Dangerous Attachments (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 1) by Sarah Lovett Read Free Book Online Page A

"What if someone is just collecting the parts?"
    "Then we're talking headhunters. The collecting of trophies is fairly common among modern-day sociopaths; usually the victims are dead."
    Both women were startled by a knock. "Yes?" Rosie said, turning abruptly.
    The door opened and an inmate peeked inside. His head was bald except for a dark tuft of hair behind each ear. He looked like one of the seven dwarfs, Sleepy or Sneezy . . . or Happy, because he was smiling.
    His watery eyes darted back and forth between the two women. "I just wondered if you had any waste in your basket."
    When Rosie nodded impatiently, he entered and moved toward an overflowing metal trash can set in the corner of the room. The whisk and rustle of paper was a constant in the background as the inmate carefully, methodically emptied trash into a large black bag. When he moved toward the remaining trash basket under Rosie's desk, Sylvia stood so he could reach his target.
    Rosie stared at the man's elflike face. "You're—?"
    "Elmer Rivak." He beamed at Sylvia as he carried his load to the door.
    "That's right, cell block one. Thanks for your diligence, Elmer." As the man closed the door, Rosie touched Sylvia on the arm and whispered, "Elmer doesn't look like a mass murderer, does he? I think he's got a crush on you."
    Sylvia raised both eyebrows and shook her head. "Lucky me."
    Rosie sobered suddenly. She chose her next words with care. "What if I found a connection between these incidents and Lucas?" She stared at Sylvia with cat eyes. "Is Lucas capable of dismembering people?"
    Maybe
. Sylvia frowned. She was more than curious, but for the moment, she kept her mouth shut. She knew her friend; Rosie would want to trade information. But it was up to Herb Burnett to decide if Sylvia's evaluation of his client would be released to corrections department authorities. She and Rosie walked a constant tightrope where a verbal misstep meant a possible violation of client confidentiality or institutional security.
    "I know it's not scientific, but Lucas makes the hair on my head stand up." Rosie shivered. "And the fact that he wasn't here during the riot doesn't eliminate him as a suspect." She pulled a thin file off her desk and waved it in the air. "There have been some incident reports . . . concerning him. Do you know what I'm referring to?"
    Sylvia shook her head almost imperceptibly. "Are these reports something his lawyer would know about?"
    "Probably. He spooks the other inmates. They don't like to get near him. He's been accused of giving his enemies the 'evil eye.' He put a spell on an inmate named Roybal two days ago, and poor Roybal is in sick bayshitting himself to death. Doesn't that sound like a man who wants to take the power of his enemies?"
    "I'll tell you this much," Sylvia said. "I'm going to push hard to have Lucas Watson reclassified and transferred to Los Lunas where he can get intensive psych treatment." She paused, then said, "If you want, I'll do some 'psycho-magic' and help you find your body snatcher."
    "There's something I've got to tell you . . ." Rosie's tone was dead serious.
"Jita
, be careful."
    Sylvia waited.
    Rosie said, "Someone's been asking about you. My ears tell me that your name is spoken in the yard, in the cell blocks. I don't know who is talking or what they say, but it scares me."

CHAPTER FOUR
    T HE AIR IN cell block one seemed thick with tedium and desperation. Beneath the spare mattress pad, Lucas felt the concrete slab pressed against his back. The cell walls seemed to swell, visibly shrinking the already claustrophobic space. Through the grill, he saw ten square inches of wall. He heard voices raised, a chorus talking back to the tube. It scared him that he couldn't remember which day it was; he groped mentally for clues. The soaps.
One Life to Live. Days of Our Lives. The Young and the
Fucking
Restless
. The smell of fish . . . Friday.
    There was one way he could always escape captivity. He rubbed his