Fracture (Blood & Roses #3-4) - Callie Hart Page 0,9

room and do just that: I wait. The intercom on the reception desk buzzes a couple of times. Seven minutes later, a door down the hallway is flung open and a tall brunette in a pantsuit stalks out.

“Patricia, how many times! The buzzer means I’m re—” She sees me. Halts. Places her hands on her hips. It’s a defense mechanism—when you’re being attacked by a bear, make yourself look bigger!

I smile sweetly at her. She touches a hand to her forehead and gazes down at her shoes for a second. Seems as though she’s trying to find the right words to say. When she looks back up at me, she’s already collected herself again, one hundred percent in control. “She said you were hideous,” she announces.

“I’m aware.”

“Should I even ask where my appointment and my receptionist have disappeared to?”

“They’re fine. On their first date by the looks of things.”

Pippa shakes her head again. “Terrific. Well, I suppose you’d better come with me then.” She’s not even flustered. I like and detest this at the same time. I wanted to catch her on the back foot, and my unannounced arrival has barely made her blink. She gestures into her office. I get up and walk inside; she follows after, closing the door behind us. Together in an enclosed space? Alone? Yeah, this chick has steel cajones.

“You’re here to talk about your friend.” She sits down at her desk, crossing her legs and resting her interlaced fingers across her stomach. The posture immediately makes me angry. Prison counselor pose.

“I’m here to talk about you,” I correct her. I stand by the window, walking right past the chair set up in front of Newan’s desk. If she cares, she doesn’t show it.

“What do you want to know?”

“Are you in this for the money or do you really want to help people?”

She shrugs. “I want both. I have bills I need to pay just like everyone else. But I get to make the money I need to do that by assisting people with their reintegration into society, helping them isolate the problem areas in their lives and teaching them how to make positive changes.”

I hold up my hand—I’ve heard enough head doctor bullshit to last me a lifetime. It sounds like she’s reading from a script. The only reason I haven’t walked out already is because of the first part. She admitted to wanting the money.

“Have you ever had a patient confess criminal activity to you?” I demand.

“Yes.”

“And what actions did you take?”

“The appropriate ones.”

She called the cops. That won’t work. I don’t really know for a certainty what’s gone on in Lacey’s past, but I get the distinct impression that she did something crazy just before she showed up on my doorstep. And it probably wasn’t legal. “What would it take for you to accept Lacey off the books? To keep everything confidential, no matter what she tells you?”

Pippa assesses me, thinking. “I’m a doctor, Mr. Mayfair. I took an oath just like Sloane did. We are both bound by that oath to help people, so under these extreme circumstances I would be willing to help your friend without creating a file on her. I am, however, also bound by the law. If your friend confesses that she has caused or intends to cause harm to another person, then I can’t turn a blind eye to that.”

“So your Hippocratic oath will force you to help her, but your sense of civic duty will overrule that and ruin her anyway.”

She fixes steel-colored eyes on me. Cool and collected. “That’s how these things often go.”

“And no amount of money will change your mind on that?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mayfair.”

“Then I guess we’re done here.” Waste of fucking time. I shouldn’t have bothered. I hustle for the exit, not willing to expend any further breath on the dead-end conversation. There are a million corrupt psychologists, doctors, police officers out there. I’ll just have to bribe one of them instead.

“Mr. Mayfair?” Newan is still sitting at her desk. She hasn’t flinched. “Against my better judgment, there is one reason that might persuade me to look the other way should your friend admit to something that might normally end in jail time.”

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

She looks at me blankly, but I can see the worry in her eyes. That part is too difficult to hide. “You can stay away from my friend. Permanently. You can stay away from Sloane.”

Well, well, well. Conniving bitch. I definitely don’t