Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft Read Online Free PDF

since you first
mentioned Alex, you’ve called him by his last name. Why do you do that? Is that
an attempt to distance yourself from him?”
    This was one of those
times when I think Hobbs is a moron. Freaking therapists, man, they’re always
trying to read into every tiny detail of everything. Sometimes a name is just a
name; sometimes it doesn’t mean anything.
    “No. I call him by his
last name because everyone else calls him by his last name. A lot of cops are
called by their last names. When I met him, it was in a professional capacity,
so I called him by his last name. I guess it stuck.”
    “You have a history of
keeping people at arm’s length,” she persisted. “You don’t let people in. Why
would Alex be any different?”
    I bit back a sigh and
turned to stare out the window. Hobbs’s office is on the first floor in an old
Victorian-style house off Remington and Elizabeth, a block from campus. Many of
the houses in town had been converted to similar office spaces. In this
neighborhood, being so close to campus, most houses are occupied by college
students. Hobbs’s office window overlooks Remington and the side yard. I watched
cars slow for the intersection and bikers and pedestrians flow by in streams.
    Hobbs’s office wasn’t
the only one in the house. There was a photographer and another therapist on
the first floor, a massage therapist and an acupuncturist on the second. There
had been three accountants sharing the bulk of the space on the first floor
until last May. They’d made it through tax season then decided to expand. They
moved to a bigger space and hired another accountant. A week later, a medical
marijuana dispensary moved in. Everyone in the entire house had made a fuss,
but the landlord had rented it anyway. Now there was a lot of activity on the
property, lots of people stopping by to legally buy dope.
    I was thinking about
Hobbs’s question and how to answer it, trying to decide what the answer was,
when I saw a familiar face through the window. I sat forward and stared closely
for a moment, then I bent and pulled my bag onto my lap, retrieving the files
I’d gotten from Amerson. I flipped open the one marked “Martin Fink” and looked
at the photo stapled to the inside.
    “You’ve got to be
kidding me,” I muttered under my breath as I confirmed the man on the street
was in fact Fink.
    “Excuse me?” Hobbs
said. “What’s going on?”
    I glanced at my watch
as I stuffed the files back into my bag. My session wasn’t even halfway over.
Through the window, I watched Fink round the corner to the front of the house.
I pulled the handcuffs out of my bag before dropping it back to the floor.
    “Uh, I need to use the
bathroom,” I said, jumping up. “I’ll be right back.”
    I left the office then
walked the hall to the front, where I saw several people passing in and out of
the door, Fink among them. The small entry area and front room, which had been
converted to a waiting area, was empty aside from those walking to and from the
dispensary. Fink was at least fifteen years older than anyone else either
coming or going. His brown hair was thinning badly on top, and his midline was
expanding, drooping over his belt. He was wearing ill-fitting stonewash jeans,
loafers with tassels, and a white, short-sleeved, button-down shirt with pink
stripes.
    “Oh, my gosh,” I said,
as if surprised to see him, and walked toward him. “Are you Martin Fink?”
    “Yes,” he said,
slowing as he looked at me, obviously confused. “Do I know you?”
    I stopped a couple
feet in front of him.
    “Not yet. I’m Zoe Grey.
I work for your bond company. You missed your court date. I need to take you in
to reschedule.”
    He looked at me,
considering the sling, then laughed. I should have left it in Hobbs’s office.
    “What, you’re going to
arrest me? You’re going to arrest me?”
    “I am,” I said,
holding the handcuffs in my right hand for him to see. “Please turn