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

flakes
           1 box ritz cakers
           toothpaste + brush
           jergens lochun
           soap
           pills looking like aspiren
           some pages from a doctor report
           some other mail
           P.S. after he bit C.O. Anderson he tried to eat some paper + he did
    Later that night, as Anderson dozed fitfully, alone in the officer's lounge, he remembered those few moments before the bite when Lucas Watson stared back at him with mad dog eyes. Anderson had not been able to move his feet. He had been frozen in place by the malevolent force of Lucas Watson.
    T HE PENITENTIARY ADMINISTRATION offices were deserted, the hall lights dim on Saturday morning. In the psych office, Sylvia collected a thick stack of notesand drawings. She'd just finished a two-hour interview with a schizophrenic, a nineteen-year-old convicted rapist, whose functioning was rapidly deteriorating; penitentiary cockroaches were sending him messages with their antennae. His lawyer wanted him reclassified and out of general population. With luck, he was bound for the psych unit at Los Lunas.
    Her mind still on the session, Sylvia left the office. On the stairwell, boots clattered behind her and a hand clutched her shoulder. She turned abruptly to find herself face to face with a C.O. It took her several seconds to register his name: Anderson, the officer who had accompanied Lucas Watson to the evaluation. She was unnerved by his disheveled appearance. Forty-eight-hour shifts were not uncommon at the pen, but this man looked as if he'd been worked over by a grizzly bear.
    She flinched as Anderson pressed a manila envelope into her hands. "You for-for-forgot this," he stammered.
    "This isn't mine," she said.
Be careful, jita
. The hair on the nape of Sylvia's neck stood up.
    Anderson wouldn't touch the packet. "Keep it. If he gets it back, he'll do more bad things."
    She felt as if she was holding liquid metal the way the C.O. kept backing away from the envelope.
    "You're a doctor," he said.
    Sylvia stared at the towering, dish-faced man. His skin was flushed and rivulets of perspiration ran down fleshy, freckled cheeks. He smelled of fear—acrid and rank.
    She extended her hand, and the envelope. "Whatever this is, give it to the investigations office—"
    "Don't you get it?" Anderson snapped. "Lucas read your report."
    Sylvia stared at the guard, trying to take in his words.
    "It made him crazy."
    "What are you talking about?"
    "You know." Anderson gaped at her, his upper lip tight and paper white. "They didn't tell you?" He jabbed an index finger in the air above the envelope. "You keep it," he whispered. "You're the only one who knows."
    Sylvia watched him turn and limp up the stairs.
    With the bulky envelope in her hands, she stood alone for several seconds deciding what to do. Then, resolutely, she tucked the packet into her briefcase, pivoted, and walked toward one of three gates that would slide open to the world outside the prison. Her curiosity had won out.
    I T WAS LESS than nine miles from the penitentiary to downtown Santa Fe. During the fifteen-minute drive, Sylvia's gaze returned repeatedly to the envelope on the passenger seat.
    The office lot was full, but she outmaneuvered a man in a Porsche and parked on the street near the corner of Chapelle and McKenzie. Sylvia gathered up her briefcase and the envelope and walked the short block to her office. The air had snap and carried the savory punch of a piñon fire. She moved briskly through the dormant courtyard garden and up the stairs of the historic two-story adobe. Her office was the third on the right. She unlocked the door, dropped her briefcase on her desk, and stared at the envelope. Just as she slid an ornate brass blade along the paper seal, the phone rang.
    "Dr. Sylvia Strange? This is Duke Watson."
    Even behind the white noise and static, Lucas Watson's father sounded like a man who was accustomed to being obeyed. Sylvia felt