strange smell, perhaps the leftover cologne of a previous elevator denizen, lingered in the air as the elevator doors opened, revealing a carpeted lobby lined with several doors. A plaque beside one of these doors read “FEAR-FREE LIVING,” so Cole opened it and stepped inside.
The waiting area was a square room crowded with people sitting in plastic chairs, the youngest a teenager with blue hair hanging in front of her eyes and the oldest an elderly, liver-spotted man with a pot belly.
One of these, a middle-aged man whose upper half was slouched over the finance magazine he was restlessly paging through, glanced up and tried to smile at the two agents. There was a haunted look in his eyes, the kind that told Cole he had a secret he didn’t want anyone to find out.
In a different context, the look might have made Cole suspicious. In the lobby of an office that advertised freedom from fear, however, it was only logical to expect to find people with things to hide.
The two agents moved to the front desk, where a secretary was scribbling on a sticky note. Despite her youthful face, there were streaks of gray in her black hair, making it difficult to peg her actual age. The name on her personalized mug read “JANET.”
Janet dropped the pen, which struck the sticky note and rolled five or six inches across the desk. She looked up, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a practiced smile.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“No,” Cole answered, her gaze flicking to the door to the right of the secretary, the one behind which Bishop Raine was presumably counseling a client. A small fan was turning close to the door, probably there to create white noise more than to cool anyone down, since the rooms were already a pleasant seventy-four degrees or so.
Undeterred, Janet plucked a form off the desk and slid it toward Cole. “If you’ll just fill this out,” she said, “we’ll get you in at the soonest opportunity.” She smiled, revealing teeth so white and straight that Cole couldn’t help thinking the secretary must have had work done on them.
“Actually, that’s not why we’re here,” Cole said, showing her badge. “We’re federal agents. We’d like to speak with Dr. Raine.”
To Cole’s surprise, Janet merely nodded, taking this information in stride. “I will be sure to inform Dr. Raine at the end of his current session. We may be able to fit you in today if we have any cancellations, but as you can see, we’re quite busy.” She smiled, showing those perfect teeth again.
Cole considered explaining the importance of their visit, but she could not do so without mentioning the murder investigation, which she was reluctant to do. If Dr. Raine was their killer, his secretary might tip him off, and then he might run or even take a hostage. Cole wanted to keep the situation under control, and that meant controlling the transfer of information.
She smiled back at Janet, trying not to let her dissatisfaction show. “And when will his current session end?”
“Should be within the next five or six minutes. Sometimes he runs a little late with a client, but when his schedule is this full, he’s usually careful to end on the hour.”
“Then we’ll find a couple seats and wait,” Cole said, smiling again before turning back toward the rest of the waiting room. She took a few steps, then paused, unable to find a pair of empty seats.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Callaway said to an elderly woman flanked by her purse on one side and a magazine on the other. “Would you mind shifting over a seat so my partner and I can sit together?”
“Partner, huh?” the old woman said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Don’t have the stomach to make it official yet?”
“Something like that,” Callaway said, choosing not to disabuse this woman of the notion that the two agents’ involvement was romantic rather than professional. With an amused grunt, the old woman picked up her purse and scooted over.
As Cole sat down, she found herself studying the faces of the people around her. What secrets did they carry? What fears did they struggle to overcome?
Years ago, after applying to join the Bureau, she had undergone a psychiatric evaluation, during which she had confessed that her greatest fear was discovering Kelly had been alive and suffering for years, meaning Cole had been unable to save her. Discovering Kelly was still alive, of course, was also her greatest hope, and she lived every day within this paradox, both wanting to find Kelly and fearing what Kelly might have suffered through.
Would I be a different person if I had stayed in counseling all this time? she wondered. Would I have learned to make peace with the past—to “move on” and “live my own life?”
She was still musing over this possibility when Callaway leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “I have to admit, I was expecting this to be a ghost town.”
“Why’s that?” she asked, only half-listening. She felt the eyes of the other patients on her, no doubt as they wondered what two federal agents were doing there.
“What Mrs. Bond said about ‘extreme measures.’ Got the impression this doctor don’t quit…and not everyone admires that level of determination. Some people just want a sympathetic ear—they don’t want to do whatever it takes to change.”
