“Don’t hurt me,” Matthews said desperately.

A flicker of uncertainty in the brown eyes.

“What’ve you done with Megan?”

Matthews frowned. “Who are you?”

Ah, young man, asked the silent therapist within Matthews, you’re not a fighter at all, are you? You’re out of your element, brandishing that knife like a squash racket… And why do you feel so guilty, why do you feel so unsure?

The pistol was in the glove compartment only feet away. But his assailant was riding on pure nerves. With his strength it wouldn’t take much for the boy to injure Matthews seriously, without even trying. Besides, while he believed the young man wasn’t dangerous Matthews had learned that premature diagnoses can be very risky.

He smiled and lowered his hands. He nodded knowingly. “Wait, wait. You’re not… You must be Joshua.”

The boy’s face squirreled up into a frown. “You know me?”

“Sure, I know you,” Matthews said smoothly. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk.”

11

“You startled me,” said the soothing voice of Aaron Matthews. “I didn’t mean to react the way I did.” He glanced at the tire, laughed. “But, then again, you did attack my Mercedes with a machete.”

With his voice trembling (love that voice, love it), the boy said, “I thought you’d just brought her here on a date. To show her some of your property or something. Then I saw you carry her inside. What the hell’s going on? Tell me!”

“Wait. Carry who inside?” Matthews frowned.

Show her some of your property?

“Megan. I saw you two.”

So he’s thinking real estate development. Matthews shook his head, glanced toward the hospital. “You mean just a few minutes ago? Well, I carried in some bags of cleaning supplies. And a tarp. I bought this place and I’m turning it into condos.”

A minuscule lessening of his suspicion. Not believing your own eyes, are you? How often we don’t. Also, in his face was a suspicion that the young man himself had made a stupid error here. You don’t do well with embarrassment, do you? A gift from the African-American executive mom, I’d say. The one with practiced elocution and the Chanel scarf over her shoulder and the defensive eyes?

Matthews noted, however, that the boy continued to hold the rusty blade firmly in his hand.

“Where is she? What were you doing with her car?”

“Joshua,” Matthews said patiently, “I just dropped Megan off at my weekend place up the road.” He pointed into the woods. “A couple miles from here. She wanted to get a head start on making lunch.”

“Why’d you switch cars at the Metro?”

“Megan’s got a friend. Amy.” He paused.

Joshua said, “I know Amy.”

“Amy’s borrowing her car. We left it at the Metro for her and took the Mercedes.”

The boy frowned. “I didn’t think Amy had a license.”

Matthews laughed. “Oh? She didn’t share that with us. I wondered why she didn’t want us to drop it off at her house.”

Good, Matthews told himself, giving his performance high marks.

“But wait… I didn’t see Megan in your car when I was behind you.”

“You were following us?” Now a frown-at the boy’s odd behavior.

“Yes, I was following you. How did you think I found you?”

“I assumed that Megan told you about me. And that we come up here sometimes.”

Joshua blinked.

Matthews studied the young man for a moment then tilted his head and said with sympathy, “Look, Joshua, don’t do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

Oh, the desperation Matthews could see in the olive eyes was so sweet… He nearly shivered with pleasure. He whispered, “You should forget about her.”

“But I love her!”

“Forget about her. For your own good.”

Matthews realized he’d been right. The man had probably arrived at Hanson’s office toward the end of the session, planning to confront Megan-and presumably the doctor too-about Hanson’s advice on breaking up.

A little obsessive-compulsive, are we?

Or just too much testosterone in the blood?

If it weren’t for romance we poor psychiatrists would have nothing to do. As Freud said, more or less, love’s a bitch, ain’t it?

“You talked her into breaking up with me so you could see her!” Joshua said.

“Megan said that?” he snapped. “Well, it’s not true. That’s completely unethical and I’d never do it.”

Joshua blinked at the vehemence in Matthews’s voice. The therapist had deduced that the boy would be a rules-and-regulations victim. Thanks to the other parent, of course-Dad the soldier.

The therapist continued, “She decided to break up with you on her own, Joshua. And then we started going out.”

“That’s not what she said. She said you told her to break up with me.”

“No, Joshua. That’s not the way it was at all.”

“But she told me!”

“Well, we can’t blame her for not being completely honest all the time, now, can we?”

“Blame her?”

“See, Megan has trouble taking responsibility for certain things. Not unusual, not a serious problem. We all suffer from it to varying degrees. It’s hard for her to express her inner feelings. Given her parents… You know Tate and Bett?”

Hearing the names, the familiarity in Matthews’s voice, the boy’s defenses slipped a bit more. But he was still dangerous. Too confused, too much in love, riding on too much emotion. Matthews decided he couldn’t win the boy’s confidence; he’d have to go in a different direction.

“I’ve met her mother, not her father,” Joshua said.

“Well, believe me, they’re to thank for a lot of her problems. Her lying, for instance. And the way she’d lose her temper sometimes. It could be bad, couldn’t it?”

“A couple of times. But who doesn’t blow off steam?”

The question told Matthews that the boy was buying the argument. He laughed. “Joshua, put that thing down and go home. Forget about Megan. This is only going to mean heartache for you.”

“I love her.” He was nearly in tears.

By now Matthews had pegged the boy the way a geologist recognizes pyrite. An underachiever terrified of his parents. Military dad. Supermother cutting a swath through America Online or TRW. A couple who probably were-to use Megan’s tired adjective-great people. And so Joshua wouldn’t let himself be angry with them.

But the anger was there inside him. It had to be. But where? Let’s find out…

“Joshua, you don’t understand. You-” “Then tell me.”

“It’s not appropriate-”

Joshua persisted. “Tell me! What is going on?”

Matthews’s eyes went wide, as if he were losing his temper. He said, “All right! You want to know the truth?”

“Yes!”

Matthews started to speak then shook his head as if he were struggling to control himself. “No, no, you don’t.”

“Yes I do!” The boy stepped forward, menacingly.

“All right. But don’t blame me. The truth is Megan didn’t like you.” The young man’s face froze into a glossy ebony mask. “That’s not true!”

Matthews’s mouth grew tight. “She told me that the first night we slept together.”

Joshua gasped. “You’re lying.”

“You don’t think we’re lovers?” Matthews asked viciously; as befit a man no longer fearful but angry

“No, I don't.”

“Well, then how do I know about that birthmark just below her left nipple?”

Joshua couldn’t hold Matthews’s cold eyes and he looked down at the moss covering a fallen tree. His hands were shaking.

“What do we think of her pubic hair? A bit sparse? And what does she like in bed? She likes men to go down on her all night long. And she loves to get fucked in the ass.”

But not by you apparently, Matthews observed, noting the young man’s shocked face.

“Stop it!”

“During our first session she asked me how she could get rid of you.”

“No.”

“Yes!” Matthews spat out. “You know what she called you? The white nigger.”