Phobia KDP by C.A. Shives Page A

an undefined shadow. “It’s possible Lochhead is the killer,” he said. “On one hand, he’d have to be incredibly stupid to murder his own patient, especially given the nature of this crime. Amanda’s phobia, although commonly known, was still something that would point directly at him. On the other hand, he is a smug bastard. It’s possible he thinks he’s smarter than us, and his superior intellect will keep him squeaky clean.”
    “How intelligent is he?” Tucker asked.
    “Not very,” Saxon mumbled.
    Herne shrugged. “We only spoke for a few minutes, but I’d say above average. Probably not Mensa material, though. He’s got a serious ego and a thing for the ladies. He spends a lot of money on his image, and he likes his women young and sexy. I don’t think he’s married, and it’s unlikely he’s even in a serious relationship. He’s hiding something, too. Something personal. He’s hiding something about himself from the world.”
    Saxon turned to Herne with one eyebrow raised. “I find it hard to believe you got all that from our one meeting.”
    Herne met her eyes. “I did.”
    Tucker reached for the file of papers as Herne excused himself. He walked down the hall to the bathroom as Saxon said to Tucker, “What’s his deal?”
    Herne paused at the bathroom door, curious to hear his friend’s response.
    Tucker’s voice growled. “What do you mean?”
    “He acts like he’s in pain all the time.”
    “He is in pain,” Tucker said. “He didn’t want this case.”
    “Then why did he agree to be a consultant?”
    “He did it as a favor. For me. I asked him because Art has a way of understanding people. He gets into their heads and feels what they feel. He identifies with the victim.”
    “With the victim ?” Saxon asked. “He seems less like a victim than anyone I’ve ever met.”
    “I don’t understand it either,” Tucker answered. “But I think it has something to do with his wife’s death.”
    Not wanting to hear more, Herne walked into the bathroom. The door clicked behind him and he sat on the toilet, cradling his head in his hands. His stomach retched and the sour taste of club soda filled his mouth.
    He is in pain. The words echoed in his head.
    But Tucker didn’t know the truth. Didn’t know the whole story. It wasn’t Maggie’s death that caused the sharp ache that followed him everywhere, like a shadow that remained even in the dark. It wasn’t her death that lingered in his mind and filtered into his dreams. It was her screams.
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    Bethany flipped the two deadbolts on her front door, checked again to make sure they were secure, and then punched her security code into the electronic alarm.
    As she moved through the house she glanced at all the furniture. Her small chairs had backs so low that it was impossible to rest against them. The thin cushions provided minimal padding against the slender metal frames of the sofa. The doors had been removed from the closets and all the larger cupboards, leaving only wide, gaping spaces. The décor seemed modern—almost avant-garde —but was, in fact, carefully calculated. In one glance she could immediately see if someone else was in the room with her. There was no place for a man to hide.
    She dressed in simple pajama pants and a tee-shirt for bed, choosing clothing that would allow her plenty of movement for escape if she needed to run from an attacker in the middle of the night. She patted her dog, Butch, on the head before sliding into bed. He thumped his tail twice in acknowledgment of her affection before resting in his spot by the bedroom door. Anyone who tried to enter would encounter a large German Shepherd.
    Feeling almost secure, Bethany slipped beneath her soft, blue quilt. She remained stiff and alert, listening for the sound of intruders breaking into her home. Her body tensed at every creak of the house.
    As she did every night, she wondered how long it would be until exhaustion overcame her