He didn’t want to color her visualization, but her instincts were correct: Lucy had stopped Clinton Caine twice already; she had little to fear from him. And Caine was smart enough to stay far, far away from giving Lucy a third chance to put him down like the rabid dog he was. “What are the others doing?”
She shook her head, avoiding his question. “No. No. They shouldn’t be here. But they came. Because of me.” Her hands fisted, raised as if fighting an unseen force. “The ice, it’s too thin. It’s groaning under the weight, it’s cracking. I can’t stop it, I can’t help them.” She gasped, hands flying up to cover her face. “It broke. Swallowed me whole, pulling me down into the dark, black cold, I can’t breathe, I can’t fight, I can’t see the stars…”
She flew off the love seat and launched herself at him, eyes bulging with terror. She gripped Nick by the shoulders although from the expression on her face as she loomed over where he was trapped in his chair, he knew she’d rather have her hands around his neck. Progress.
“You lied,” she accused him, her voice ratcheted tight with adrenaline. “You hypnotized me.”
“No, no, I didn’t.” His voice was calm, professional. He fearlessly met her gaze. “You did it all on your own.”
She released him and stepped back, glancing at the love seat as if surprised to find it still there and not drowned in the lake she’d conjured. “Was I dreaming? Did I fall asleep?”
“Not exactly. It was just an exercise in imagination. Some people aren’t good with words, do a better job with images. You created an entire scene to describe the anxiety and dread you’ve been feeling but couldn’t otherwise express or label.”
“Dread.” She tasted the word, grimacing. “Dread. Like there’s someone or something stalking you, watching every breathing second, herding you toward some inescapable horror. And you’re powerless. Can’t stop, can’t fight.” She turned to Nick. “Is that dread?”
“As good a description as any. A pervasive feeling that something terrible is about to happen.”
She shuddered. “How do you Norms survive? Walking around with all these emotions dulling your reflexes. No wonder you’re sheep. Easy prey.”
She didn’t mean any insult with her words; they were simply Morgan’s view of the world, colored by her upbringing and lack of empathy. The fact that she’d progressed to the point where she could feel dread or anxiety, much less the unconscious empathy she’d shown the other people present in her imaginary scene, gave Nick hope. Despite the fact that Morgan was the most damaged person he’d ever treated, maybe she still had a chance.
“Why were those people with you on the pond, Morgan?” he asked in a gentle tone.
She waved his words away with a hand. “Fools. Trying to play hero. I don’t need their help.” Her very presence here in his office exposed her lies, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I won’t let them.”
“Won’t let them help you?” Nick probed.
“Won’t let them fall victim to Clint.” She took in a deep breath, her gaze clear once more. A decision made. “Thanks, Nick. That helped.”
“How so? We haven’t come to the reason behind your feelings, merely given them a name.”
“A name is all I need. I already know the reason.” Her smile was not genuine—at least he hoped it wasn’t, filled as it was with teeth and bloodthirsty glee. “All I have to do now is stop Clint. For once and for good.”
Chapter 2
AFTER LEAVING NICK, Morgan approached the Galloway and Stone offices with caution. First, she parked the car she’d borrowed from the long-term lot at the Pittsburgh airport several blocks away from the office’s Regent Square location. Then, she meandered down the sidewalk, taking her time as she glanced at the various art galleries and antique shops, occasionally wandering inside one. It was ten o’clock on a Friday morning, and most stores had just opened for business, leaving her their only customer—making it easy to spot anyone overly interested in her aimless browsing.
Finally, she got a coffee and checked her phone, scanning footage from the cameras she’d placed to spy on the office. Nothing. Was that good or bad? Her father had escaped from prison four days ago; his first act as a free man had been to call her and tell her he was coming for her, and yet…nothing.
Dread, Nick had called it. Should have never have gone to him, let him play his headshrinker games. Nick meant well, but he was used to treating Norms, not someone like Morgan. He didn’t understand that it didn’t matter what she felt or what label you gave it, all that mattered was the end result. She had to focus on that. Forget all the rest. Mumbo-jumbo feelings were for Norms, not Morgan.