: Chapter 15

“He agreed,” I say, sitting in Dr. Fletcher’s office. “I don’t think he was particularly happy about it, but he came around.”

Fletcher doesn’t bother trying to control her grin. I know she’s pleased about this opportunity opening up for me, but the way her eyes spark with amusement only confirms that she knows I’ve fucked Kaplan. She probably thinks I’ve persuaded him with sex. She would be wrong. I obtained his approval before I had sex with him again. I just gave him a cookie for it, that’s all.

I shift a little in my chair to ignite the delicious soreness left behind by our encounter. Fine, I gave myself a cookie too.

“Did he provide dates yet? Any information?”

“No, but he said he’ll confirm shortly and he’ll send a list of anything I need to bring.”

A whisper of a smirk passes across Fletcher’s lips before she manages to subdue it. Yes, she definitely knows. “Excellent,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll need to sign some confidentiality documents and submit to a background check. Are you comfortable with that?”

Fuck no. “Yes.”

“Great. I’ve already reached out to Dr. Li. He said he’ll provide a comprehensive list of equipment used in his analyses so we can ensure continuity with your interviews. He should have this to us by the end of the day. We’ll set up some time for training with him so you can learn how to use the devices.”

I already know he used the BIOPAC EDA 1000C Electrodermal Activity Amplifier to measure stress and emotional excitement, and the Meditech MD9015 Multiparameter Patient Monitor for vitals, including ECG, respiration, and blood pressure. I bought them weeks ago so I could familiarize myself with the equipment. But I don’t have to tell Fletcher that. “Great, thank you.”

Dr. Fletcher leans back in her chair and regards me for a long moment with a gentle smile. “I’m glad this has worked out, Bria.”

“It will be a great opportunity for my research. Thank you for helping to push it forward.”

Fletcher shrugs. “I didn’t do much. Kaplan just needed a little nudge. He was worried about your safety, primarily.”

My head tilts. I think we both know it wasn’t his primary concern, but it’s interesting news nonetheless. “Why?”

“There are powerful people involved, and you never know if they might want to target those connected to the case. But this is the career path you chose. The risk to your safety is low, but if you want to change your mind, no one would blame you, least of all Kaplan. I’m sure he’d be relieved, quite frankly.”

I smile. I would like to see Caron Berger try. If only he would step into my web so boldly. “I’ll be fine,” I say with confidence. “Like you said, it’s the career I chose, and I understand it comes with risks. While I enjoy academic life, I might want to pursue other avenues once my doctorate is complete.” Like, I don’t know…revisiting my search for Donald Soversky Sr. and drinking margaritas from his bleached skull.

Dr. Fletcher’s eyes narrow as she assesses me with a smile I can’t really understand. It has a nuance that eludes me. “What were you thinking about just now?”

“A beach holiday.”

Fletcher laughs almost as though she’s relieved, and I resolve to be more vigilant with my expressions in her presence. She leans back in her chair and seems more at ease as she swivels from side to side. I try to mimic her posture and settle further into my seat, but it feels performative and unnatural.

“What lured you to the profession of forensic psychology anyway?” Fletcher asks, her voice a hint too smooth and polished. I suddenly feel like I’m not the only one performing.

Tread carefully, I hear Samuel’s guiding whisper in my head.

“Memories,” I answer with a faintly wistful smile. “At first, I wanted to know more about how they were made and forgotten. My interest evolved as my studies progressed. Eventually, I wanted to understand how they could be measured more reliably to determine their accuracy in criminal cases. And I need to know how we can ask better questions or deliver interviews in a way that will help witnesses to remember their experiences more vividly, with less noise.”

“You need to know,” Fletcher echoes. “Sounds like your interest is not just a career, but a vocation.”

I huff a bemused laugh. “Absent of the religious connotation, I suppose it is. I have an…unusual memory, so I guess I’m uniquely qualified.” Fletcher’s head tilts and her brows pull together in a silent request for me to elaborate. “I’m what my uncle Samuel likes to call an ‘accidental mnemonist.’ I developed the method of loci without knowing what it was when I was a child. I made a memory palace from my community. When I came to live with Samuel, he realized what I was doing and helped me hone my ability.”

Fletcher smiles as though a unicorn just walked through her door and shit a rainbow on her desk. “Seriously?”

I nod and smile. This is more information than I like to give, but it’s like a “get out of jail free” card. Not only does it explain away any of my inherent weirdness, it’s gold dust to someone like Fletcher who specializes in the field.

“I won’t ask if I can test your memory, but you know I want to,” Fletcher says with a sly grin.

“Yes, of course. Perhaps after the interviews are done?” I offer, rising from my chair and pulling the strap of my bag up my shoulder.

“That would be great,” Fletcher replies. “I’m glad it worked out with those interviews. I have full confidence in you, Bria.”

I give her the warmest smile I can manage despite loathing the idea of sitting for memory tests like a lab rat. “Thank you,” I say before heading to the door.

“Oh, and Bria?” she says just before I pass over the threshold. I turn and raise an eyebrow in question. “Try to keep Kap in one piece, okay?”

Heat rises to my cheeks as Fletcher smiles and looks down at her papers. I leave without another word.

Well. That didn’t take long to get around. Not that I think Fletcher will send the information through the campus that Kaplan and I have hooked up. She’s not the type. I can’t say I care too much anyway. My work is strong enough to stand on its own, and if I had to, I could always transfer. It wouldn’t be convenient, but I could manage. Besides, it’s not like Kaplan’s my advisor. He doesn’t teach any of my classes. I’m not his TA. He won’t even be here in four months. If anything, it would probably do my cover some good to be romantically associated with him. I wouldn’t look like so much of a recluse. But I already know he would care. He doesn’t like the idea of tarnishing his polished surface, no matter how much he wants to break the rules when no one is looking.

Which will make it even more fun to push him.

I’m imagining my plans for our next encounter when there’s a buzz in my pocket. It’s my burner phone. I’ve been checking it multiple times a day, but it’s taken ages for Cynthia Nordstrom to finally contact me. My heart rate spikes with excitement from seeing her name on the screen.

Electricity hums in my veins. I notice no location is listed yet, which doesn’t surprise me. Cynthia Nordstrom is no fool. She’s careful with her details, and she won’t send anything until I bite. With enthusiasm.

As soon as I send the message, I see her typing a response. I stop and lean against the brick wall of the hallway, waiting for her reply.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. If I’m lucky, I might be able to stick a tracker on her and figure out where she lives, which seems to be a tricky thing to nail down. Cynthia doesn’t tend to stay in one place for long, constantly darting between cities near the various Legio Agni remote compounds, presumably staying close to Berger. If I can get to her now, I might be able to flush Berger out of hiding.

My watch dings with a message from my primary phone, and I switch devices, pocketing the burner.

A grin pulls at my lips. My heart trips a beat with suspicion of who it might be. I quickly add the name into as a new contact into my phone before typing my reply.

It takes me a moment to realize I’ve been smiling down at my phone like an idiot. I put in my AirPods and bring up a playlist I made the other day against my better judgment. Tweed Academia. I press play on “Deep End” before responding.

I don’t know why, but my heartbeat doubles in rhythm and my face feels too hot while I watch those three dots bouncing on my screen as Kaplan taps out his reply.

I reread that message before sliding my phone into my pocket, pushing away from the wall. My smile might be controlled on the surface, but the heat of it explodes in my chest.

I guess I’m not the only one who’s right today.