Page 19 of Deathtoll

As Kate’s fingertips touched his shoulder, he spun with a roar. His left hand gripped her wrist, holding her immobile, while his right hand shot for her throat and grabbed it hard.

Scott!

Her air cut off, she could only scream in her head.

She scrambled with her free hand to pry his fingers off her throat, but his muscles might as well have been made of steel. “Scott!”

He was staring at her without seeing, as he sat up and bent her back.

“Plssz,” was the most Kate could manage, a wheeze, the hoarse whine of an animal in a deadly trap.

Stars sparked in her peripheral vision. Then darkness began closing in from the edges. She had seconds left before she’d pass out.

Don’t panic.

Don’t panic!

While they were in exile in Ohio, Murph had spent considerable time teaching her self-defense. Except, back then, not hurting her assailant hadn’t been a concern. Shecouldpunch Scott in the throat, hard, or in other places that hurt. But she wouldn’t, because he was her patient.

Against all instinct, Kate forced herself to go limp instead of fighting back.

Scott held her for another interminable moment, then his eyes cleared, and then his muscles unclenched.

She fell to the ground with a thud.

Ouch. That hurt.

As she gasped for air, she was damn glad it was over.

He was across the room, wedged into the far corner in nothing but black boxer shorts, before she could blink or catch her breath.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry.” He had his hands out in front of him, palms toward her, his eyes tortured and begging. “I’m so sorry, Kate. Are you okay? I don’t know why I did that.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

A strangled laugh. “AmIall right? Are you kidding me? Shit, Kate. I’m so sorry.”

He slid down, his back against the wall, his knees pulled to the mangled skin on his chest, casting his hands away from him as if they disgusted him. His eyes that had been hard seconds before turned soft with misery, glinting with tears. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Nothing we can’t fix.” She stood up. Smiled.In control.That was the vibe she wanted to project. “I’m going to go out into my office so you can get dressed. Then we talk. All right? I’m fine. Take your time.”

She walked by him and turned her back on him without fear. His flashback was over, whatever images of hell it’d shown him gone. As Kate sat behind her desk and opened an incident report, her hands only shook a little.

Name of patient, name of staff, date and time, treatment involved…

Before Kate could decide exactly what to type in theevent descriptionfield, Scott was out, wearing a US Marines logo sweatshirt and faded jeans. He stopped as far from her as the small space allowed.

“We’re going to have to cancel our next appointment,” she told him in the friendliest tone possible.

Wretchedness poured off him. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. I’ll pack my stuff and leave.”

“That’s not how it works. You’re not discharged.”

“But—”

“Look at me.” She waited until he finally raised his troubled gaze to hers. “I’m fine. You’re fine. I’m not putting an ounce of blame on you. I’m canceling our next appointment because I want you to double up on talk therapy this week. After that, I will meet with you and Maria, and the three of us will reevaluate your treatment plan together. All right?”

His shoulders remained hunched. He looked away, then back. “Why would you do that?”