Washington, D.C.

Dr. Gwen Patterson tried not to stare at Rubin Nash’s hands. He sipped from the glass of water she had offered him and set it aside, not letting it slow him down as he continued on and on about his mother’s best friend taking his virginity when he was fifteen. It was one more thing he felt a woman had taken from him. First, his mother had taken away his father, now her friend had taken away his virginity. Yet, that revelation seemed secondary to him. Instead, he wanted to share the illicit details, trying to be as graphic as possible. Perhaps he wanted to shock her, or at least get some reaction from her. There were few, if any, sexual deviances and perversions, let alone words or phrases, that could shock her. Besides he sounded too proud of his teenage prowess. The incident had certainly influenced him and shaped his attitudes about sex and women. However, would it have affected him enough to make him a murderer?

His hands were large but the fingers stubby. How much strength was needed to squeeze the life out of someone? Gwen wished she had turned off the air-conditioning in her office, forcing him to roll up his shirtsleeves. Were there scratches on his arms? Why else would he wear long sleeves on a hot July day?

Gwen studied his face. The cut on his lower jaw was probably a shaving nick. His open-collared shirt allowed a censored view of his neck. A person who was being choked or strangled would fight back. She would claw and scratch and punch. Unless he caught her off guard. Rubin had wondered what it would feel like to twist someone’s neck and hear it snap.

She would need to find out from Maggie how the victims were killed. Maybe she was way off base suspecting one of her patients as the killer.

“Isn’t that right, Dr. Patterson?” she heard Rubin ask and realized she had drifted too far.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Why older women fuck young boys? It’s not just a control thing. It’s because they want to be adored. Isn’t that what they really want?”

“Did you adore her?”

He looked away before she could see the answer in his eyes. He wasn’t prepared for her to turn it around on him. Was it embarrassment or guilt he was trying to hide? The question had definitely surprised him.

“A good place for us to pick up next time,” he told her, reversing their roles with a glance at his wristwatch. “I’ll try not to be so crude next time,” he added with a smile—almost a smirk—that instead of a promise was more a revelation of how proud he was of today’s performance.

“That’s your choice,” Gwen told him, standing at the same time he did, never allowing her patients to tower over her. “Just keep that in mind, Rubin. Everything you do is ultimately your choice.”

This time his eyes met hers, dark gray eyes that reminded Gwen of a wolf’s. He held her gaze, then dropped his eyes to the front of her blouse and his smile resumed. It was a habit she was familiar with. His way of intimidating her when she dared get too close, too much on target. And to remind her that to him every woman was—what was that phrase he used—” a potential sexual conquest.”

“Until next time,” he said and turned to leave.

She waited for the door to close behind him before she began her frenzied note-taking, recording anything and everything she had observed whether or not she deemed it important at this time. There would eventually be some clue. Perhaps something Maggie discovered at the autopsy would shed new light on Gwen’s observations. She started the sixth page on her legal pad when her assistant buzzed her with her next patient.

Gwen ripped the pages from the notepad and shoved them into a file folder, but her mind was still racing. Still preoccupied with Rubin Nash when James Campion walked in.

“Hello, Dr. Patterson.”

“James.” She pointed for him to take a seat, but already knew he’d wait until she sat, ever the polite gentleman, a stunning contrast to Nash. He told her early on that the nuns at Blessed Sacrament had done an excellent job of drilling into him good manners and respect despite their failing him in other ways.

Gwen sat, nodding for him to do the same. His long legs stretched out and then crossed at the ankles. It was the most he allowed himself in an attempt to relax.

Today more than ever—probably because she had been focused on Nash’s physical traits—Gwen noticed the sharp contrast between the two men. Also she had never seen the two patients in back-to-back sessions until today, accommodating Rubin’s new travel schedule. For as cocky and boisterous as Rubin Nash was, James Campion was the direct opposite, introverted and self-conscious. Even James’s long-sleeved shirt could easily be explained away as an embarrassed attempt at hiding the hesitation marks on his wrists. She had noticed them during their very first session, long before he had confessed that sometimes he thought about suicide.

And instead of bragging about his sexual escapades or rather dysfunctions, or when discussing the sexual mistreatments of his childhood, James seemed almost shy and remorseful, especially when talking about the abuses he had suffered at the hands of a Catholic priest he had admired and trusted. Both Nash and Campion had been two teenage boys taken advantage of by adults they had trusted. But that’s where the similarities ended.

Gwen sat back, feeling her shoulders relax, only now realizing how close to the edge Rubin Nash was able to put her. She watched James cross his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits before deciding to uncross them again and leave his hands in his lap. His handsome, boyish face seemed almost soulful, his eyes attentive but patient as if waiting for her permission to begin.

No matter how long it took, Gwen felt certain she could help James Campion. Rubin Nash, she wasn’t sure about.