Dangerous Attachments (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

tape.
    "He's no plastic surgeon, but he did the job. He had to pull the skin back, gouge the bone, pull the flap back over, and then stitch."
    Rustling sounds of paper and fabric; LaRue sneezed.
    "Who do you think did this?" Rosie had asked.
    LaRue had stared at the overexposed shot of Angel Tapia's right hand with thumb, three fingers, and a bloody stump where his pinkie should have been.
    Rosie Sánchez pressed stop on the tape recorder. Silence filled the room until the distant sounds of conversation and ringing phones intruded from beyond the barred windows and the closed door. She sifted through the file folder again, found an eight-by-ten color photograph—the second photo that LaRue had seen.
    She pressed play, and her voice asked another question of the room.
    "There's no way this is the work of the same person who severed Angel's finger?" Rosie knew the logical answer but needed to hear someone else say it.
    LaRue had glanced away from the image. She'd read the attorney general's Riot Report, and she'd seen some photos of the aftermath. She was a nurse; still, she hadto force herself to stare at the picture of a human torso, naked, charred, and severed. "I wouldn't think so. This guy was cut in half with a blowtorch, wasn't he?"
    I T WAS 12:40 WHEN Sylvia walked into the large courtyard of the Santacafé. A mosaic of yellow leaves peeked through snow patches. The branches of the great cottonwood tree were bare and gnarled. Inside, the elegant hostess led the way to a table in the back room next to the fireplace. Sylvia slid out of her coat and warmed her palms against the cast-iron grate. Her hands were too sturdy for her slender wrists, fingernails squared off close to the fingertips, palms roughened by callouses: working hands. At the moment they were busy, muscles tense. During the drive over, she had rehearsed her questions for Herb. He could be a pain in the ass, but he wasn't stupid; he'd known that Lucas Watson was a psychological disaster area when he asked her to do the evaluation.
    "Good news, Sylvia! Thanks to you and me, we got that acquittal on Allmoy."
    "Hello, Herb." Sylvia selected the chair that faced the center of the room and sat. She'd evaluated Herb's client, Joseph Allmoy, a man accused of murder. It had been clear that post-traumatic stress disorder factored into the equation—four months before the murder Allmoy had himself been brutally assaulted and held hostage during a robbery. His rage had been internalized until it erupted during an argument with a neighbor. The day after Malcolm's funeral, Sylvia had appeared in court as expert witness for the defense.
    She looked up to see Herb offering her a big smileand a red rose. She drew back when he brushed the bud along her cheek.
    "Enough with the roses." Sylvia raised both palms to Herb impatiently and shook her head; the man just didn't get it. She turned to the waiter, who was hovering at their elbows. "Coffee, please. Black."
    "Something from the bar, Mr. Burnett?" The waiter spoke clearly, occasionally remembering his British accent. Like most waiters at Santa Fe's trendiest restaurants, he was young, beautiful, androgynous.
    "Why not?" Herb flashed Sylvia a boyish smile. "Absolut with a twist and a splash of soda. Oh, and give this rose to the hostess with my compliments."
    When they were alone, Sylvia leaned back in her chair and said, "I'm glad to hear about Allmoy's acquittal."
    "Me, too. I didn't have the old smoking gun, but I did have a sensational expert witness. Keep this up and you're a shoo-in with Kove and Casias."
    How the hell did Herb know about the job offer? Sylvia had just completed a laborious interview process with the firm whose psychologists held the state's forensic contract. She was in the first stages of contractual negotiation with the firm; an offer would be a definite notch in Sylvia's professional belt.
    "It's still a small town," Herb said with a grin. "And you're still the best thing in it."
    Sylvia shrugged