Chapter Ten #3
I didn’t like what she was implying but I answered honestly. “There’s never a doubt in our minds that confrontin’ a grievin’ man is more dangerous than one who isn’t, Doc.”
“In your mind, your captain’s mind, or the whole team?”
Where was she going with this? “I-I don’t exactly know what ya mean, Doctor Daughtry. Our whole team does threat assessment whenever we plan an operation.”
“Your whole team makes that threat assessment?”
“Yes, we make it together.”
“And in this case, who brought up the possibility that the grieving husband would be a greater threat, Agent Good?”
I sat up straight and frowned at her. “We didn’t need anyone to bring it up.
We all knew it to be fact. Doctor Reeves also pointed out the increased danger before the operation, ma’am.
We were all clear on it. Even if he hadn’t said somethin’, our Tac Team has operated in multiple dangerous situations both for the FBI as well as overseas in the Special Forces for many years…
over a decade to be exact.” I heard myself sounding more and more stilted and uptight.
“So, what you’re telling me is that you read each other’s minds?”
I frowned. “Yes, ma’am, in a way. We know each other and operate like brothers out there. We know how to read each other’s body language and simply know what each other are thinkin’ in a life-or-death situation. Like I said, we’re brothers. We’re in tune with each other.”
“Like brothers?”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to throw a wobbly but she was getting on my left tit. “Christ. Brothers…yes…ma’am,” I ground out.
She sat back, looking over the top of her glasses once again.
“Good to know.” She stared at me for quite a while before looking down and making a ton of notes while I waited in silence, fuming.
What in the fuck’s sake was she thinking?
Was she trying to learn something about the captain or how he conducted our team?
Did she think he didn’t give us enough warnin’ or deliberately put Napoleon and me in danger?
The rest of the team? Was she trying to find fault with Candy’s leadership or our trust in him as a team leader? What in the bloody hell was going on?
When she finally looked up, relaxing her pen, she smiled. “So, tell me your feelings about the shooting. Do you believe it was justified?”
“Yes, ma’am. Absolutely.” I sat up straighter. “If a suspect comes runnin’ out of a room holdin’ an automatic weapon and he points it at ya, the use of lethal force is justified. It was a righteous shot…in both cases.”
She nodded, watching me closely. “Why didn’t Agent Smith take down either or both suspects? Why were you the shooter?”
“That’s the way it worked out, Doctor Daughtry. I had the better angle, so I shot both men, Tomasi first and then Davis.”
She nodded without looking away. “Do you think Harrison Davis was suicidal?”
“Harrison Davis charged into the room seconds after I shot John Tomasi. There was no way he didn’t know his accomplice had been met with deadly force before he came runnin’ in screamin’ like a fuckin’ banshee and pointin’ his gun at Smith.
I don’t know what was in his mind and whether he was suicidal or not, and at that moment I didn’t care.
I took him down the second he pointed a deadly weapon at Smith.
I did my job and beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but I didn’t give a flyin’ fuck whether he lived or died.
I had a split-second to react. It was Napoleon or Harrison and frankly, that’s a no brainer… ma’am.”
She let me rant, sitting unmoving in her chair, passing judgment on me. The very idea of it pissed me off, but I suppose she was only doing her job. I didn’t really care. She closed the file and cleared her throat. “I agree, Agent Good.”
I suddenly felt drained and felt my shoulders drop, only then realizing how wound up I’d been. I nodded. “Good then. Is there anything else, Doctor Daughtry?”
She smiled. “How are you sleeping?”
I paused, not wanting to admit that I’d been sleeping like shite. I finally opted for the truth. “Not so well, Doc. I have the bad dreams sometimes and have to take some sleepin’ syrup.”
She frowned. “What kind? And how often?”
I sank a little lower in my chair. “ZzzQuil. About half the time,” I muttered.
She nodded, pursed her pink lips, and opened the file.
She wrote several lines of cursive scrawl before looking back up.
“I’m going to make an appointment for you to see Dr. Wallace.
He’s a psychiatrist who specializes in sleep disorders.
He’ll do a sleep study to see if he can detect whether your issues are physiological or something else.
Since he’s a psychiatrist, he can prescribe medication to help you sleep if he feels it’s warranted, Agent Good.
Oftentimes, people dealing with PTSS symptoms have trouble sleeping. ”
“I thought it was PTSD,” I said.
“PTSS refers to post-traumatic stress syndrome. PTSD refers to the disorder. PTSS refers to resulting behaviors in patients diagnosed with PTSD like you. These include, but are not limited to increased alcohol consumption, which you’ve admitted to doing in the past.”
“I’ve been sober for eight years, Doc,” I stressed. We’d gone over me being a raging alcoholic in other sessions, so she was well aware of this fact, but it never hurt to remind her.
“Yes, and you’ve sought treatment and still work with a sponsor, correct?”
I nodded emphatically. “Greg, yes, ma’am. I see him all the time, we attend meetin’s on a regular basis. That part of my life is under control. I promise ya, that had nothin’ to do with this shootin’ incident.”
She smiled broadly and shut the folder again before standing up.
I did also. “Even if you hadn’t said something, I already knew that, Agent Good.
Your reflexes wouldn’t have been sharp enough to kill the two suspects before they shot either you or Agent Smith, had you been consuming alcohol.
That being said, I want you to see Dr. Wallace.
I know he’ll be of some help. I’ll call his office and make an appointment as soon as you leave.
I’ll text you with his number, the date, and time of the appointment, and the address for his office.
” She stuck out her hand which I shook. “I’m satisfied that the shooting was justified, Agent Good, and I’ll let Captain Sorensen know as soon as possible. You’re cleared for duty.”
I felt relief rush through me. Thank God. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Doctor Daughtry.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
“You too, Doc.”
I strode to the office door, wanting desperately to get out of there before she changed her bloody mind.