Girl Undercover 10 & 11: The Abduction & Dante's Inferno (6 page)

“That’s it?” he asked when I leaned back into the sofa several minutes later, having finished my account at last.

Changed or not, the nonchalance with which he put that question fazed
me.
I frowned at him. “‘That’s it?’ I would have thought you’d be a little more shocked to hear all that they’ve done and are planning to do than that. I can assure you I was when I first found out. It took me months before I finally accepted the truth.”

He gave me a tired smile. “Gabi, you can’t expect me to believe all that, can you?”

Oh, so
that
was why he took everything with such extreme calm—he sincerely thought I was making it all up.
Well, why does that surprise you so much, Gabi?
I asked myself. I had already feared that he wouldn’t take me seriously, which was why I had wanted to have something more to present to him but my words. I obviously had to try harder for him to buy all this madness that was for real. I didn’t want to bring up Dr. Sokoloff yet. Not only was she my last resort, but I also felt that, by mentioning her, I alluded to the fact that I might be crazy. It was unnecessary to push Brady in that direction right away. He might just need some more time to think my story through to accept it.

I exhaled wearily. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to believe what I’m trying to tell you—as I already explained, it took me a long time before I finally accepted that it was real, not just a figment of Ian’s overly active imagination.”

Brady got to his feet and gazed out the window into his backyard. I thought it wiser not to say anything else until he faced me again, as it seemed he was doing what I hoped—digesting what I’d said, which should lead to him concluding that I had no reason to make up such an incredible story. All the details in it alone should be enough to convince him I had told the truth. No one could make up all the intricate pieces of the conspiracy—not unless they were writing a book and had months and months to think about it. Brady could hardly suspect I had suddenly decided to become an author when he knew how much I detested even writing case reports.

He soon faced me again.

“Gabi, I’m so sorry you’re having such a hard time dealing with Nick’s death. I truly am. But if only you could hear yourself right now, hear what it is you’re telling me, you’d understand why I have to ask the following of you—I want you to call Dr. Sokoloff and start therapy. Immediately. It’s for your own good.”

I couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief that came out of me. “You actually think I’m crazy?”

“Crazy might be an overstatement. But I do think you’ve invented the story in an effort to deal with the pain of losing Nick. That’s what I think.”

I wetted my lips as I pondered how to deal with Brady’s stance. He clearly did think I had gone mad then, even if he didn’t use those exact words. Given how he contemplated me at the moment, like I was this pathetic creature taking up space on his couch, I knew I needed to be smart in order to make him open his eyes and take my words seriously. Screaming at him that he had to believe me would only solidify his belief that this was simply a case of post-traumatic stress. Besides, Dr. Sokoloff had been part of my plan B anyway. It was really no big deal that he wanted me to go see her. Like Ian said, we had time, plenty of time. It wasn’t like the coups would happen in the next few weeks. Long before they were scheduled to happen, Dr. Sokoloff would help me help Brady see the light.

“Okay,” I said, nodding.

He tilted his silvery white head slightly, raising a brow. “Okay what?”

“I’m okay with seeing our psychologist.”

He looked at me for a long beat, not saying a word. Then he walked out of the room, returning with a cell phone in his hand. “I’m going to call Dr. Sokoloff now and ask her when’s the soonest she can see you.” He gave a kind smile. “I’m so happy you’re not being difficult about this, Gabi. That you realize on some level that all I want is for you to get well again.”

“Me, too.”

I watched him as he called the station and asked for our staff psychologist. Within a few minutes, he had arranged for me to see her.

“You’re sure tomorrow at nine a.m. is fine then?” he asked me, covering the lower part of the phone to prevent Dr. Sokoloff from hearing him.

“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “I want to speak to her as soon as possible.”

“Great.” He removed his hand and told the doctor that I would be seeing her tomorrow. Disconnecting, he added, “You’ll have to excuse me now, Gabi. I must go to the hospital for a check-up and I’m already running late.” He grimaced. “I’m feeling well, but they’re insisting that I come in for blood tests anyway.” He shook his head and sighed heavily. “But I wanted to make sure we could take care of you first. You’re not well right now, but at least you have the ability to admit that. It’s the first step. It’s all going to be okay.” He gave that kind smile again.

