Page 12 of Unhinged

She tapped the button to save her notes from the previous session, then flicked a glance at him over her computer. “Hello, Andrew.”

From the doorway, Fiona propped a hand on her hip and let out an aggravated huff. “Dr. Whitmore, your three o’clock is here. I tried to tell Dr. Chandler that you were busy, but⁠—”

Andrew spoke over her, waving a hand dismissively at Fiona. “Please excuse us for a moment.”

Pink bloomed over Fiona’s dark brown cheeks, prompting Hannah to intervene. Swiveling her chair toward them, she stood. “Give us two minutes and then please send Mr. Pruitt in. Thank you, Fiona.”

She turned back to her friend with a frown. “You’re interfering with my business,” she chastised. “It’s nice of you to stop in, but I do have another session starting”—she checked her watch—“three minutes ago.”

Andrew heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I know, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw you on the news last night, you know.”

“Poor girl,” Hannah said, barely repressing a shudder. “It was just brutal.”

His brow furrowed. “How did you get involved?”

Hannah actively avoided his gaze. “After he killed her, he… called me from her phone.”

“He called you?” His voice was sharp, and her eyes flicked to his. “Good God, why?”

“You know how it is, Andrew. Killers occasionally reach out. They either want to be stopped or they want to be recognized, taunting the authorities for not being able to catch them.” She shrugged. “I told the police everything I know, but it’s up to them to decide how to proceed.”

His gaze turned speculative. “Did he say anything specific?”

Hannah froze, remembering the way the man had called her by name—her real name.

“Nothing of significance,” she lied. “I’m not entirely certain why he would call me specifically. Monique wasn’t a patient of mine, and I can’t recall ever meeting her.”

“And what about the killer?” he pressed. “Is it possible it’s someone you know?”

“Of course it’s a possibility, but the likelihood of that is slim. The only person with whom I’ve had an issue recently is Mr. Iverson—the man I referred to you.”

“I never did hear anything from him. What if it’s him?”

Hannah thought about the way they’d parted after his last appointment. Steve had been furious, but would he have killed a woman out of spite? “I don’t know, Andrew. I just don’t think it fits. That’s awfully fast to find and kill a victim, unless he either knew Monique or happened, by some miracle, to meet her that very same day or insinuate himself in her house.”

“But—”

Hannah waved away his concern. “I’m sure the police are looking into all the different leads. Something will turn up eventually.”

She truly hoped he would get the hint and drop it. The whole situation made her uneasy, and she was sick to death of talking about it. She’d never met Monique, and according to the police, the woman didn’t appear to have any enemies. It really made no sense, but then, murder was often emotional and messy, lacking any rational thought.

His eyes bored into hers, and she once again glanced away, pretending to absorb herself in her files. “You know, the offer to join practices still stands.”

Air rushed from her lungs on a soft sigh. “We’ve talked about this.”

He held up a hand. “Just think about it. Have dinner with me.”

“Andrew…”

“Okay, we don’t have to go out. I’ll stop over later and bring some takeout. Italian?” Before she could respond, he was already striding toward the door. “See you at seven.”

Hannah flopped back in her chair, rubbing her temples in a calming circular motion. He meant well, but sometimes Andrew could be so… overwhelming. He’d been a good friend during the past two years since they’d met, but the way he looked at her sometimes hinted that he was interested in far more than just friendship or a business partnership.

Fiona appeared in the doorway, a grim frown on her face, and Hannah knew she’d have to make up for Andrew’s rudeness. Short and stocky, Mr. Pruitt followed just behind, looking very uncomfortable for his first session.

Smoothing out her facial expression, Hannah greeted him with a serene smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pruitt. Please, make yourself at home.”

With a grateful look at Fiona, Hannah settled into a plush armchair. Turning her mind away from the murder, away from Andrew and her disgruntled receptionist, she focused on Mr. Pruitt and spent the next hour delving into his concerns over his sexuality.