Read Online Dangerous Attachments (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 1) by Sarah Lovett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Lovett
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didn't differentiate it from the skin itself, but her fingers probed and pushed and a ninth item slid out of the pouch. Dark and dried like an old apple, the ear was so weathered, Sylvia didn't immediately recognize it as human.
CHAPTER FIVE
T HERE WAS A waiting list for Sunday brunch at Tortilla Flats, but Rosie was already seated in a booth. She raised a lipstick-stained coffee cup and smiled when she recognized Sylvia.
"Coffee for me, too," Sylvia told a waitress. She slipped out of her coat and tucked it over the edge of the seat. The air smelled of spices and tortillas, and neighboring tables were filled with parents, teenagers, and toddlers.
"What's up?" Rosie asked.
"I'm in a tight spot," Sylvia said as she slid into the booth. She waited while the waitress set a huge platter of stuffed tortilla, beans, rice, and a side of grease-puffed sopaipillas in front of Rosie.
"I ordered a burrito," Rosie said. "I couldn't resist."
The waitress placed a clean cup on the table and poured coffee from an insulated pot. Sylvia dabbed at the base of the cup and a small brown stain spread out onto the napkin.
"Share these with me," Rosie said, pushing the basket of sopaipillas and a plastic squeeze-bottle of honey toward Sylvia. "I'm listening."
Sylvia set the envelope containing the pouch on the table. She let the baggie slide out onto Formica. Through the slightly opaque layers, it was impossible to identify the contents.
Rosie pointed to her full mouth and wrinkled her nose quizzically. After she swallowed, she said, "What is that?"
"I didn't bother to put it back together," Sylvia said. "I didn't want to screw around with evidence." She watched while Rosie slit open the plastic runner with a polished nail and surveyed the contents of the bag. From an adjacent booth, a three-year-old tossed a wadded napkin over the Formica divider; it bounced off a salsa bottle and fell into Sylvia's lap. She aimed it gently back in the direction of the child.
"Is this what I think it is?" Rosie asked, pointing at one corner of the bag.
"An ear?" Sylvia kept her voice low and ignored the large woman, probably the mother of the three-year-old, who glared at the two women.
"Where the hell did it come from? Whose is it?"
Sylvia took a swallow of coffee, brushed a strand of hair from her eye, and stared at the overweight mother until the woman turned back to her family.
She held up her thumb and said, "First, I'd like to avoid getting my source fired. Second," her index finger joined her thumb, "I'm not at liberty to speculate on the ownership of the pouch. It should've gone directly to you in the first place."
"Why didn't it?"
Sylvia dropped her hands to the table, tore off a piece of sopaipilla, and leaned forward. "Because he was scared." The crispy golden dough disappeared between her lips.
"Who is the damn source?" Rosie stabbed at her burrito, tore into the soft tortilla with her fork, but she didn't bother to eat.
"One of your C.O.s," Sylvia said.
"One of my boys? And the pouch belongs to Watson?"
Sylvia's features settled into a neutral mask. She tipped her cup and glanced at the brown ring of fluid trapped in the bottom. "I want to know exactly what happened with Lucas." The cup fell back into the saucer with a clatter.
"You're handing me a severed ear, but you won't tell me which C.O. gave it to you, and I'm supposed to tell you the details of an active investigation?"
"Yes, I'm giving you the damn ear," Sylvia whispered. "I shouldn't even do that much." She paused and took a breath. "Anderson. He's your C.O."
Both women sipped coffee, and then Rosie nodded slowly. "It happened Friday night; Lucas went berserk. The doctor says psychotic break. He's medicated now. He had a copy of your evaluation; that seems to have been the trigger."
Sylvia slammed her spine against the vinyl seat cushion.
A busboy chose that moment to refill coffee cups and water glasses, and Rosie put her arms around her plate protectively. "I'm
CHAPTER FIVE
T HERE WAS A waiting list for Sunday brunch at Tortilla Flats, but Rosie was already seated in a booth. She raised a lipstick-stained coffee cup and smiled when she recognized Sylvia.
"Coffee for me, too," Sylvia told a waitress. She slipped out of her coat and tucked it over the edge of the seat. The air smelled of spices and tortillas, and neighboring tables were filled with parents, teenagers, and toddlers.
"What's up?" Rosie asked.
"I'm in a tight spot," Sylvia said as she slid into the booth. She waited while the waitress set a huge platter of stuffed tortilla, beans, rice, and a side of grease-puffed sopaipillas in front of Rosie.
"I ordered a burrito," Rosie said. "I couldn't resist."
The waitress placed a clean cup on the table and poured coffee from an insulated pot. Sylvia dabbed at the base of the cup and a small brown stain spread out onto the napkin.
"Share these with me," Rosie said, pushing the basket of sopaipillas and a plastic squeeze-bottle of honey toward Sylvia. "I'm listening."
Sylvia set the envelope containing the pouch on the table. She let the baggie slide out onto Formica. Through the slightly opaque layers, it was impossible to identify the contents.
Rosie pointed to her full mouth and wrinkled her nose quizzically. After she swallowed, she said, "What is that?"
"I didn't bother to put it back together," Sylvia said. "I didn't want to screw around with evidence." She watched while Rosie slit open the plastic runner with a polished nail and surveyed the contents of the bag. From an adjacent booth, a three-year-old tossed a wadded napkin over the Formica divider; it bounced off a salsa bottle and fell into Sylvia's lap. She aimed it gently back in the direction of the child.
"Is this what I think it is?" Rosie asked, pointing at one corner of the bag.
"An ear?" Sylvia kept her voice low and ignored the large woman, probably the mother of the three-year-old, who glared at the two women.
"Where the hell did it come from? Whose is it?"
Sylvia took a swallow of coffee, brushed a strand of hair from her eye, and stared at the overweight mother until the woman turned back to her family.
She held up her thumb and said, "First, I'd like to avoid getting my source fired. Second," her index finger joined her thumb, "I'm not at liberty to speculate on the ownership of the pouch. It should've gone directly to you in the first place."
"Why didn't it?"
Sylvia dropped her hands to the table, tore off a piece of sopaipilla, and leaned forward. "Because he was scared." The crispy golden dough disappeared between her lips.
"Who is the damn source?" Rosie stabbed at her burrito, tore into the soft tortilla with her fork, but she didn't bother to eat.
"One of your C.O.s," Sylvia said.
"One of my boys? And the pouch belongs to Watson?"
Sylvia's features settled into a neutral mask. She tipped her cup and glanced at the brown ring of fluid trapped in the bottom. "I want to know exactly what happened with Lucas." The cup fell back into the saucer with a clatter.
"You're handing me a severed ear, but you won't tell me which C.O. gave it to you, and I'm supposed to tell you the details of an active investigation?"
"Yes, I'm giving you the damn ear," Sylvia whispered. "I shouldn't even do that much." She paused and took a breath. "Anderson. He's your C.O."
Both women sipped coffee, and then Rosie nodded slowly. "It happened Friday night; Lucas went berserk. The doctor says psychotic break. He's medicated now. He had a copy of your evaluation; that seems to have been the trigger."
Sylvia slammed her spine against the vinyl seat cushion.
A busboy chose that moment to refill coffee cups and water glasses, and Rosie put her arms around her plate protectively. "I'm
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