“Come in, my friends. Make yourself comfortable.” With a sly smile indicating he had more to say, Doc waved to the big leather chairs by his desk. “I have great news to share. Soon we’ll be able to renovate the Crisis Center.”
“Really?” Olivia returned his smile while she settled in a chair, and Luc did the same. Modernizing the Crisis Center had been the ongoing dream of every psychiatrist at the Center. “Has the dean signed your petition for more funds?”
“Nope, but we received a generous donation. Our benefactor opened a new branch of his company here a few months ago. He’s just donated millions to the University of Cincinnati. And he specified the bulk of his money should go to our department.”
“No way? Who would believe there still are such generous people in the world?” Relaxing against the back of her chair, Olivia shook her head in awe. “What a great man. Giving millions without asking for anything in return.”
“Uh...” Shifting in his chair, Doc opened the file on his desk.
“There is a stipulation. Our benefactor expects us to treat his grandson. The young man suffers from antisocial personality disorder with tendency to violence. You can find a report from his former psychiatrist in San Francisco. The patient has moved here at his grandfather’s request.”
Doc turned the folder around for Olivia and Luc to read.
A picture fluttered down. A man with blond hair and pale blue eyes. Late-thirties, handsome and arrogant. A face Olivia had hoped and prayed she’d never see again.
The smile on her lips turned into a bitter stretch as she lowered her head and glared at the face threatening her peace of mind.
God, Jeremy was in Cincinnati. So close. Olivia suppressed a shudder.
She’d left him in Chicago, seventeen years ago, and run away to hide in the heart of Ohio. At the time, he was about to graduate and work in his family’s business in San Francisco. As far as possible from her.
And now he was here. Here?
The blood froze in her veins. Panicked, she glanced at the door, afraid she’d see it yanked open, revealing the monster from her past.
Breathing slowly to steady her heartbeat, she read the previous diagnosis through blurry eyes and tried to make sense of the words. Antisocial personality disorder with tendency to violence. Violence, all right. She’d experienced it firsthand. Apparently, Jeremy hadn’t changed.
“Five million from Rutherford Senior to our Department of Psychiatry. Imagine what we can do with that money,” Doc mused.
“Interesting case,” Luc mumbled as he turned the page. He could read to his heart’s content, but that was as far as she would get involved in Jeremy’s case.
Straightening in her chair, she schooled her expression. “I can’t handle that case.”
“What?” Doc stared at her, his eyes wide.
“I can’t handle it. Sorry. He needs someone more qualified on violence symptoms.”
“What do you mean you’re not qualified to handle this case, Dr. Crane?” Behind his desk, Doc lurched up from his wing chair, his face an indignant red.
“I...” Clearing her throat, she improvised a plausible reason. “I’m not familiar with some of his symptoms.” Having studied Jeremy’s symptoms in many patients, she almost snorted at her own lie.
Both Doc and Luc stared at her, their gazes mirroring their disbelief. She shrugged, determined to avoid any pressure on their parts.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Doc tapped his knuckles on the desk. The light rap resonated in the stern silence, grating on Olivia’s ears even more than her mentor’s caustic tone.