“Right.” I got to my feet. “I really appreciate that you’re looking out for me, Captain. Thank you so much.” I turned around and walked toward the foyer and the front door. He followed me closely behind. As we reached the door and I stopped to say goodbye, he put a hand on my arm.

“Will you promise me that you check in with me after you’ve seen Dr. Sokoloff?” he asked, looking sincerely concerned.

“Of course. I’ll call you right after.”
And then I will tell you that Dr. Sokoloff does not believe I’m crazy at all and you’ll have to believe me,
I thought but didn’t say. I had known our precinct’s psychologist since I started working as a cop and we were on very good terms. She was an excellent counselor and I had yet to catch her misdiagnosing someone. I was not planning on being the first one.

We said goodbye and then I left.

When I sat in my car, I called Jonah. It turned out all he did last night when Ian set after him was going to a nearby drugstore to pick up some Band-Aid. My so-called boyfriend had already texted me twice this morning to see how things were going with my mother and the doctors. I couldn’t put off getting back to him any longer, or he’d know something was up. Hopefully I’d get lucky and he wouldn’t pick up again, being far too busy training clients at this hour.

But I wasn’t lucky; he answered right before the call could go into voicemail.

“Hey, babe! Glad I’m finally catching you. We’ve been playing phone tag, huh. Did they cure her yet?”

“Hi Jonah. Not yet, but it’s definitely looking better. It looks like they’re going to need some more time to really beat it.”

“Oh. Well, don’t you worry. They’ll fix her for sure. It might take a little longer than we’d thought, but eventually your mom will be fine again. They’re the best.
Trust
me.”

I actually did trust him on that point. Knowing full well how a smile carried over the phone line, I forced myself to spread my lips into one as I spoke. “I’m so happy to hear that, Jonah. Thank you
so
much for sending them over here.”

“You should thank my dad, not me.”

“I can’t wait until I’ll get the chance to do so,” I said in a soft voice, realizing just what a golden opportunity Jonah had provided me with.
Maybe I can convince him to have me meet his dad,
I thought. If he could make that happen, I’d be willing to not only go back to New York, but I would even make out with him. “When will I get to meet your dad?”

He expelled a breath. “I can’t give you an answer to that. You probably won’t get to meet him until after the coups. He’s really stressed out right now. You know, worried that everything will go according to plan. Trust me, I would love for him to meet you sooner, but he’s also a very private person. He doesn’t like to meet anyone.
I
barely get to see him and I’m his son.” He chuckled.

Well, I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy,
I thought, disappointed. But maybe I’d get some useful information out of him at least. “Wow. I’m so sorry. That must suck. When was the last time you saw him?”

“A while ago. Hey, I’ve gotta run. Talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The line went dead then. I looked at the phone in my hand, wondering if Jonah had really been in such a hurry all of a sudden that he didn’t have time to say goodbye even.

Or if the fact that I kept talking about Stenger had made him disconnect so abruptly.

Chapter 5

I wasn’t in the mood to catch up with my coworkers at the West L.A. division where I’d been employed for the last five years, so I used a back entrance to get inside to see Dr. Sokoloff.

Wearing baggy, drab clothes and an obscure ball cap pulled low over my face, I kept my eyes trained to the floor and shoulders hunched as I hurried past the desks where people sat to get to her office. I was lucky that the majority seemed to be out on calls. Barely daring to breathe, I snuck by the man and the woman, who were talking to each other at the moment.

Reaching the psychologist’s door, I rapped lightly on the white material before I opened it and stuck my head in.

Dr. Sokoloff, petite but strong-looking nonetheless, peered up at me from behind a laptop computer screen, her horn-rimmed glasses riding low on the bridge of her long nose. The brown-haired woman wore a navy pantsuit and, as usual, no makeup. Pushing her glasses higher up, she gazed at me, a smile growing over her nude lips.

“Well, hello, Detective,” she said in her raspy voice that always made me wonder if she lied when she claimed she neither drank alcohol nor had ever touched a cigarette. It sure sounded like she had done plenty of both in her life. She waved her hand impatiently. “Come in, come in.”

