“Can you describe her home life?”
“She lives in New York City, where she works for me as my personal assistant.” This man was going to lock her up, but he had a gut feeling Marnie wouldn't relish having her head shrinked under lockdown. “I'm going to level with you. She's recovering from a substance abuse problem.”
The doctor glared at him. “She just told me she didn't abuse drugs.”
“She's embarrassed. Marnie came to Chicago to reunite with her family, who she hasn't seen for seven years. I think the stress of the reunion got to her.” Not to mention reuniting with the man who facilitated her rape. His stomach clenched.
“Marnie lives with me. Most of the time she's a very positive person.” When? He could count on his finger the number of times he'd seen her smile. Plus, he suspected they were fake ones, so maybe they didn't count.
“I'm worried the seventy‐two hour hold will do more harm than good. She's been sober for eight months and being in an institution might seem like a step back in her mind.”
The doctor pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Does she really have a therapist?”
“Yes, and I'm in contact with her.” He was going to find her one the minute this conversation was over. “I'll personally make sure this new behavior is reported.”
“All right, let's talk it over with Ms. Ducello.”
Marnie was happy to see Danny and the doctor return. She hadn't been able to make out much from behind the door.
“When are you going to see your therapist?”
“I have…” she racked her brain trying to remember what day it was, “an appointment on Thursday.”
“The day after tomorrow?” The doctor said.
Marnie nodded.
“We're going back tonight, and she's going to be in my care until she sees her doctor. If it helps, I can write a statement taking responsibility for her,” Danny said.
“Yes, that would help. Alright, young lady, let's get you discharged. I'll have someone type up a statement for you to sign.” He nodded at Danny.
Marnie grinned as the doctor exited the room.
“You hear that? I'm legally responsible for you now, so no more funny business. You pull this shit again, and I'll fucking kill you for real.” Danny pointed a finger in her face.
She smiled at him seductively. “All right now, Bundy.”
Danny's stern frown erupted in a smile at the absurd comparison.
“Touché, bitch. Touché.”
Danny pushed the belt in until he heard the telltale snap of the button pop up on the seatbelt. As soon as the release papers had been signed, Jackson took them to the airport. Danny had arranged for the Mustang, Brian's twin engine jet, to take them home.
He glanced at Marnie, grimacing at the sight of the large gauze wrapped tightly around her wrists. The thought of someone holding him down made him cringe. Raped. By multiple men. Adam's words echoed. Men. He shook his head, licked his lips. He could go for a big fat line of coke right now, or better yet a laced Mary Jane. Yeah, that'd be good. He opened his eyes, looked at Marnie again. If that happened to him, he'd have to kill somebody.
She didn't shake Paul's hand. Danny silently kicked himself for the umpteenth time for bringing Marnie back into the home of her abuser.
“Marnie, I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about taking you to Chicago. I was out of line. I want to do whatever I can to make it up to you. I'm going to give you another chance to take another shot at me. Carte blanche.” He twisted in his seat to face her. “Just don't hit the nose.” He squeezed his eyes shut and waited.
Her fingers slid across his throat and gathered a bit of his skin between the thumb and index finger. She squeezed lightly then patted his chin.
He opened his eyes, the warmth of her smile on him. “It's water under the bridge. Let's just focus on my exit plan.”
He shifted and sat back in his seat. “There's plenty of time for that, but not tonight,” Danny said. He hoped she couldn't hear the fear in his voice. He did not want her to leave. If she tried suicide again, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.
He closed his eyes. Whimpers woke him. Marnie thrashed in her seat, tears staining her cheeks. He smoothed the back of his hand across her face.
Her violet eyes snapped open.
“You were having a bad dream,” he whispered.
She leaned forward, holding her face in her hands. “Where are we?”
“Almost home.”