is that helping the relationship between the center and the town?”
Ryan didn’t have an answer for that, but the fact that Cole had already gotten to Bloom told him that most of his avenues of defense were cut off anyway.
“I’ll take over the treatment of this patient,” Bloom said with an air of authority. “I want you to focus on the reason I brought you here in the first place—your research.”
The demand angered Ryan. He wasn’t about to ditch Tess right now. She was just beginning to trust him, and he had a strong feeling that trust was a major issue with this woman. Abandoning her now was more than therapeutically dangerous; it was downright unethical.
ACROSS THE HALL, Tess stepped tentatively into the small waiting area. The receptionist glanced up and gave her a chilly smile before resuming typing at her keyboard.
Hoping she wasn’t in for a long wait, Tess plopped down on the couch and grabbed a news magazine off the pile sitting on the coffee table. She restlessly started leafing through the magazine and stopped at a page. A picture of a grisly-faced man with tattooed arms stared out at the camera from between heavy bars. “Waiting For Clemency” was the title.
A quick skim of the opening paragraph told Tess that it was an article about a man on death row. Wonderful. Nothing like a little light reading to calm her already-jangled nerves.
She flipped the page and came face-to-face with a picture of the death chamber—a stark white room with a stretcher in the middle. Padded straps crisscrossed the thin mattress, ready to clamp some death-row inmate to the table.
Tess’s fingers tightened on the edges of the slick paper. The pages of the magazine started to shake, and a jolt of terror shot through her. A strange, searing flush blazed across the surface of her skin, and the page ripped beneath her suddenly sweaty hand.
Her head dropped back, bumping the wall. Her vision seemed to darken along the edges. Suddenly, it was as if she was strapped to the table and pain coursed through her body. The straps seemed to tighten over her bare limbs and she strained against them, fighting them. Her back arched off the table as the leather cut into her flesh.
She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. The magazine dropped from her nerveless fingers and her entire body shook violently.
“Miss!” A voice cut through the pain of the nightmare. “Are you all right, miss?”
Numbers, the color of shiny brass flashed in front of her eyes—5-6-8-7. They drifted and floated as if carried on a current of air. Hovering over her, Tess could see the outline of a small ghostly figure. Then, from somewhere far away, she could hear the roar of a crowd.
She frowned, straining to hear. She was seeing people. People cheering someone. Calling his name. She strained harder, trying to make out the name. But the cheering died away, and the corner of the dream folded and disappeared.
Tess opened her eyes to find the receptionist standing over her, an expression of concern on her tight, narrow face. “Are you okay, miss?”
Tess leaned forward and wiped the palms of her sweaty hands along the sides of her legs, trying to hide the fact that they were trembling. Her hair fell over her shoulders and hid her face. “I—I’m fine,” she said, her voice raspy and uneven to her own ears.
“I thought you were having a seizure,” the woman said.
Tess swallowed. Her mouth had become so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Speech was near impossible.
What had happened? Sucking in a mouthful of oxygen, Tess peeked through the curtain of hair falling over her face. She watched as the woman bent down and snatched the magazine up off the floor.
“I’ll have to throw this out. The entire article has been destroyed,” she said.
Tess grabbed the arm of the couch and levered herself up off the cushions. Her knees quivered, and she almost fell over backward. But she locked her knees and straightened up. Sweat broke out between her shoulder blades and ran down the column of her spine, pooling in the small of her back.
“I’m sorry. I guess I got a little dizzy.” She reached up and wiped a line of sweat off her forehead. “Please tell Dr. Donovan that I had to leave.”
Concern flickered across the secretary’s pinched face. Tess was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the fact that her face was probably the color of rice paper. More than likely the woman was simply worried she’d be somehow blamed for Tess’s sudden departure.
The receptionist touched Tess’s elbow with her perfectly manicured nails. The hard tips skittered across her skin, giving her goose bumps. “Why don’t you sit back down, dear. I’m sure Dr. Donovan will be finished very soon and you can tell him yourself that you’d like to leave.”
“Tell Dr. Donovan I got tired of waiting,” Tess said, trying to tamp down her rising hysteria. She had to get out of there.
The woman protested further but Tess ignored her, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Her breath came in short pants. By the time she reached the door leading to the hallway, her shirt was plastered to her body with a fine sheen of perspiration. Amazing how quickly a person’s body went into hyperdrive.
She yanked open the door and stepped out into the empty corridor. She could barely breathe, hot air catching in the back of her throat. She ran the palm of her hand along the cool wall, attempting to steady herself.
Seeing the scowling secretary standing in the doorway Tess took off. Rushing for the front door, she felt her legs grow steadier with each stride. She hit the release bar of the door with an urgent smack and the door swung open. A slight tickle at the back of her neck made Tess glance over her right shoulder.
The receptionist was still framed in the office doorway, but now two men in dark suits flanked her. In spite of the fact that they were inside, both men wore mirrored sunglasses, their facial features frozen, unreadable. The woman whispered something to the one on her right, and he nodded, his head never moving from staring straight at her.
Tess tried to ignore the chill that swept through her as she turned and walked out into the warm afternoon.
Chapter Three
Ryan was more than frustrated, he was royally ticked off. Not only was Sidney Bloom telling him that he wasn’t permitted to treat Tess, he was outright ordering him to turn her case over to him.
It had been a long time since Ryan had felt the need to acquiesce to Sidney Bloom. He might respect the man as a teacher and benevolent mentor, but sometimes one had to step out of the shadow of the teacher. Ryan was sure now was that time.
But before he could speak, the door behind them swung open. Mrs. Mackie—the waiting-room receptionist—stood in the doorway, her face the picture of frosty disapproval. “I thought you should know that the young woman you brought in just left.”
“What you mean she left?” Ryan said.
“Just what I said. She got up and walked out.”
Bloom scowled. “Well, where did she go?”
Mrs. Mackie glanced in Ryan’s direction, an accusatory expression on her narrow face. Obviously, she didn’t
