The Fixer by T. E. Woods Read Free Book Online Page A

up a whole. Perhaps the evil this Santell does will be met with a celestial reckoning.”
    “You talking karma?” Mort huffed out a laugh. “I’m the asshole who couldn’t wait for an arrest warrant. You think I have the patience for karma?”
    “We’re a nation of laws, Mort. But we’re a universe of mystery. If the law can’t provide justice, what else have we but hope for a godly balancing?”
    Mort’s eyes hardened. “There’s got to be another way.”
    The world-renowned scholar shook his head and reached for his puzzle. “Keep your focus on your job, my friend. The other way lies trouble.”
     
     

Chapter Eight
    Lydia Corriger said goodbye to her seventh patient of the day at five-thirty. She dreaded driving home with every state worker in Thurston County and was weighing her commuting options when she heard the front door to her office suite open.
    “Dr. Corriger?” A female voice called from the reception area. “Hello?”
    Lydia pushed away from her desk and crossed her office.
    Savannah Samuels smiled and looked past Lydia’s shoulder. “Are you with someone? I know I don’t have an appointment.”
    Lydia surveyed her unexpected visitor. Savannah’s jet black hair was shorter. She wore chinos and a soft grey flannel shirt. Suede moccasins. Far more comfortable than the picture of calculated chic she presented last time, but still the kind of beauty who inspires poets.
    “You nearly missed me. What can I do for you, Savannah?”
    The lovely woman fixed Lydia with pleading eyes. “You remember me. That’s nice.” Savannah hunched her shoulders and clenched her flawless face in supplication. “Could you maybe see me? Now, I mean?”
    Lydia looked at her wristwatch.
    “I know it’s late. Please. I’ll pay extra.”
    Lydia raised her right eyebrow.
    “That’s right. I forgot. I’m sorry.” Savannah offered a weak smile. “I’ll pay your published fee and not a penny more.”
    Lydia glanced at her watch, remembered the traffic, and ushered her in. She settled into a chair and watched Savannah mill about her office, looking at framed diplomas before moving on to inspect titles on her shelf. She ran her finger across a row of books. “You can tell a lot about a person by how they decorate,” she said.
    “It’s been, what?” Lydia scanned her memory bank. “Six weeks? Maybe seven? What brings you back?”
    “For instance, you don’t have any photographs. Not on your shelves. Not on your walls.”
    “Savannah, you didn’t come here to critique my decorating. Tell me what’s going on.” Lydia reached for her notebook but recalled Savannah’s request for no session notes.
    “No photo of you shaking hands with an academic legend. No pictures of a smiling hubby or kids. Not even a dog.” Savannah’s blue eyes teased. “How very un-trophy of you, Dr. Corriger.”
    “Savannah, you may talk about lots of things but you may not waste my time.” Lydia’s tone was gentle but unyielding.
    “Not even one picture from the past?” Savannah whispered. “A childhood friend? Maybe someone special?”
    “Have a seat, please.”
    Savannah stood still. Lydia watched her in silence. Finally, she sat down, rigid and straight-backed, across from her therapist.
    “Where should we start?” Savannah placed her canvas tote next to her feet and put her hands on clenched knees. Her right leg bobbed. A manic metronome beating the tempo of unrestrained anxiety.
    “You’re afraid of something. Do you know what it is?” Lydia snuggled further down into her overstuffed chair. Model the opposite pose of a nervous patient, she reminded herself. Calm and steady.
    Tears filled Savannah’s eyes. She reached for the tissue box on the table between the two women. “Of course I know. Did you think I’d be blissfully ignorant of my demons?”
    “Demons, are they?” Lydia focused on her patient. “Tell me about them.”
    Savannah wiped her eyes and pulled herself taller.
    “You told me at our last