“I have a feeling that might not fly with Dr. Raine,” Cole said, her eyes shifting as the door to the doctor’s meeting room opened and a lanky young man with tattoo sleeves and gauges in his ears walked out, running his hand thoughtfully through his hair as he exited the room. Cole waited for Dr. Raine to poke his head out, but nobody emerged. Instead, Janet left her seat and stepped through the open door, closing it most of the way behind her. Even above the rustling of magazines around her, Cole could hear the low murmur of conversation.
“Think he’ll let us in?” Callaway asked.
“Depends on whether he’s got anything to hide,” Cole said.
Even if Dr. Raine was concerned about interrupting his patients’ appointments, he had to understand that having two federal agents in his waiting room was a bad look. The sooner he got rid of them, the sooner he could return to business as usual.
Finally Janet returned, her eyebrows knitted together in a thoughtful frown as she pulled the door shut behind her. Curious to hear what was going on, Cole rose and approached the front desk.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“He’ll be with you shortly,” Janet said with that practiced smile. “Just give him a few minutes to finish organizing his notes from the last session.”
Cole nodded and leaned her hip against the desk, her eyes stealing to the clock on the wall. Beside her, the secretary clattered away at her keyboard, lost in her own little world.
“What are we waiting for?” Callaway murmured as he joined her. “Is he going to talk or not?”
“Just needs a few minutes to organize his notes,” Cole said. Even as she spoke the words, however, something clicked in her mind. Her eyes widened, and the rueful, knowing look in Callaway’s eyes told her she wasn’t the only one sensing something was wrong.
She spun around toward Janet. “There isn’t another exit from Dr. Raine’s office, is there?” she asked. “No other way to get to the stairs or elevators?”
The secretary shook her head. “Just the fire escape, in case of emergency.”
Janet had hardly finished speaking before Cole rushed around the desk, heading for the doctor’s office. “You can’t go in there!” Janet said with alarm as she rose from her seat, but Callaway held a hand toward her, cautioning her to stay back.
Cole grabbed the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn.
“It’s locked!” she said, dread beginning to pool inside her at the thought that they might have just let Dr. Raine escape. She turned to the secretary. “Do you have a key?”
Frowning worriedly, as if she didn’t know which course of action was least likely to get her in trouble, Janet opened one of the drawers of her desk and produced a bundle of keys, which she began sorting through. “It’s in here somewhere,” she said, examining the keys one by one.
“No time,” Callaway said. Taking a step back, he kicked the door hard just above the lock. There was a splintering sound, followed by a gasp from several of the onlooking patients, and then Callaway kicked the door again and it flew open, rebounding against the wall and returning halfway.
The open door revealed a carpeted room tastefully decorated with several pieces of abstract art. Massive windows, trimmed with thick curtains, lent a glow of golden daylight to a space occupied by little other than a few chairs and a couch, everything as neatly arranged as if it were the set of a movie.
Cole started across the room while Callaway moved toward a door on the left, which appeared to lead to a bathroom. A moment later, Cole heard his muffled voice shout “Clear!”
Cole’s attention, however, was on one of the curtains at the end, which was shifting restlessly as a warm wind drifted through the office. Hurrying forward, she pushed back the edge of the curtain to discover an open window leading to a fire escape. She heard the rattling of footsteps on metal and, looking down, she saw a figure hurrying a few stories below her. He paused to look up, and their eyes met.
“FBI!” she shouted. “Stop where you are!”
In answer, Dr. Raine went on running.
Cursing, Cole climbed out the window and began racing down the stairs of the fire escape. A moment later she heard a metallic thump overhead as Callaway followed her.
Adrenaline fueled Cole as she ran, jumping the last few steps to the next landing and pulling herself along by the railing as she circled around to the next set of stairs. Glancing down, she could see that Dr. Raine was nearly at ground level. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to lose him.
“Stop where you are!” she shouted again, nearly breathless now. Her words, however, had no effect. As she neared the bottom of the second set of stairs, she launched herself forward, landing in a crouch and rolling into the railing at the end. She rose, grimacing at the pain in her shoulder, and glanced down.
She had made up for lost time, but even so, Dr. Raine had just reached ground level and was racing down the alley. If Cole did not find a shortcut, he would reach the end of that alley, turn left or right, and disappear, and there was no telling whether she would ever see him again.
Determined to prevent that from happening, Cole took a quick survey of her surroundings before spotting the dumpster close by. She was only one story above it, and judging from the pile of black trash bags heaped inside, she thought there was a decent chance it could cushion her fall.
Only one way to find out, she thought grimly as she climbed on the rail.
