diagnosis. Cyrus might not have a logical reason to fixate on him, yet he had done exactly that. The saving grace was the man was behind bars at a supermax facility. The last person to escape from that prison had done so on a medical transport. There was no way the facility managers would allow Cyrus to be transported—he prayed they wouldn’t, not without shackles, cuffs, and chains. He was too dangerous to the world to be sent outside the prison walls for care.
He pulled at the feeling of anxiety, examining what was causing it. It took ten miles to figure it out. His anxiety over the fixation—and Cyrus in general—was due to the fact the man had escaped while in the medical wing and could have used any of the people in the facility to force the guards to open doors.
He shook his head. “They wouldn’t have.” He shifted in his seat. The guards locked down Cyrus during the riot and they would have kept the place locked down if he tried to escape, even with a hostage. Of course, the hostage would be dead, but Cyrus would rot in jail. Anxiety surrounding the belief the man would come after him, no matter how strong, had no foundation.
He drew a breath and then a deeper one. Time and distance helped with perspective. He needed this break, he needed to be away from the confines of the prison, and he needed to examine everything that had happened. One memory at a time, but he wouldn’t push himself. Tomorrow, as he worked, he’d pull out another sliver of apprehension and turn it over and over until he understood where it came from and why he kept feeling the trepidation.
He stuck his hand out the window and felt the warm, buffeting winds try to push it back. The freedom was nothing like riding a motorcycle, but the feel of the air moving around him gave him a sense of peace.
His phone lit up and vibrated in the cupholder. Jamison. Why? He wasn’t supposed to check in with his friend for another four days.
He swiped the face of his phone and answered. “Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Hold on.” He hit the button and lifted the driver’s side window and switched on the fan in the cab before he spoke again. “Driving to Rapid City to pick up some stair risers. What’s up?”
Jamison was quiet for a few seconds. “Why?”
“Because Gen and Eden’s stairs are a death trap and I needed something to do while I was here.”
“Gen is your sister. Who is Eden?”
“Definitely not my sister,” Jeremiah chuckled.
“Well, that’s an interesting turn of events. Are you thinking of staying longer?”
“Maybe. What’s up? We aren’t scheduled to talk for a couple days.” He adjusted the cruise control up a couple miles per hour. There was no one for as far as he could see, and he could fly down these roads.
“I have a favor to ask,” Jamison came straight out with it.
“What can I do for you?” He’d do anything he could for his friend.
“There is a young woman not too far from Hollister who is in a Post-Traumatic Stress recovery situation. Major mental and physical trauma. Would you be willing to work with her?”
Jeremiah chuffed out a sigh. “Dude, you know I am not licensed to work in South Dakota.”
Jamison mocked him, “Dude, you know I work for Guardian, right?”
“Smartass,” Jeremiah laughed at him.
“Always, but seriously, Guardian will handle everything. You’ll have authorization to practice and prescribe within the week.”
He blew out a lungful of air. “I don’t have anywhere to see her.”
“I checked. There is a county clinic in Hollister. We can make inquiries and see if we can rent a room from them once a week.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
“I have. The only thing I need is you saying yes.” Jamison’s smugness should have pissed him off, but it didn’t.
“Let me work the clinic aspect. I’ve met the Nurse and Doctor that use the facility.” He was pretty sure Eden would allow him to see the patient after hours, and hopefully, that would work for the woman.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“That’s a yes.” He smiled at the whoop that came from his friend.
“You don’t know how much this will mean to people in prominent places here at Guardian.”
“Does she work for Guardian?”
“Ah…” There was a pause as if Jamison was trying to think of a way to answer that question. “Well, no. She was Agency I believe.”