Perhaps the small dark glass bottle in his vest pocket had been nothing more than an expensive herbal extract for his own hidden anxiety.

Perhaps the four hundred dollars I had handed to Doctor Aris at the private clinic had been spent on nothing more than a foolish, paranoid mistake born of my own fatigue.

“Are you going to work late tonight?” I asked, looking up into his dark eyes.

“Just an hour in the study,” he said, smiling warmly as he stood up from the edge of the bed.

“I’ll be back up before eleven.”