LITMIR.BIZ

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had no more to say and took her leave. Lara, on the other hand, stood still for a moment. Was Victoria right? Probably. But did that mean Lara wanted to follow orders? No. However, her feet began to take her down a path she figured might become familiar as the case carried on. They led her to a separate floor and right up to an office with a shiny silver nameplate across its wood.

      Lara brushed her knuckles against the door. She tried to focus on the nameplate and not the storm of emotions that had been unleashed within her. It was true, seeing Moretti had shaken her up and now she was nursing a kind of anxious high.

      One that had managed to break down her ability to compartmentalize.

      One that she needed to come down from.

      “Come in,” a man called after the second knock.

      Lara took what was supposed to be a calming breath and pushed inside.

      Dr. Luca Oliviero, assigned to help their task force with case profiles and also acting staff psychologist, didn’t show surprise at seeing her. Which was odd since she was certainly surprised that she was standing at his door. He stood from behind his desk and smiled. He was tall and imposing yet exuded a demeanor of comfort. Thick salt-and-pepper hair, silver eyeglasses over dark eyes, he was a man who looked the part of psychiatrist. One who was very good at his job.

      “Lara, I hadn’t expected to see you today,” he greeted. He motioned to one of the plush chairs across from him. It was a calming gray. Like rain clouds in the distance. Far enough away that they couldn’t threaten. If he knew they were going to be talking about her specific problems and not the team’s he would have directed her to the lounge area to his right. As it was, he settled back into his chair and gave her his full attention, ready to provide his professional insight.

      “I hadn’t expected to see you today,” she admitted with a small smile. “Victoria sent me.”

      Dr. Oliviero titled his head to the side in question, but he never voiced it. Instead he waited for Lara to present her concerns first. Not pushing her, not applying pressure until she cracked. He was letting her open up on her terms, not his. She hadn’t spent a lot of time with him, aside from their first preliminary meeting, but she had instantly liked the man.

      “You said you’d read though my file from after my time undercover?” she asked, jumping right in.

      He nodded. “Yes, and before then, as well. It’s my job to read each team member’s transcripts from previous sessions. It’s important that, because of the particular high volume of stress this job can incur, each agent’s psychological health is taken care of, as well as monitored and recorded. That includes yours. It’s why they give me this office with such a great view.” He gave her an easy smile and motioned to the windows behind him. They looked out over Broadway. “But, you already knew that.”

      It was true. Lara did already know the answer to her question. When she’d accepted the job on the new task force, her file—everything on her and her time at the FBI—had been transferred to NYC. But, still, she had needed him to confirm it out loud. Or else she might have not opened up at all.

      “I saw Moretti today,” she started after a rush of an exhale left between her lips. “In prison, I mean. As a part of a case. Not in a dream or nightmare or whatever. I saw him. He was only a few feet away.”

      Dr. Oliviero’s brows pushed together. “I take it this is the first time you’ve seen him since—”

      “The trial,” she finished. “Yes. I never thought I’d see him again, truthfully, but...it was a necessary evil.”

      Lara shifted in her seat. She knew the good doctor didn’t miss the movement. He had an impressive and extensive resume of dealing with the mental side of health. He was also no stranger to body language.

      And Lara’s was screaming she was dancing through a part of her past she’d rather not tango with ever again.

      “And now you’re having a hard time shaking the visit,” he summarized.

      “Yeah.” Lara rubbed the side of her arm. She suddenly felt vulnerable. She hated it. Dr. Oliviero waited. “Moretti...” She paused trying to find the right words. “There are predators in this world. There always have been, and there always will be. People who do unimaginable things with little to no reason behind their actions, aside from the basic need to watch others suffer. I know this. During my FBI training and career I’ve been shown the most violent, senseless and heinous crimes committed by equally monstrous people. We’re told—and taught—to detach from it, to distance ourselves from the—the horror so we can seek out justice. To rid the world of the bad and to protect the rest. But...” The words she’d found became lost.

      “This case—Moretti—has gotten to you.”

      Lara nodded. She didn’t know what else to say.

      “Let’s talk about what seeing him triggers for you,” he continued. She readjusted herself again. Victoria’s stern order blared in her head. Though Lara didn’t like to open up about her past, her boss had been right. She needed to find a way to sort out her tumultuous emotions, and Dr. Oliviero was going to help show her how. “Your father was a powerful NYPD cop, a sergeant before he retired. Correct?” Lara felt herself nod, but it was a clipped, jerky movement. Her willingness to delve into her life quickly took a turn.

      “Yes. He passed away recently,” she said. Words cold even to her ears. “Alzheimer’s.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.”

      Lara gave a small nod of acknowledgement while an onslaught of memories assaulted her. Among them, always accompanying thoughts of Bartholomew Grant, was a pain that stretched across Lara’s heart until sinking to the pit of her stomach. An image of the man wasn’t the cause.

      It was the memory of a woman that pulled at her heart strings.

      Anna Grant’s body, photographed crumpled on the floor, surfaced behind Lara’s eyes.

      “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about my father,” Lara said into the quiet. “Can we focus on Moretti instead?”

      Dr. Oliviero interlaced his fingers. His dark eyes softened. There was no way he didn’t know her family’s past.

      “Sure,” he said.

      “Thanks.”

      “So, why don’t you tell me about Moretti? Or, should I said, his organization.”

      Lara shifted in her seat. “What do you mean?”

      “Recount your infiltration into the syndicate. Tell me the details that you remember clearly and, therefore, hold them more closely. Technically, we were supposed to do this when you resurfaced from undercover, but with the trial and your father’s passing, etc... I was giving you a bit of time.” When Lara didn’t say anything, he added on, “Relaying a story—a very challenging, emotionally and physically, story—to another person can be proven to be very telling. Not to mention, therapeutic. Seeing Moretti, a man who has become such an invasive part of your life, can trigger emotions and stress that you might not even realize are there, flowing beneath the surface. Walk us through the beginning, and let’s see how you feel once you’re done. Okay?”

      The beginning.

      Lara sat straighter in her seat.

      She’d told this story before—had to as part of the job—but still she hesitated. Her time undercover felt like a dream.

      One that had turned into a nightmare.

      The words came slowly at first.

      It wasn’t as if she’d never told the story before. She’d had to tell it many times over. However, now, when faced with the realization that her retelling might somehow betray herself, she found the clipped, rehearsed words she’d told her superiors didn’t want to come.

      It wasn’t that she was ashamed of what she’d done. In fact, she’d been told

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