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

pouch over his chest, caressed the Madonna, and with each breath disappeared in his own flesh, deep into the boy named Luke.
    His mother smiled at him. She was standing next to the ironing board, and she was barefoot, naked except for a gauzy white slip. In her hands she clutched a child'scowboy shirt. Her hair fell loose to her shoulders, tendrils damp against high cheekbones.
    The boy Luke reached out to her, and because he was only five years old, his arms clutched her knees. A sweet smell filled the air.
Mama
.
    Her laughter washed over the boy like a great wave.
    Mama.
    The boy felt her hands on his tiny shoulders when she pushed him away. He fell backward, his face collapsed into a scowl, and both his arms reached out hungrily.
    Maamaaaa, bed!
    Like a silent actress, she touched her finger to her mouth, and the light reflecting from her wedding band exploded in a dance of gold fire. A bead of moisture spanned the distance from lip to finger; for an instant her spit bridged the space between word and touch. When the boy's mother snapped her finger to the iron and the triangle of hot metal sizzled, he saw the bad word spill from her lips.
    "No."
    A harsh, black rage vibrated through the boy's fragile body. He threw himself against his mother's legs. He clawed, scratched, screamed until the pressure in his skull became too intense and everything turned gray. And quiet.
    When the boy came to, he was in his mother's arms. In her bed. And the warmth, the warmth was heaven . . .
    The pain of a severed synapse stole the memory from Lucas and the claustrophobia of CB-1 intruded once more. But the texture of the pouch kept him from spinning out. It was slick and warm, a reassuring opening for his fingers. He found his mother's wedding ring,tightened his fist, and the gold band cut into his flesh. He closed his eyes. "Mama."
    It took him a moment to realize he'd spoken aloud. After a second exploration of the pouch he found the lock of hair. These were the treasures he massaged against his belly, round and round, until he ejaculated into his other hand.
    So good. The warmth . . .
    He gripped the pouch until his breathing returned to normal. He stretched, so relaxed that he was able to ignore the hard mattress beneath him. When he sat up in the bed, his hand brushed against something sharp: the manila folder.
    This morning, Mr. Lawyer had feinted left and right. "What happened when you talked to Sylvia?" Mr. Lawyer had probed. "Did it go okay? Did something happen? What questions did she ask?" Lucas opened the lip of the folder and slid the pages out until the letterhead was visible.
    Mr. Lawyer didn't really want to let his client see the evaluation. So he said. But Lucas could see the lies as they spilled from Mr. Lawyer's thick lips, and he always got what he wanted from the Herb. All he had to do was mention compliance monitors, the Duran Consent Decree, and prisoners' rights.
    He glanced at the scroll of letters against the page, then held the paper to his face and inhaled. He picked up her scent very faintly. Sylvia—her face merged with his Madonna. He sucked in visions of the woman. He imagined the taste of her and believed he could track her anywhere in the world with only this fragile sensory path as guide.
    Eagerly, he began the work of reading. He hunchedover the pages focusing on each word, each line. "The purpose of . . . Tuesday, November 16 . . . critical evaluation." As he worked his way through the report, his breathing became labored and his pulse quickened. Occasional flashes of light exploded in front of his eyes like fireworks. He forced himself to continue, but he was not prepared for the impact of her words:". . . no immediate evidence of organic syndromes . . . probable magical thinking . . . shift from a moderately paranoid state to severely erratic behavior not inconsistent with delusional (persecutory) psychosis . . . although the interview was prematurely terminated . . . seek a