Page 9 of Bones

I saw him earlier today and thought we had a good session. He opened up a little about foster care.

And now he’s fucking kidnapped me?

Am I dreaming?

I pinch myself, and it hurts.

No, not dreaming, but this is my reality.

“Then book another appointment,” I say between clenched teeth. “What made you think this was a good idea?”

“What if I didn’t want an appointment? What if I wanted to ask you out on a date instead?”

“Then you could have asked!”

Not that I would have said yes because he’s a client and clearly unhinged.

I promised him a safe space in my office. Now he’s taken me to his, and I’m the one questioning my safety.

“Would you have said yes?” he asks, reaching his hands up to lean against the doorframe, which makes his biceps strain against his white T-shirt. I hate that I notice. I hate it even more when he smirks when he notices. “I doubt you’d ever go out with a client. No, you are too much of a rule follower for that. A good girl. I bet you’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket.”

“I got one in college,” I fire back, scowling. “Take me home, Nate, and make an appointment with me like a normal fucking person.”

He smiles, flashing straight white teeth. “I’m not normal, Doc. Now, are you hungry? I’m grilling some steaks.”

“You know what? Better yet, go and see someone else. Even I’m not qualified enough for this shit!”

With that, he smirks and walks off with that swagger of his, leaving me with my jaw dropped open.

He kidnapped me, and now he’s cooking steaks?

He’s clearly insane.

Wow.

Following him into the kitchen, I grab one of the knives out of the drawer and slide it into the waistband of my pants.

I’m not fucking ending up on Unsolved Mysteries.

And to think I was attracted to him. I’ve always known my taste in men was abysmal, but this is just taking the cake. I know I should be scared right now, but instead, I’m angry.

How dare he do this to me?

Storming after him, I find him outside on the porch, grilling on the barbecue with not a care in the world. Glancing around the modern log cabin on my way outside, I frown as I take in my surroundings.

There’s nothing but trees and land as far as the eye can see. “What kind of Wolf Creek shit is this?”

Clearly humor is my coping mechanism.

Nate puts his tongs down and turns around with amusement dancing in those ocean-blue eyes.

Fuck me.

I bet he knows how beautiful they are and uses it to his advantage. Oh my God, I’m one of those stupid women who ignore red flags just because the man is six-foot-four and pretty. I’m going to end up on a documentary and will probably need to find my own therapist.

“You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“For now. Crying won’t help.” Nor will showing fear. “I make no promises that I won’t be kicking you in the balls and stealing your keys the first chance I get.”