“I understand.”

“Good.”

In the wake of his comment he looked me over, one eyebrow cocked upward in a questioning arch. With a quick thrust of his chin toward me he said, “I have to admit I’m a bit curious about this whole square dance though. The way they fast-tracked you isn’t exactly what we consider normal around here, if you get my meaning. Especially for an inmate like Devereaux.”

I nodded. “I think I probably do.”

“Rumor is you just flew here from Saint Louis a few hours ago.”

“Well, rumor is correct. I did.”

“Must have been an early flight.”

“Too early.”

He pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, as if chewing on that bit of information before swallowing it. A few seconds later he added, “Also seems like there’s a whole lotta other red tape gettin’ cut real quick like.”

I shrugged and then built upon his metaphor. “I guess the FBI uses some pretty sharp scissors when they have to.”

“Yeah, guess so,” he grunted. “So mind if I ask what your story is? You a big shot criminal psychologist writing a book about freak jobs like Devereaux or something like that?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m just a consultant.”

“Consultant, huh? Well, you seem to know an awful lot about what makes this one tick.”

“Yeah… Unfortunately she isn’t exactly a stranger to me… But, I’m afraid ‘consultant’ is still pretty much the only real label for what I do.”

“So what exactly do you consult about?”

I’d been under this spotlight before, and I knew better than to mention the occult. References to the paranormal generally caused people to look at you like you had lost your mind or simply dismiss you out of hand. I furrowed my brow and gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “Special circumstances. That’s about the only way I can think of to describe it.”