Chapter 13
LAY BARE
LONDON
I’ve unpacked every skirt from my suitcase. A pile of black and gray slacks litter my bed as I try to unearth a wardrobe that won’t tempt me, or Grayson, to think about what happened during our session.
A mock laugh falls from my lips. I toss a pair of old slacks into the open luggage. Session. So that’s what I’m calling it. Allowing a patient—a very unwell, sick patient—to maul me in my therapy room.
I zip the case closed with a muttered curse.
I’ve been attracted to patients before. As I admitted to Sadie, I’ve dealt with countertransference plenty, but never to this degree. Never with this much intensity, desire.
And I have never submitted to those desires. Never once allowed it to go as far as what transpired in my office today.
I close my eyes and fall to the bed. My skin still tingles, still feels heated from his touch. I was more than tempted to stay lost in that moment of ecstasy, to open myself up and risk too much…and that’s the danger.
That’s why I’m leaving early for New Castle. To put six-hundred miles between me and Grayson, and then get this trial over with.
My phone chimes on my nightstand.
I frown at the lighted screen before I roll over and answer. “Dr. London Noble.”
“Yes, Dr. Noble. This is Attorney General Richard Shafer. Do you have a moment to talk?”
I sit up. “I do, yes. How can I help you, Mr. Shafer?”
“I just wanted to extend the proverbial welcome mat,” he says, his deep voice professional, “and make sure you received the material my office forwarded over to you.”
I clear my bangs from my eyes. “Thank you, I did. Although I didn’t realize you’d be heading up the prosecution yourself.” My laptop rests at the foot of the bed. I pull it toward me and flip the screen open.
Honestly, between completing Grayson’s evaluation and our sessions, I have yet to actually look at the evidence. Another psychologist would argue I’m subconsciously avoiding, unable to cope with the probable outcome of Grayson’s trial, and that could be true.
As the Attorney General proceeds to explain why he’s heading up this case personally, I take a moment to glance over their evidence.
The prosecution has their own expert witness, a local therapist specializing in the criminally insane, who is set to testify that Grayson will be a danger in prison. To himself and to others.
I scoff.
“I’m sorry?” Mr. Shafer interjects.
“I appreciate your personal convictions regarding this case,” I recover quickly, “but presenting expert testimony claiming Grayson Sullivan poses a danger while incarcerated? Mr. Shafer, with all due respect, he’s spent over a year in prison without a single disciplinary infraction. He’s been a model inmate.”
The lawyer clears his throat. “Yes, a model inmate…in solitary confinement. With little to no interaction with other prisoners. New Castle Penitentiary doesn’t have the funding that Maine has, I’m afraid, to provide Sullivan with the kind of monitoring he requires.
” He pauses a beat. “Dr. Noble, you’re a leading psychologist in your field.
Your professional opinion carries significant weight in murder trials… ”
My back flares with an annoying ache. Be wary of people who compliment too soon, before they even know you—they’re lowering your defenses in preparation for the strike.
“And wasn’t it you who stated that rehabilitation can’t truly be proven without first testing a subject in an unregulated environment?”
And there it is. He’s done his homework.
“So you can appreciate the state’s hesitancy here,” he goes on. “Sullivan is simply too untested, too much of a risk.” He releases an audible breath. “And then there are the families, Dr. Noble.”
“What about the families?”
“Did you know that the Supreme Court only recently overturned the ban on capital punishment in Delaware? Primarily in anticipation of this case. That speaks volumes, doctor.”
“It speaks to fear and ignorance, Mr. Shafer. In my professional opinion, Sullivan poses no threat within a controlled environment. Prison lacks the chaos he feels compelled to correct in the outside world.”
There’s a lengthy pause before he continues. “As a psychologist, I’m sure you understand the need for closure. These families deserve and need that closure.”
He’s set in his views. Nothing I say now or on the stand will change that. “I have the deepest sympathy for the victims’ families. I always strive to convey that during trials.”
“But this is your final stance.”
I square my shoulders. “Yes. I would be doing a disservice to my profession, otherwise.”
“I understand,” he says, his tone now sharp. “Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Noble. Safe travels.”
He ends the call before I can say goodbye.
With a deep breath, I set my phone aside and glance at the manila folder that holds Grayson’s evaluation.