“Harley!” she heard Callaway shout from above her. “Just wait a—”
But Cole did not wait. She jumped, leaping forward and landing leg-first in the heap of trash. She rolled, chunks of broken drywall digging into her side, and then she pulled herself over the edge of the dumpster and hit the ground running. She paid as little attention to the pain in her side as she had to the ache in her shoulder. There was nothing on her mind except the short, brown-suited man ahead of her, racing down the alley in his loafers.
Stride by stride, Cole closed the distance. She could tell by the doctor’s sluggish movements that he was flagging, and this caused her to push herself even harder, using every last ounce of her strength.
Dr. Raine reached the corner and disappeared around the side. Less than five seconds later, Cole reached the same spot. As she exited the alley, she found herself on a wide, busy street, beyond which stood the entrance to an underground subway station.
Dr. Raine’s strategy, it seemed, was to get to the subway and lose the two agents in the crowds below. And it just might work—if he got there.
“Stop!” Cole shouted again, her legs burning. Even though she was closing the distance, she knew there was a good chance Dr. Raine would reach the subway before she could stop him. And what then? Would he slip away in the crowd?
Dr. Raine looked over his shoulder, his eyes wild with fear—and so he failed to notice the hotdog cart with a sign reading “100% ALL BEEF” trundling down the street until it was too late. He collided with the side of the cart and collapsed to the ground, landing on his back, his eyes open with a look of shock.
Cole stopped beside him and leaned on her knees, panting. “Dr. Bishop Raine,” she said, “I think we need to have a talk.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cole handed the ice pack to Dr. Raine, who winced and took a hissing breath as he pressed it to the side of his head.
“No pain, no gain, eh, doc?” Callaway said, clearly unsympathetic to the doctor’s injuries, given what he had put them through. He lifted his Stetson off his head and ran a hand through his hair, which was dark with sweat.
For Cole’s part, she felt certain she had a good-sized bruise on her shoulder and a few smaller ones on her side, but otherwise she had suffered little harm. She was not particularly concerned with her own ailments at the moment, though. Her gaze was on Dr. Raine, studying his every facial movement, his every gesture.
The doctor didn’t look like much of a wilderness enthusiast. Then again, there was no evidence the killer had done any climbing himself. He may simply have hiked to the Twins with the victims—something that Dr. Raine, judging by his recent escape attempt, would be more than capable of doing.
They continued across the street and found a bench at the park on the far side. Dr. Raine sat on it, while the two agents stood in front of him, one on either side, blocking him in case he should try to escape again. Cole didn’t think he was foolish enough to make that mistake twice, but she didn’t want to tempt him either. She didn’t have the energy for another foot race.
Dr. Raine pulled back the cloth pressed to the side of his head and grimaced at the spot of blood. “I’m going to be feeling that one for a while,” he said.
“You ran out into traffic,” Cole said. “You’re lucky to escape with only a bump on the head. Why did you run, anyway? Where were you going?”
The doctor peered up at her, looking genuinely puzzled. “Why would I answer that question without a lawyer present?”
“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Callaway suggested.
“Dr. Raine,” Cole said, choosing her words carefully, “you have to understand how bad this looks for you. We came to your office to speak with you, and before we even had a chance to say what it was about, you took off.”
“Maybe I forgot to file my taxes.”
“Then you’ll be relieved to know we’re not really interested in your taxes.”
“Oh? What are you interested in, then?”
Cole studied him. It was clear from his speech as well as from his profession that he was a clever, careful man, which made his flight all the more puzzling. She didn’t want to bail him out by telling him about the murders. She wanted him to slip up first.
“You practice exposure therapy, correct?” she asked.
Dr. Raine nodded. “That’s right.”
“What does that usually look like?”
Dr. Raine frowned, watching as a couple jogged by, pushing a stroller. “Well,” he said, “it’s about confronting one’s fears, facing the danger – perceived or real – head-on. Usually, by the time people come to me, they’re desperate. They have tried their own methods, tried things they read about online or heard from friends, but nothing works.”
“And you help them face their fears, is that it?”
“I hold them accountable, yes.”
The word “accountable” caught Cole’s interest. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means I make sure they don’t back down. They come to me to help them overcome their fears—a fear of swimming, heights, social engagements, stoplights, of any manner of things. It’s to be expected that, when presented with the idea of confronting those fears, there’s a good chance they will lose their nerve.”