I entered her office that was as always filled with books stacked on any area that could hold them. In addition to being a bookworm, she was old school, insisting on reading hardcopy as opposed to e-books.

I took a seat on the threadbare gray chair that faced her desk where several other people had sat before me. It both looked and felt well used, wearing the imprint of a butt.

She closed her laptop and steepled her fingers as she took me in. I didn’t say anything, just let her soak me in with those intelligent amber eyes of hers.

“How are you holding up, Longoria?” she said after some time. She answered her question before I got a chance to say anything in response. “You look tired. Is that why you’re wearing that ugly hat? Or are you just trying to hide? Take it off so I can get a good look at you.”

I did as I was told, shaking out my red locks that I had stuffed into the dark ball cap. Dr. Sokoloff lowered her glasses and stared at me. “Wow. That hair makes you look so different that you don’t need to hide under that hat. No one would’ve recognized you. I doubt your own mother would know it’s you if you passed by her quickly. Did you do something else to change your looks?”

“I wore green contacts and had a mole next to my mouth. A beauty mark a la Cindy Crawford. Just to be sure I looked as different as possible from both myself and the Swedish trainer I used to impersonate while at that club. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“I see.” She unsteepled her hands and leaned her forearms against the top of her desk instead. “Yes, small changes can have a big effect when combined. You’re as smart and thorough as ever. I’m sure no one ever put two and two together. Or did they?”

I thought about how both Ariel and Burt had said they thought I’d looked familiar. But that was it; they never did realize they had in fact met me before. I told her about this.

She nodded, smiling. “Of course you had to actually
tell
that Burt-person who you used to be.” She paused, peering at me over her glasses. “Did you find out who killed your husband?”

Leave it to Dr. Sokoloff to cut straight to the chase. Not that I minded. The sooner we could figure this out, the better. I was happy that Brady had filled her in on what I’d done in New York while on the phone with her yesterday, so she was aware what was going on. Surely he’d called her later in the day, giving her more details about how crazy I was. It would be just like him, not wanting to be insensitive by telling her in front of me.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I did,” I said, leaning back into the chair and propping my foot on my knee.

She sat up taller, looking very interested all of a sudden. “Really? And who are they?”

I gave a lopsided little smile. “He didn’t tell you that part?”

“Who? Captain Brady?”

“Of course. I assume he’s already given you all the details. Or am I wrong?”

“He gave me a summary only. Even so, it all sounded quite… elaborate.”

I shrugged. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. They’ve had many years to get to this point, so you’d think it would be elaborate by now.”

“That’s true. Do you ever think of Nick?”

I looked away, at the small window covered by old Venetian blinds in her office. I had gotten to a point that when someone uttered Nick’s name, it didn’t bother me, but it did now. Hearing Dr. Sokoloff say his name felt like she had shot me through the heart it hurt so much for some odd reason. It must have been because of the inflection of her voice when she’d asked the question, sounding more intimate suddenly.

“Gabriella, do you ever think of Nick? Look at me.”

Reluctantly, I turned my head so I was facing her.

“Answer me,” she insisted softly but firmly, daring me to look away with her eyes. “Do you ever think of Nick? Can you remember his voice? Picture his face? Feel him in your mind?”

“I don’t want to,” I managed to get out in a voice that cracked.

“Because it hurts too much?”

“Yes. Especially when you keep talking like that. Please stop using that tone.”

“Okay, I will. I’m sorry. But are you telling me then that you’re making yourself not think of Nick, allow yourself to be sad about what happened, because it hurts too much? You need to deal with your grief. It’s still a fairly fresh wound and you’re meant to hurt badly for some time. But then it does get better. Little by little. Pushing it away like that will only make it worse.”

“I do realize that. And I used to think about him a lot in the beginning. It hurt like crazy. I had to drug myself to fall asleep. Work out like a maniac. Keep myself busy at all times. I think it hurt so much that I got numb in the end.” I sighed heavily. “I don’t know any longer. So much has happened that I don’t quite trust my feelings any more. But that’s how it used to be. Each time I thought of him, I came up with a way to stop thinking because I couldn’t stand it—I missed him too much. So much it was physically painful. But now, I can’t sort my feelings out. There’s too much going on.”