Clay's lips. She had watched him going through his emotional contortions, and there had surfaced within him a killing rage that thickened the air in the office. Every muscle had tensed and every doubt had surfaced: She had been wrong to trust him, been wrong to believe Ferris Mendenhall competent to prescribe an adequate dosage of lithium. She saw the wreckage that Clay could make of her office, and her. She saw her own obituary.
And as his seizure passed, there had swept through her an exhilaration she'd thought must surely be reserved for daredevil feats. Skydiving, ski jumping … anything where survival was left to fate.
This, more than anything, had taught her the addict's rush.
"There's something I'm not seeing yet in this guy," Adrienne murmured. "There's something in him that I'm missing."
"Then you'd better find it before long. You won't have all the time in the world with him."
"Tell me about it."
It was her one great fear in this case: Soon, word would come down to her that Clay Palmer was well enough to be discharged. He need not sit around until his hands healed and the casts were removed. While obligated to provide a certain measure of care, the hospital would fund the costs of a transient assault victim for only so long without squawking and demanding his release. He had insurance, a group employee policy, but the claim was being contested because, in leaving Denver, he had walked away from his job.
Of course, she had a certain measure of control, as well. His physical evaluation was out of her hands, but his psychological well-being was her responsibility. As long as she said he wasn't ready to be released, that might be enough to keep him around.
"What I'm most worried about," said Adrienne, "is if he decides he wants to go back home. There's no way I can justify any follow-up then."
"Have you thought about…?" said Sarah, almost teasing, dangling a possibility like tantalizing bait.
"What?" Adrienne met her eyes. "Come on, what?"
"Now think." Sarah nestled in closer as a chilled breeze began to blow in off the darkening desert. Adrienne curled one arm up around her shoulders and slowly ran her splayed hand through Sarah's tousled mane.
"Ow," Sarah said. "Your fingers are sticky and you're pulling my hair."
"Good." A cruel smile played over Adrienne's lips and she drummed her wine-tacked fingers. "What are you getting at?"
Sarah twisted her head around until she could bite Adrienne's hand, bearing down lightly with a grin until the hand relented.
"Don't tell me I haven't caught a little jealous pining in your eyes whenever the subject of my thesis comes up."
Adrienne pinched Sarah's nose. "If you'd decided on a subject, you mean."
"You know what I'm talking about. You love independent research, and the fact that it's going to consume my life before long digs at you, doesn't it?" She demonstrated by gouging her fingers into Adrienne's ribs, her most ticklish spot. "Right?"
"So what if it does? You're a presumptuous little bitch, you know that?" As she was running out of bodily places to torment, name-calling seemed a viable alternative.
Sarah grabbed both of Adrienne's hands and held them tight. "Then do something about it. What, the great healing motivator in my life can't see the obvious? If you're that intrigued by what makes him tick, run an end sweep around the hospital, go to the university psych department, and put in for some grant money so you can treat him as your first research subject."
"And what makes you think I haven't already moved in that direction?"
Sarah flashed her sweetest smile. "Because if you had, you wouldn't have been so insufferably mopey about him five minutes ago. You would've been bursting." She arched her eyebrows, smug and satisfied, and leaned in nose-to-nose. "Right?"
"Right," Adrienne confessed.
She stretched out her legs to prop her feet on the railing beside Sarah's, and together they watched the darkness thicken across the desert, waiting for someone
And as his seizure passed, there had swept through her an exhilaration she'd thought must surely be reserved for daredevil feats. Skydiving, ski jumping … anything where survival was left to fate.
This, more than anything, had taught her the addict's rush.
"There's something I'm not seeing yet in this guy," Adrienne murmured. "There's something in him that I'm missing."
"Then you'd better find it before long. You won't have all the time in the world with him."
"Tell me about it."
It was her one great fear in this case: Soon, word would come down to her that Clay Palmer was well enough to be discharged. He need not sit around until his hands healed and the casts were removed. While obligated to provide a certain measure of care, the hospital would fund the costs of a transient assault victim for only so long without squawking and demanding his release. He had insurance, a group employee policy, but the claim was being contested because, in leaving Denver, he had walked away from his job.
Of course, she had a certain measure of control, as well. His physical evaluation was out of her hands, but his psychological well-being was her responsibility. As long as she said he wasn't ready to be released, that might be enough to keep him around.
"What I'm most worried about," said Adrienne, "is if he decides he wants to go back home. There's no way I can justify any follow-up then."
"Have you thought about…?" said Sarah, almost teasing, dangling a possibility like tantalizing bait.
"What?" Adrienne met her eyes. "Come on, what?"
"Now think." Sarah nestled in closer as a chilled breeze began to blow in off the darkening desert. Adrienne curled one arm up around her shoulders and slowly ran her splayed hand through Sarah's tousled mane.
"Ow," Sarah said. "Your fingers are sticky and you're pulling my hair."
"Good." A cruel smile played over Adrienne's lips and she drummed her wine-tacked fingers. "What are you getting at?"
Sarah twisted her head around until she could bite Adrienne's hand, bearing down lightly with a grin until the hand relented.
"Don't tell me I haven't caught a little jealous pining in your eyes whenever the subject of my thesis comes up."
Adrienne pinched Sarah's nose. "If you'd decided on a subject, you mean."
"You know what I'm talking about. You love independent research, and the fact that it's going to consume my life before long digs at you, doesn't it?" She demonstrated by gouging her fingers into Adrienne's ribs, her most ticklish spot. "Right?"
"So what if it does? You're a presumptuous little bitch, you know that?" As she was running out of bodily places to torment, name-calling seemed a viable alternative.
Sarah grabbed both of Adrienne's hands and held them tight. "Then do something about it. What, the great healing motivator in my life can't see the obvious? If you're that intrigued by what makes him tick, run an end sweep around the hospital, go to the university psych department, and put in for some grant money so you can treat him as your first research subject."
"And what makes you think I haven't already moved in that direction?"
Sarah flashed her sweetest smile. "Because if you had, you wouldn't have been so insufferably mopey about him five minutes ago. You would've been bursting." She arched her eyebrows, smug and satisfied, and leaned in nose-to-nose. "Right?"
"Right," Adrienne confessed.
She stretched out her legs to prop her feet on the railing beside Sarah's, and together they watched the darkness thicken across the desert, waiting for someone
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