Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,85
. . I want to see him again.” She wished that she could read people the way Sarah did. That she could look at a killer and figure out all of his secrets.
But those were Sarah’s talents. Not hers.
“You can come with me, or I can go alone. But one way or another, I am going back to Worthington.” Because that was where their investigation had begun.
And she was convinced it was where it would end, too.
WADE DIDN’T LIKE this setup. Not at all.
They were back at Worthington University. Back in that pompous ass North’s office. He was seated behind his desk, his nose still swollen and his eyes now black. Yeah, that’s what happens when you get punched in the fucking face.
And just how convenient was it that the man who’d hit North . . . well, Jim Porter was now in the hospital, currently hooked up to a dozen tubes as he struggled to live.
“I understand that . . . Melissa was found.” Troy North’s voice had just the right degree of sadness. “I’m very sorry. The story was on the news and . . .” His gaze turned distant. “It’s horrible to realize that humans can commit such terrible crimes.”
“Yeah,” Wade muttered. “Really fucking horrible.”
North’s gaze became less distant as he focused on Wade once more. “Why did you come back here?” he asked.
“Because I needed to see you,” Victoria said.
At her words, he straightened.
Settle down, asshole.
North’s hands flattened on his desk. “What can I do?”
Wade cleared his throat. At the sound, North’s gaze jerked back toward him. That’s right. Eyes over here, jerkoff. If this guy was the killer . . . “You know Dr. Matthew Walker, don’t you?”
“Vaguely.” North lifted one hand, waved it a bit. “I’ve seen him at school functions. Around campus. I hardly know him well.” He leaned forward. “But I did hear about what happened. How the police thought he was involved in all that madness with Melissa Hastings.” The faint lines near his mouth tightened. “Terrible, terrible business.”
Wade slanted a fast glance toward Victoria, curious to see what she was thinking of this guy. But her gaze wasn’t on North. It was on the wall of diplomas behind him.
“You know so much about human psychology,” she murmured. “About what motivates people. What drives them . . .”
“Yes.” There was pride in that word. “I try to be a student of the human mind.”
Victoria’s attention slid back to him. “My friend, Sarah, is like you. She studies the mind. Only with Sarah, she likes to figure out what motivates killers. She’s not interested in the average person. It’s the monsters that call to Sarah.”
North licked his lips. “You mean Sarah Jacobs.”
Victoria inclined her head toward him. “So you do know the LOST group.”
“I—I did some research. After the first day when you were in my office.” His gaze darted between Victoria and Wade. “But most people in the profession know about Dr. Jacobs.” His laughter was high-pitched, nervous. “I mean, when the daughter of a serial killer becomes a profiler, people take note! What I wouldn’t give to look into her mind . . .”
A heavy silence followed his words. The really uncomfortable kind of silence.
Yeah, okay, this guy could be a killer. Not only is he pissing me off, but he is freaking me the hell out, too.
“I bet Sarah would enjoy looking into your mind,” Victoria said quietly.
A furrow deepened between North’s brows. “My mind?” He gave another light, nervous-sounding laugh. “Why would she? I’m quite dull, I assure you.”
Victoria shook her head. “I’m not so sure that you are.” Her gaze slid to the wall of diplomas behind him once more. “Why did you become a psychiatrist?”
He shrugged. “Because the mind fascinates me. People fascinate me. What they’ll do, their drives, their secrets . . .”
Wade wanted to drive his fist into the guy’s face. There was just something about the way he was looking at Victoria. Eyes the fuck over here, jerk. But this was why they had come here. Because Victoria wanted to get a read on this joker. Wade cleared his throat. “Do you know a lot about secrets?” he asked him.
The doctor hesitated. “I can usually read people pretty well.” His shoulders straightened and that arrogant air kept right on clinging to him. “You, for example, you’re an open book.”
Think again. “Am I?”
“Ex-cop,” North said, giving a deep nod, one that led with his chin, then took his whole head forward. “Probably got tired