have a psychiatrist with access to patients and a prescription pad if he was losing his own marbles.
Susan seemed like the best person possible to keep tabs on him. They’d both been at the top of their class at Johns Hopkins and had been paired together for their residencies at Georgetown. Like Beck, she specialized in crisis psychiatry—taking the most severe cases she could find.
And she was more likely to put up with him than anyone else. Beck had a reputation as a loose cannon even before he discovered the tumor. He was impatient with theories and studies. He wanted to use whatever worked. It was one reason he was popular with his patients and unpopular with other doctors.
“How are you feeling?” Susan asked with genuine concern.
“I’m fine.”
“Looks like he tagged you pretty hard.”
Beck touched his lip. It was still swollen. “I’m a doctor, not a boxer.”
She didn’t smile. Beck suspected he was in for another version of the Talk.
“That’s my point. You deliberately antagonized a man who gets into life-and-death situations all the time. It could have been much worse for you.”
Yes, it was the Talk again. It usually went like this. She’d tell him he was being reckless. He would nod his head and listen. And then he’d go on doing what he’d always done before.
Today, however, Susan seemed to be out of patience.
“Maybe I should just tell the board to pull your license now,” she said. “You don’t listen. You don’t want to change. And because of your condition—”
“Tumor.”
“—your tumor, you’ve got no reason to change. Do you see that you’re using it as an excuse?”
But Beck didn’t have much patience today, either.
“Look,” Beck said. “I help people. It’s what I do. I don’t have a lot of time left. And by the time these patients get to me, neither do they. They are at the end of their ropes, and they’re thinking of tying a noose. I will do whatever it takes to help them.”
“Because only you can save them? We’ve talked about your Superman complex before.”
“That’s Doctor Superman to you.”
Still no smile. “Answer the question.”
Beck shrugged. “Well. I don’t see anyone else pulling on a cape to save the day.”
Susan looked like she was going to keep arguing with him, but Beck’s phone beeped with a reminder. He checked the screen. APPOINTMENT WITH KEVIN SCOTT—10 A.M.
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Seeing a new patient.”
She frowned, but gestured for him to leave. “We’re not done with this yet,” she said. “Call me tomorrow to check in.”
He saluted. “Sir, yes, sir, General, sir!”
She finally cracked a smile. “That’s Doctor General to you.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Beck went to the door, but Susan had one parting shot.
“So what happens when you’re gone?” she asked. “Who’s going to save your patients if you’re not around, Doctor Superman?”
Beck shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll be dead.”
Then he walked out.
Chapter 3
Kevin Scott scowled like Beck owed him money.
Like a lot of Special Forces soldiers, he was compact and muscular. All gristle and sharp edges. He looked at the office with contempt. Too quiet, too beige, too soft.
Beck wasn’t particularly surprised. Scott had been an Army Ranger for seven years. He’d endured grueling training just to have the chance to sleep on rocks in the desert while people shot at him. Guys like Scott were not usually into the touchy-feely crap. It was always the first hurdle he had to overcome.
Because as tough as he was, Scott was also coming apart, according to the reports in front of Beck. The local VA office had referred Scott for psychiatric treatment after he had been arrested in a bar fight. He’d nearly crippled three men after an argument about the Redskins devolved into a full-on brawl. Only the fact that they attacked him kept him out of jail.
So it was pretty clear Scott needed help. But Scott wasn’t an ordinary soldier. He was part of a unit that carried out top-secret missions for the Defense Intelligence Agency in Iraq, Afghanistan, and a few places that US soldiers weren’t supposed to be. As a result, only a psychiatrist with a security clearance was allowed to talk to him. Beck was one of the few people on that list because of his experience in dealing with Special Forces veterans.
But it meant that Scott had been forced to wait for almost a month while the paperwork and red tape cleared.
Even though they’d never met, Beck had read Scott’s file and it was obvious that he was getting worse.