The Night Is Forever by Heather Graham Page B

for the others to walk away so she could speak to him privately. But they were talking and laughing among themselves.
    He moved closer to her. “I’m here because of Malachi,” he said quietly.
    She glanced quickly around. “Someone could have called me and told me that yes, it was being handled.”
    Her taut response gave him a start. He lowered his voice. “You could answer your phone,” he told her. “Although one would’ve thought that if you’d called an agent for help and another agent showed up, you’d put two and two together. Then again, if you answered your phone, you might have spoken with both of us.”
    She looked away. “Yesterday wasn’t a good day for us. We got the autopsy report in the morning.”
    “Yes, I know that, Ms. Gordon. Because the day before, I was about to head out on a serious case—kidnapping and murder in the Northwest. Instead, I’m here—where an addict might or might not have gone back to his old ways.”
    She flashed a glance at him, her eyes shimmering with hostility. “I’m sorry. I would think the murder of any human being was important and worth investigating. If we’re not gruesome enough for you, I do apologize. But you are here to investigate. I—”
    She paused, moving a step closer. She might work with horses in a stable, but she wore some kind of subtle perfume that made her smell like the whisper of flowers in the breeze.
    “I have two individual sessions this afternoon. You’re not one of them. Everyone starts off with a session like you just went through, to see if they feel this will be of benefit to them. That will allow you to fit in here, which is the point. So, now you can investigate. What are you going to do?”
    He frowned at her, somewhat irritated that she’d gotten under his skin. All his life he’d walked a straight line. He felt he had sympathy for those left behind after a death, although he wasn’t and never had been a counselor in any way. But he didn’t let emotion invade his work. In his position, he couldn’t. He’d wind up...
    In therapy, he thought dryly.
    “Well?” she asked. “What will you do this afternoon?”
    He angled his head thoughtfully. “I’m going to play Ping-Pong. What time do you get off, Ms. Gordon?”
    * * *
    When Olivia finished with her last session, she discovered that Dustin Blake was still at the facility. He was playing doubles; he and Joey were partnered against Sean and Matt.
    Officially, the Horse Farm was there for equine therapy. But any “guest”—as they officially called their patients or clients—was welcome on the grounds during open hours, which usually ended at six. They’d long ago noticed that their guests were comfortable at the Horse Farm and, because of that, many stayed long hours reading in the back room or playing games.
    Olivia wondered if perhaps he’d been waiting for her. But she paused by the reception area, pouring herself a cup of coffee and watching him. She’d managed to call Malachi on her cell during her last ride, and he’d managed to call her back. Yes, if she’d answered her phone, she would have learned that Blake was the agent who’d been sent.
    He was a curious choice, she thought. He was hardly nondescript. The man stood at about six foot four. He had the kind of lean, hard muscle that might be seen on a basketball player. His every movement hinted at agility. His face was chiseled, his jaw square, and he had flashing dark eyes that seemed to view the world around him with a certain amount of skepticism. No one could miss him. Hardly the type to slip in and out of anywhere unnoticed.
    But then, he’d come here as what he was—or mostly as what he was. Aaron was practically giddy that the bureau had chosen their facility as a place for the man to unwind, chill out or vanquish his demons. Nowhere in the paperwork had it been suggested that he was addicted to alcohol or other substances, but you didn’t have to be an addict or suffering from a physical