Read Acquired Motives (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 2) for Free Online

always came with an unpleasant edge.
          She needed an escape route. She needed to feel she could retreat into her own world. No doubt that need could be traced back to her father's desertion and disappearance. Sylvia made a face and downed the rest of the martini. She wasn't in the mood for her own two-bit analysis. She let her body settle deeper into the cushions of the couch.
          If she had a problem sharing territory, Matt was the opposite. Shirts, undershorts, books, gardening catalogs—these were the prized possessions he kept in abundance at her house. She was constantly finding his strays: fountain pen in the washing machine, bolo tie under the bed, one sock in the toolshed.
          She yawned and stretched just as her briefcase emitted a quick series of chirps. Her cell phone. She retrieved the handset and greeted a woman from her answering service. Kevin the Terrible, her court-ordered client, was on the line. Sylvia's eyebrows rose in surprise. He'd missed his appointment that afternoon. Unless Kevin had a note from home signed by God, his probation officer would almost certainly begin the revocation process.
          She said, "Put him on."
          "Hey, Dr. Strange? Listen, I know I messed up." There was a rumble of traffic in the background. The noise became louder, then it was suddenly muffled, and Sylvia imagined Kevin had cupped the mouthpiece with his hand.
          He continued, excited, really full of himself. "I had something I had to do."
          "You know the deal, Kevin. If you miss a session, you may be revoked." Sylvia examined the remaining stuffed green olive in the bottom of her glass. "I have one bit of advice: be in my office tomorrow. Twelve o'clock sharp. We'll talk about this."
          Suddenly, Jackie Madden, Kevin's legal guardian, was on the phone. She sounded distressed. "Dr. Strange. I'm really sorry Kevin missed his session. He had a job interview for a dishwasher at El Comal. But I'll make sure he gets to your office tomorrow."
          "I'll see him at noon." Sylvia disconnected, let the phone slide out of her fingers.
          Tom landed suddenly on her stomach; sharp claws began to knead flesh. Startled, Sylvia moved the cat aside, stood, and walked into the kitchen. She wanted another drink. She needed food. She looked longingly at the focaccia sandwiches—she had no idea when Matt would return, but she was determined to wait. She stole a quick bite of provolone cheese and closed the refrigerator door firmly. In a small cupboard she found a bag of pretzels and a squeeze-bottle of mustard. With a fresh shot of vodka, she reclaimed her position on the couch next to the cat.
          Two of three network affiliates had the same lead story on the ten o'clock news: "Anthony Randall walks in sensational turnaround."
          On Channel 7, against the background of the Santa Fe Judicial Complex, reporter Mike McPeavey summed up the half-day hearing and the intense community reaction to Randall's release. McPeavey told his anchor, "Apparently, there have been threats of vigilante justice in this case."
          Anthony Randall faced the camera with his lawyer to say, "Somewhere out there, the real rapist is free."
          Sylvia drained the last of the martini and used the remote control to turn off the television. Anthony Randall's cocky smile stayed with her, and she tightened her fingers on the cat's fur until Tom yelped indignantly.
          She left her empty glass in the kitchen sink and switched off all the lights in the living room. She stood in the dark. Anger, blame, frustration—acute and discordant reactions. She felt them all.
    O UTSIDE, K ILLER CROSSED the dark school yard, moving from shadow to shadow. The trailer stood out like a big, ugly rock. Or a stranded ship. The windows were dark eyes. Empty eyes. Wind buffeted the trailer's aluminum walls. It knocked about the ceramic wind chime on the back porch, and the