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you think he’s suffering from a psychological trauma, as well. What if . . . ?” Sophie glanced around nervously, as though she thought someone sinister was lurking in the dusty corners of Andy’s den. “What if Thomas knows something about what Rick Carlisle told you during his sessions? What if he’s discovered something more? What if he’s in danger?”
    Andy’s expression froze. “Sophie . . . I never told you that the person who I was doing a case consultation with you about was Rick Carlisle.”
    Sophie made a sound of disgust and stood. She found herself staring at an Escher print that hung on Andy’s wall, feeling every bit as trapped and confused as the creatures in the optical illusion drawing.
    “Andy, we’ve been good friends now for thirteen years. Have a little respect for my intelligence, will you? Do you think I don’t notice the comings and goings in our office? Do you really believe I didn’t know perfectly well that the patient you were so concerned about, and who you’ve been consulting with me about for over a year on an anonymous basis, was Rick Carlisle, Nicasio’s adoptive brother?”
    “Sophie—”
    “I know you’re bound by an oath of confidentiality,” she exclaimed as she spun to face him, “but a man may be in danger. There are limits to your oath.”
    Andy stood slowly and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back on his nose. “Sophie, Thomas Nicasio isn’t my patient.”
    “But Rick Carlisle was, and look what happened to him! He’s dead .”
    She instantly regretted her impulsive words when she saw Andy’s face drain of all color. She knew how attached Andy was to all of his patients. Rick’s death had been a heavy blow for him.
    “Even if you were right about the identity of my patient, the officials called what happened to Rick Carlisle an accident. An accident . Besides, you can’t really believe that Rick’s father would murder his own son and grandson in cold blood, can you? Isn’t that what you’re implying, Sophie?”
    Her cheeks warmed. It did sound a little melodramatic, but—
    “Joseph Carlisle is being investigated by the FBI for organized crime activities. And you know what Rick had discovered in his own research into the Outfit for his book. His journalistic source fingered Joseph Carlisle as the main boss of the Chicago Outfit,” Sophie hissed. “How do I know what men like that would do and not do to keep their secrets? Do you really know, Andy?”
    Andy sighed wearily when Sophie stared at him imploringly.
    “This is outside my realm of control,” he insisted. “If I were in possession of specific evidence that suggested a murder of two innocent people had occurred, that’d be one thing. But I don’t have any concrete evidence. Even Ri— the patient— wasn’t fully convinced about the allegations this man—Bernard Cokey—made in regard to his father being the head of Chicago organized crime. Please understand, Sophie. The ethics of my profession clearly state that I’m powerless to act given these circumstances.”
    Sophie inhaled slowly, gathering her fragmenting thoughts. Andy had to be one of the most thoughtful, compassionate men she’d ever met, and here she was, practically accusing him of negligence. Andy would have done everything in his professional power to keep Rick safe if he possessed solid evidence his patient was in danger.
    “I understand. I do. But I’m not operating under any such constraints, Andy. Thomas Nicasio is in trouble. I just know it.”
    After her meeting with Andy, she’d gone to the office, planning on looking for Thomas. That’s when she’d unexpectedly come face-to-face with him as he was being escorted onto the elevator by the two men. She’d altered her plans and gotten off on the twenty-third floor, highly conscious of Thomas’s stare on her back as she did so. She’d gone to her office, checked her voice mail, returned a few phone calls . . . brooded while she waited for Thomas to be alone in