Page 20 of Deathtoll

“Why did you willingly walk into enemy territory?”

He shrugged. “It was my job. What I signed up for.”

“There you have it. We both know the risks of our jobs. We do them anyway, because we care.”

He shook his head, and his lipsalmostcurved at the very corner. “I’m batshit crazy, I fully admit it. But, and I hate to be the one to tell you this, you’re not entirely sane either.”

She laughed, didn’t let it show that it hurt her throat. “I’ll see you in a couple of days?”

“If you’re sure. I swear, I won’t blame you if—”

“I’m sure, Scott. It’s my job. What I signed up for. Why don’t you take the rest of the hour and go for a walk in the woods?”

He drew a slow breath. Nodded. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. You take care.”

After he left, Kate finished her report and sent a note over to Maria. They were going to help Scott Young and that was that. They’d fixed worse at the center. Scott’s treatment might end up being a bumpy road, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle.

As Kate typed, her gaze fell on her bruised right wrist. Bad day to be wearing a short-sleeve T-shirt under her scrubs. When she finished the report, she stepped into her bathroom to check out her neck.

The purpling skin there looked even worse, marks left in the distinct shape of fingers. She grabbed a silk scarf from the hook on the back of the door, one she’d left there after that first cold snap they’d had. Then, back in front of the mirror, she wrapped the scarf loosely around her sore neck.

There. No problem.

An overly optimistic thought proven wrong in three minutes flat when her door banged open and Murph appeared.

“What the hell happened?” He zeroed in on Kate’s wrist before she could hide her hand under her desk.

“Scott Young had a brief episode.”

“He said.” Murph’s gaze snapped to her scarf. “Show me your neck.”

“It’s fine.”

He was the picture of simmering fury, a volcano pre-eruption, not spitting lava yet, but the earth was definitely trembling. “Kate, dammit—”

“Fine.” She unraveled the silk with short, jerky movements, glaring at him all the while. “Better?”

“No, it’s not better,” he said between his teeth as he stepped forward, coming to a sudden halt in front of her desk. “Makes me want to punch a fucking wall.”

She tilted her head. “Anger management class is at two p.m.”

“Dammit, Kate—”

“You already said that.”

“Why wasn’t he evaluated?”

“He was. He had issues at the first session, but he wasn’t violent. I’ll go slower with him next time.”

“No next time.”

“That’s a decision for me to make. He’s my patient. You taught me self-defense. You have to trust me to know how to use it.”

While she rewrapped her neck, he backed away a step. “Next time you treat him, I’m going to be in the room.”

“We’ll see.”