Page 10 of PSYCHOlogical

Causing him to think otherwise would be detrimental to my health.

“You entered the home under the belief that the target was alone?” I asked.

“I did.”

“What led you to believe the home was occupied by no one other than the target?”

“I observed the wife leave through the front door of the residence. Based on her attire and actions of the two previous evenings, I assumed she was going for a run. After a short wait, I entered the home. To my surprise, she was inside, apparently after reentering through the back door. In lieu of making it look like a botched robbery, I chose to orchestrate a murder-suicide, of sorts.”

A robbery would have been more believable to the local authorities. A murder-suicide—that included the neighbor—looked more like a love triangle that had fallen victim to jealousy. The thought of him spending three days calculating how he intended to murder the target, his wife, and the neighbor sickened me.

I flipped through the field report. Upon reaching the page where the murder scene was detailed, I traced my finger along the description of the victims’ placement in the home.

“The neighbor,” I said. “You failed to mention her.”

He shook his head in mock sorrow. “The neighbor, for lack of a better term, was a casualty of war. It makes me sick to think she had to be included. I keep asking myself why, and all I can come up with was that it must have been God’s will.”

The only God Shephard believed in was himself.

The report stated the women were wearing Lycra workout pants, sports bras, and running shoes. I suspected a portion of his story was true, the main difference being that he consciously waited until all parties were in the home before he entered. The more the merrier was his motto when killing was involved.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done something sinister. Shephard frequently left multiple dead bodies in his wake. It was never as simple as someone getting in the way of a mission. His supplementary killings were well-planned, sickeningly composed, and thoroughly enjoyed.

I hated to admit it, but the sociopaths and psychopaths in New Dawn’s operation were critical to the survival of the program. Their lack of emotion allowed them to complete the most complex missions without question.

Even so, Shephard’s decision to orchestrate a murder-suicide that included the neighbor woman placed everyone in the program at risk. Local investigators would undoubtedly pick the crime scene to pieces. If their findings led them to us, it was one more unnecessary mess that would need to be cleaned up.

Proving the inaccuracy of Shephard’s story wasn’t necessary for me to deem him a liability and suggest that he be eliminated from New Dawn.

My report would clearly spell out the complexity of his mental health issues and the risks associated with continuing to use him as an operator. To ensure I protected the interest of New Dawn, I’d deviate from the chain of command, bypass AD Wallace, and go right to the director with my findings. This time, Shephard would be eliminated.

I would make sure of it.

“Have you had any problems sleeping?” I asked, although I knew the response would be a lie.

“I haven’t slept a full night since,” he responded. “I keep seeing the women’s faces when I close my eyes. Especially the neighbor. My heart goes out to her family for their untimely loss.”

I had no desire to hear more of his lies. I’d do anything for a client that was willing to listen, be honest, and consider my recommendations. Shephard’s attempt to manipulate me was falling on deaf ears.

“I’ll request a sleeping pill prescription and make a recommendation that you take some time off,” I said. “Maybe thirty days.”

His posture straightened. “Time off?”

I made a few notes in his file and flipped to the next page. “For you to recover from this horrific incident.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said in a monotone voice.

I looked up. His laser-sharp glare pinned me to my seat. The veins on either side his neck bulged. His face, however, remained expressionless. Trusting him was impossible.

“I think some time off will be beneficial,” I said. “Just a few days to clear your head.”

“I think that’s a bad idea.” His glare intensified. “A really bad idea.”

My muscles tensed. The underside of my desk was fitted with a panic button. If pressed, guards would enter my office and extract Mister Shephard. I realized in the amount of time it would take for them to arrive, I’d likely be on the floor with a broken neck.

I rested my hand beneath the button. “Mister Shephard, I think time away from the program—and the difficulties it presents—is fitting, especially considering the trauma you’ve been through.”

“How about a week?” His face softened a little. “I can go to the beach. Thirty days is too long. Striving to make this nation a safer place soothes my nerves.”