Confession Read Free Page A

wood. With one hand, she reached behind her and felt for the smooth rim of her desktop. With the other hand, she put up a stop sign. “Stay right where you are.”
    He halted, and she edged her way behind her desk, using it as a barrier between herself and Dante. Maybe she should advise him to enroll in a social-­skills class since he didn’t seem to realize how uncomfortable he was making her. Though she knew full well Dante wasn’t on her schedule today—­no one was on her schedule today—­she powered on her computer. “Hang on a second while I check my calendar.”
    â€œAll right.” At least he had the courtesy to play along.
    When he rested his hand on her desk, she noticed he was carrying a folded newspaper. She’d already seen today’s headline, and it had given her the shivers. “Any minute now.” She signaled to Dante with an upheld index finger.
    He nodded, and, in what seemed an eternity of time, her computer finished booting. She navigated from the welcome screen to her schedule, then, in a firm, matter-­of-­fact voice, she told him, “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. Your appointment isn’t until Monday at 4:00 P.M. ”
    As he took another step closer, a muscle twitched in his jaw. He didn’t seem to care when his appointment was. Gesturing toward the leather armchair on the patient side of her desk, she fended him off. “Have a seat right there.” If she could get him to sit down, maybe she could gain control of the situation; she really ought to hear him out long enough to make sure this wasn’t some sort of emergency.
    Dante didn’t sit. Instead, from across the desk, his body inclined forward. Her throat went dry, and her speeding pulse signaled a warning. If this were an emergency, he most likely would have tried to contact her through her answering ser­vice; besides which, he’d had plenty of time already to mention anything urgent. He must’ve known he didn’t have an appointment today, so what the hell was he doing here on a Saturday?
    Dante had no reason at all to expect her to be here. In fact, the more she thought about it, the less sense his presence made. Pulling her shoulders back, she said, “I am sorry, but you need to leave. You’ll have to come back on Monday at four.”
    The scar tissue above his mouth tugged his features into a menacing snarl. “I saw you talking to my brother.”
    He’d followed her from the art gallery.
    Even though Dante’s primary diagnosis was schizotypal personality disorder, there was a paranoid component present, exacerbated by a sense of guilt and a need to compensate for feelings of inferiority. His slip-­and-­slide grip on reality occasionally propelled him into a near-­delusional state. She could see him careening into a dark well of anxiety now, and she realized she needed to reassure him she wasn’t colluding with his half brother against him. “I wasn’t talking to your brother about you. In fact, I didn’t have any idea I had wandered into your brother’s art gallery until he . . . introduced himself.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    As fast as her heart was galloping, she managed a controlled reply. “That hardly bodes well for our relationship as doctor and patient, does it? But the truth is, we were discussing a painting.”
    â€œDiscussing my painting, discussing me, same difference.”
    His painting?
    That bit of information did nothing to diminish her growing sense of apprehension. That painting had had a darkness in it like nothing she’d ever seen before. A darkness that had captivated her attention, daring her to unravel the secrets it belied.
    Dante dropped into the kind of predatory crouch that would’ve made a kitten roll over and play dead.
    But she wasn’t a kitten.
    Defiantly, she exhaled slow and easy. If she didn’t know