bottle on the antique side table, and opened her suitcase. She shoved her stuff into a couple of drawers and tucked the bag under the bed. Cosmetic bag in hand, she shuffled to the bathroom and tossed it onto the counter. "Cosmetic bag" was a misnomer in her case. She didn't wear unnecessary cosmetics. Deodorant, Chapstick, toothbrush and paste, and hairbrush were all she packed.
Finishing her wine, she kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed. It was early still but she was tired. She needed to think, to review the research she'd done before she crashed for the night.
Tomorrow she would get started with the interviews. That was when she would really make friends. She would be watching for that compassion Conner spoke of.
The buzz of her cell phone vibrating reminded her that she hadn't called her editor. Tae Green would be pissed. She rolled off the bed and dug for her phone in her coat pocket.
"Newton," she answered without checking the number first as she usually did.
"Sarah, you missed your appointment today."
Big mistake.
"Sorry about that, Doc. I had an unexpected assignment. I completely forgot the appointment." Shit. Dr. Ballantine. Her shrink. She would never get off the phone without answering endless, probing questions.
"You know our deal, Sarah. You can miss one appointment but if you miss two, we have the session by phone. Is now good for you?"
Sarah fell back onto the bed. Damn it. Damn her editor. This was his fault. She'd had that little meltdown a couple of years ago and he'd blackmailed her into therapy. One session per week or no field assignments. Even worse, he kept Ballantine abreast of Sarah's assignments—just to ensure she wasn't working too hard or going against the doc's orders.
Damn it.
"Sure." She made a face. "Now's fine."
"Excellent."
The sound of a page turning told Sarah the doc was preparing to take notes. At least she wasn't recording it. Sarah hated recorded sessions. What if someone broke into the doc's office and stole the tapes or the notes? The dirt-bag killer here in Youngstown wasn't the only one with secrets.
Sarah would just as soon hers stayed where they belonged. In the past.
"How have you been sleeping?"
"Great." Lie one.
"Good. Any dreams or nightmares that wake you or unsettle you?"
"Nope." Lie two. She usually made it all the way to four before Dr. Ballantine called her on her lack of cooperation.
"Any night sweats or headaches?"
"Nada." Three. Sarah reached up and righted the painting of the harbor hanging over her bed.
"Have you been taking your medication?"
"Absolutely." Four.
"When did you last eat?"
Hey, this was going pretty damned good. Maybe she should do this over the phone more often. "About two hours ago. This hot guy took me to a cozy restaurant right on the water. It was nice." Five. Six.
Damn, she was on a roll.
"I'm impressed, Sarah."
She was, too. "I try, Doc."
"Now." Paper rustled as Dr. Ballantine flipped to a new page in her notepad. "Let's start from the beginning once more. This time I'd like the truth."
Sarah rolled her eyes. Fooling Ballantine had been wishful thinking. "Shitty. Yes. Yes. No. And I can't remember."
"I see."
Honesty was never the best policy when it came to shrinks.
At least not for Sarah.
"So, you're not sleeping. You're experiencing those same nightmares. You're having night sweats and headaches. Not taking your medicine. And you haven't eaten today."
"I had coffee and wine. Does that count?"
"Sarah."
She sat up and opened the drawer on the bedside table. A room service menu mocked her. "You know I hate to eat at these places. They could poison me."
"Paranoid already? You haven't even been there twenty-four hours. Doesn't it usually take forty-eight?"
There was nothing worse than a shrink who knew every about you. "Okay. I'll eat. Then I'll take my medicine and go to sleep. I won't dream or sweat or any of that other shit. Okay?"
"I wish I could trust you to do exactly that." Dead air pulsed
Finishing her wine, she kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed. It was early still but she was tired. She needed to think, to review the research she'd done before she crashed for the night.
Tomorrow she would get started with the interviews. That was when she would really make friends. She would be watching for that compassion Conner spoke of.
The buzz of her cell phone vibrating reminded her that she hadn't called her editor. Tae Green would be pissed. She rolled off the bed and dug for her phone in her coat pocket.
"Newton," she answered without checking the number first as she usually did.
"Sarah, you missed your appointment today."
Big mistake.
"Sorry about that, Doc. I had an unexpected assignment. I completely forgot the appointment." Shit. Dr. Ballantine. Her shrink. She would never get off the phone without answering endless, probing questions.
"You know our deal, Sarah. You can miss one appointment but if you miss two, we have the session by phone. Is now good for you?"
Sarah fell back onto the bed. Damn it. Damn her editor. This was his fault. She'd had that little meltdown a couple of years ago and he'd blackmailed her into therapy. One session per week or no field assignments. Even worse, he kept Ballantine abreast of Sarah's assignments—just to ensure she wasn't working too hard or going against the doc's orders.
Damn it.
"Sure." She made a face. "Now's fine."
"Excellent."
The sound of a page turning told Sarah the doc was preparing to take notes. At least she wasn't recording it. Sarah hated recorded sessions. What if someone broke into the doc's office and stole the tapes or the notes? The dirt-bag killer here in Youngstown wasn't the only one with secrets.
Sarah would just as soon hers stayed where they belonged. In the past.
"How have you been sleeping?"
"Great." Lie one.
"Good. Any dreams or nightmares that wake you or unsettle you?"
"Nope." Lie two. She usually made it all the way to four before Dr. Ballantine called her on her lack of cooperation.
"Any night sweats or headaches?"
"Nada." Three. Sarah reached up and righted the painting of the harbor hanging over her bed.
"Have you been taking your medication?"
"Absolutely." Four.
"When did you last eat?"
Hey, this was going pretty damned good. Maybe she should do this over the phone more often. "About two hours ago. This hot guy took me to a cozy restaurant right on the water. It was nice." Five. Six.
Damn, she was on a roll.
"I'm impressed, Sarah."
She was, too. "I try, Doc."
"Now." Paper rustled as Dr. Ballantine flipped to a new page in her notepad. "Let's start from the beginning once more. This time I'd like the truth."
Sarah rolled her eyes. Fooling Ballantine had been wishful thinking. "Shitty. Yes. Yes. No. And I can't remember."
"I see."
Honesty was never the best policy when it came to shrinks.
At least not for Sarah.
"So, you're not sleeping. You're experiencing those same nightmares. You're having night sweats and headaches. Not taking your medicine. And you haven't eaten today."
"I had coffee and wine. Does that count?"
"Sarah."
She sat up and opened the drawer on the bedside table. A room service menu mocked her. "You know I hate to eat at these places. They could poison me."
"Paranoid already? You haven't even been there twenty-four hours. Doesn't it usually take forty-eight?"
There was nothing worse than a shrink who knew every about you. "Okay. I'll eat. Then I'll take my medicine and go to sleep. I won't dream or sweat or any of that other shit. Okay?"
"I wish I could trust you to do exactly that." Dead air pulsed
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