Regardless of my personal feelings, professionally speaking, having a patient on death row is a heavy burden for any doctor to bear. The weight of Grayson’s trial rests heavily on my shoulders. This second attempt by the prosecution to sway my testimony only underscores that reality.
With the Attorney General personally determined to see Grayson executed for his crimes, the scales of justice are already tipping against him.
I open the folder and begin my revision. My fear of loving a man capable of such atrocities can’t outweigh what I inherently know is right.
Soon, Grayson will be incarcerated far from here—far from me.
I’ll never see him again. Never stare into those captivating blue eyes.
Never hear the shiver-inducing baritone of his voice, or the accent that tightens my chest. The alarming ache inside me will ease, the pull toward him will fade, leaving me free of him.
What is there to fear?
The sounds from my nightmares come alive as I enter Cotsworth Correctional Facility. I stand straight in front of a barred door while a prison guard sweeps a handheld metal detector down my body.
“Clear,” he announces.
As he steps aside, a loud buzz precedes the clang of the door mechanism unlocking.
The door slides open, and I force my feet forward, propelling myself into the prison.
I tuck my folder under my arm, thankful that this section of the facility isn’t near the general population, where the catcalls used to welcome me.
I’ve requested a private session with my patient ahead of his trial. Since I met my quota for the ward, the warden took no issue granting me this privileged access.
I’m escorted to another barred door, where a second guard swipes a keycard to gain entry. The heavy door opens to reveal Grayson on the other side. My heart leaps to my throat, a roar filling my ears, momentarily disorienting me.
I wasn’t expecting him to already be here. I wanted more time to prepare. Before I step inside the room, I turn toward the guard. “I won’t be needing you. Thank you.”
He gives me an uncertain look, then glares at Grayson. “I’m required to be within seven feet of him at all time. I’ll be posted right outside this door.” The guard adjusts his belt, making a production of arranging the Taser.
Once we’re alone, the door closed and barring us together, I face my patient.
Within the heavily guarded confines of this room, he’s not mandated to be shackled to a restraint bench, but his ankles and wrists are cuffed and chained.
He’s seated in the center, his hands hung between his legs. Watching me.
The space between us feels fragile, the air dangerously thin, the distance too easy to close.
“There are no cameras here,” Grayson says. “No one watching. If you thought that would keep you safe from me.”
I drop the folder on the table, the only buffer I have. “I know we’re alone. I requested as much,” I tell him. “But being here like this… I’m held more accountable for my actions.”
His mouth tilts into a knowing smirk. “Didn’t take long for the guilt to sink in, did it, baby?”
I adjust my glasses, ignoring his baiting remark.
“I’ve come to see you today not as a doctor, nor for our last session, but as a woman to tell you that this”—I motion between us—“whatever this is, it’s over.
It got out of hand, and maybe that’s my fault.
No…” I shake my head, correcting myself.
“As the professional, the blame is entirely mine. My actions were unethical, and what happened yesterday was completely inappropriate.”
His smile stretches, meeting his cool blue eyes. “Inappropriate? It was fucking shattering. You want cheap romance, go find yourself a dumb little fuck-boy. But that’s not what you want—I tasted what you crave. I can feel it in you now. That dark obsession that twists you, makes you mine. ”
Seeking support, I brace my palms on the edge of the table. Loving him will send me right over sanity’s edge.
I have to be free of this—of him.
“At the trial, I’m going to advocate for clemency, Grayson. Taking into account the abuse you likely suffered as a child, along with the conditions in which you were raised, you had an ideal—that is, textbook—environment for developing psychopathy.”
“Is that your professional or personal opinion?”
“Both. With the proper medication and counseling, you may even be able to assimilate a normal life.”
“A normal life behind bars.”
“Of course.”
“That’s downright sadistic, and you claim you’re nothing like me. Why don’t you neuter me in the process? That would be less cruel, and far less torturous.”
“I’m not sure what else you want from me. That’s all I have to offer in way of helping you.”
“I want you. You’re my doctor, so be my fucking doctor.”
“That’s not possible. I’m only here as a courtesy before trial. After my testimony, you’ll never see me again.”
He bounds to his feet. My reaction is delayed, recalling too late that he’s not fully restrained. I step backward as he closes the distance.
“Grayson, this is over.” I hold up my hands. The shackles around his ankles slow his advance, but don’t stop him.