Page 96 of Holding On

Hitting the light switch to the full brightness setting as we walk in, I’m going to make sure Kane’s day starts out as shitty as possible.

“What the hell? I was sleeping!” he grumbles from the bed, covering his face with his free hand. “Who the hell are you?”

“Good morning, Kane. We didn’t get the chance to meet yesterday as you were bleeding and unconscious on my brother-in-law’s floor, but my name is Special Agent Henry Walker Bennett, and this is my colleague Special Agent Dr. Harlow Lane. We have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind and don’t have any plans,” I say as Harlow and I both take a seat in the only two chairs in the room along the wall facing his bed. The man is handcuffed to the bedrail of his hospital bed, in addition to having a U.S. marshal standing guard at his door, so it’s not like he will be having any social calls, and if he did, they probably would wait until after eight a.m.

“Doctor? You don’t look like any of the doctors I’ve met.” He narrows his eyes at Harlow, trying to figure her out.

She smiles politely, allowing him to make incorrect assumptions. She loves to let people take as much rope as they want to hang themselves with their own misinformation and biases. When I first met Harlow, I thought she was an intern, a fact she will never let me live down. Adding her unassuming attire this morning, and what looks like minimal if any makeup, which is pretty standard for her, and I can only imagine the assumptions Kane is making about Harlow right now. If you let people fill in the gaps with their own cognitive blind spots, and are aware of what those likely are, you can direct the narrative to an extent. Their presumptions become a tool you can utilize, all with a smile—something Harlow taught me. Kane likely thinks she’s a young kid that doesn’t know anything, but while Harlow may barely stand five-foot-four, she can read a room—and a person—faster than anyone else I’ve ever met. She’s a great asset to our team, in addition to being a great friend.

“I assure you, I am indeed a doctor.” She smiles sweetly, reeling him in, which will just lower his defenses. I’m good with going this route—he obviously missed the clue I dropped about him bleeding on my brother-in-law’s floor.

“Oh, yeah? What kind of doctor are you, honey? Are you going to nurse me back to health?” Is this asshole flirting with Harlow? My eyebrows furrow and I glare at him. Out of my peripheral vision, I watch Harlow sip her coffee and tilt her head, letting me know she’s okay. We’ve worked together for close to five years in various capacities; the last two have been in Nashville on a special task force that focuses on high-priority targets.

“It’s Dr. Lane, and I’m a forensic psychiatrist and criminal profiler with the FBI, so while I’m more than qualified to help you get better…” She scrunches her nose, shaking her head. “No, I won’t be doing that.”

I don’t fight the grin. “You might need to speak in smaller words for him, especially this early in the morning.”

“Excuse me? Do you know who I am? I guarantee my IQ is higher than you, fed. Who do you think you are?” Kane raises his voice at me. Good, get emotional, asshole. I just smile and slowly look at Harlow with a nod for her to continue. “What are you even doing here? You aren’t supposed to be here. Get out!”

“Right, my apologies.” Harlow raises a hand in a placating manner. “You likely took quite the head trauma yesterday when your accomplice knocked you out after shooting you too. My fancy title means I bring a unique perspective when it comes to understanding criminals, like you, your partner, his sister, and why they do what they do, which in most of the cases we work on also helps us try to stop them before another crime is committed. But you’re pretty tied up,” she nods to the handcuffs, “so I think we’re safe here. But I would advise you to not call me honey again.” She lifts her cup in a toast and I hold back my laugh. Harlow hates when men she doesn’t know use terms of endearment that reflect a personal relationship they do not have with her, and I don’t know what happened to her this morning, but my friend is extra spicy today, and I love it.

Kane looks dumbfounded, blinking as though to wait for his brain to fully come online. I know somehow this guy pulled one over on Jack and Wells, so he has to be smarter than what I’m seeing, and it’s safe to assume he’s playing into assumptions just as much as we are right now. That’s fine; I can work with that too. I didn’t walk in here blind, and there’s a reason I also wanted Harlow here.

Harlow already worked up a preliminary profile on him, and I know that Kane has narcissistic tendencies, and will likely be diagnosed with a narcissistic personality disorder along with some type of high-functioning subtype of antisocial personality disorder. But he doesn’t need to know that we know that—at least not yet.

“We’re actually here because we need your help, Kane.” I school my expression to look as contrite as possible and the moron bites without even that much effort.

“Oh, yeah? What do you need my help for?” His facial expression gives away the fact that his mind is already calculating how our presence can benefit him, and that’s fine. He can waste his time however he sees fit.

“We understand that Rick Wilson has manipulated you to unwillingly comply and participate in a host of criminal activities that went above and beyond your initial attempt. And of course, we know Debbie Jo Wilson used you as well, so we are hoping you can help us shed some light on a few things so that we can make sure Rick and Debbie Jo are both prosecuted to the full extent of the law, both here in Tennessee and also at the federal level.”

“Federal level, huh?” Did this dumbass really miss that it’s a U.S. marshal standing outside his hospital room and not a local sheriff? That’s okay. I’ll save that card for a bit. It’s like the light switch in his brain flips and Kane’s entire demeanor shifts, even his posture in the hospital bed. No longer sitting up as straight as he can considering his injuries, his shoulders now curl into themselves, and his head is downcast as he lets out a very dramatic sigh. “I’m just glad it’s over, honestly. I was so tired, but I couldn’t get away from their control, and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Harlow jumps in, “What did they make you do, Kane? You’re safe now; you can tell us.” She is using a far too sympathetic tone and I know she’s oozing it for his benefit—to make him think we are buying his bullshit.

Perfect.

Kane sniffs, really laying it on thick. “He threatened me and his sister. She manipulated me and lied to me. I thought we were in love.”

“And how did that make you feel, Kane?” Harlow tilts her head and I purse my lips to fight the smile.

“I was so confused but afraid. Rick is crazy, man. And it sounds insane, I know, but it was extenuating circumstances. I was … I am ashamed to admit it, but Rick was also blackmailing me, okay?”

Harlow and I glance at each other as my eyebrows raise; this is news to us, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “We aren’t aware of any blackmail claims. Can you tell us more about that?”

“He was aware of a private intimate relationship I had with a journalist, and Rick was using it as blackmail to do what he wanted.”

“How was he blackmailing you?”

“He had photos and videos of us together.”

“Where did he get those?” Harlow asks gently, but by the way Kane looks away, it’s clear who took the photos and videos—this asshole did himself. “How did he get access to those private files?” She quickly reframes the approach.

Thinking that sounds better, Kane bites. “It was originally shared in a private manner, but then he used it against me to force me to behave in a way I never would have.”

“And what did he threaten you with?” I ask.

“He would take it to the press, and Amber would be embarrassed and lose her job. It would look bad for both of us because … well, she’s written about me before, but I had real feelings for this woman and I was doing all of this to protect her.”