Chapter 6
Sam snatched his hands out from under mine. "Don't bother trying those tapping techniques. I know all about that hocus pocus crap." He waggle his fingers in the air. "Tapping the back of my hand, planting suggestions. No thanks. That doesn't work on me."
I stared, wondering what the hell made him ramp up this fast and rant like a lunatic. Even with the conference room doors shut, I didn't doubt someone could hear his tantrum if they'd been standing nearby.
Looking me in the eye, he spat his words. "Hypnosis. Doesn't work. Don't bother trying."
"You're sounding crazier by the minute, Agent Fields."
For the first time, I wished I hadn't pressed him to turn on the recorder. Maybe Sam really was losing his mind.
I leaned back in my conference chair, trying to put two and two together to make six. I'd seen the inside of many a therapist's office, so his details were undeniably familiar to me. But to Sam? "Besides the fact that I don't know how to hypnotize anyone, why would you know anything about such treatment?"
Sam stood, started collecting documents. "We're done."
"Wow. That's quite a tell, Agent. Avoiding the question through total withdrawal. So when exactly did you try hypnotherapy—before or after you got shot?"
Sam sent a burning look my way before advancing toward the camera.
"As I recall, this isn't your first blackout." My words made Sam stop in his tracks. "You had them when you worked Vice with Stone. But what you don't know is that he drugged you then too. Stone set you up with those prostitutes to get you kicked off the squad, all because you wouldn't take bribes. Because you were a good cop, Sam. An honest cop. And you still are. Difference is, he took you down then, but he's taking us both down now. So answer the damn question, Agent. When did you seek hypnosis?"
Sam had been standing rock still. He lowered his head and turned enough for me to hear. "After."
God, if I could have hugged him right then and there...but this was also the man hanging me out to dry. "After what, Sam?"
The chords of his neck tightened as he pulled his hand across the back of his neck.
"After you got shot," I answered for him. "I'm surprised The Bureau allowed such an unconventional treatment."
Sam harrumphed, looking into the camera. "Vilet insisted. But like I told him, total waste of Bureau time and money."
"Yes. So much easier to blame me for misrepresenting events. Make me out to be a liar or the crazy one because of my history. Thanks."
"If it walks like a duck..."
I stood and started for the door.
Sam caught up with me at a jog and put his hand on the back of a chair to block my path. "Avoiding the conversation through total withdrawal?"
I shoved my finger in his chest. "Vilet could just as easily accuse you of lying, and not just because of the drugs. You flat-lined in that ER. Before the medics even got you off the gurney, they were pumping your chest. Doctor had to shock you awake right in front of me. Who’s to say you didn’t lose your memory from lack of oxygen or hypothermia or..." I couldn't even say the word out loud. That he'd coded still felt surreal. "Of the two of us, Agent, you're the least qualified witness to testify."
Sam’s eyes widened, his face paled. After a second he seemed to look around the room for something he'd lost.
"Oh, God. They didn’t tell you." I eased forward, but Sam held up a hand to stop me, shaking off the bad news like a pro.
