Handcuffs snap around my wrists just as a wave of dizziness seizes me. My throat tightens, airway growing narrow, my breath wheezing. Blood pounds in my ears as I struggle for oxygen, lungs burning and desperate for air.
Young is the first to notice. “Sullivan, it’s all right,” he says in an attempt to reassure me. “We’ll appeal. This isn’t the end—” His words cut off when the seizure hits.
My jaw clenches shut, muscles violently contracting as tremors take hold. Something bitter froths up my throat, spilling over my mouth.
“Shit. We need a doctor!” My lawyer shouts.
The officer lets my body collapse to the floor, cuffs biting painfully into my wrists. Convulsions roll through my body as darkness closes in. But then she appears, my angel of mercy come to take away the pain.
London kneels over me, pressing soft fingers to my neck. “He’s going into shock—anaphylaxis.”
Her deep brown eyes widen, and I desperately try to count the flecks of gold within them, but they blur and fade as myvision dims. As my consciousness flickers, I manage to mouth a single word to her before the dark takes me.
Killer.
18
FREE ME
LONDON
“Penicillin,” I say into the phone as I glance up from Grayson’s medical chart. “Can you explain how Sullivan was administered medication his file clearly states he’s allergic to?”
The corrections officer responsible for Grayson’s meals at the courthouse holding facility sighs audibly into the receiver. I’ve posed this same question to every officer who’s had contact with Grayson over the past forty-eight hours. I’m no detective, and officially, I’m no longer his psychologist, but I need to know how this happened.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the officer finally replies. “I can’t help you.”
Frustrated, I press my lips together. Of course, no one will cop to trying to harm Grayson. He was supposed to be under heavy supervision specifically for this reason.
“I understand,” I say. “But I expect a call from your supervisor soon.”
I end the call and start down the hallway to return the medical chart,and Detective Foster is there to head me off.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Ah, I’ll take that.” He confiscates the chart.
“I was just leaving,” I tell him as I turn, but the stocky detective steps into my path once again.
“Why are you here, Dr. Noble?”
I cross my arms. “One of my patients was just admitted to the hospital, detective. I’m here doing exactly what you are, trying to figure out how this happened, but more importantly, I’m evaluating how this has affected my patient.”
He nods, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know, the visitor log at the jail only shows one name—yours.”
“Careful, detective. Insinuating a respectable doctor poisoned her own patient is grounds for serious repercussions.”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” he says with a humorless chuckle. “I’m very bluntly asking you if you gave Sullivan penicillin to delay his transfer.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath. “Detective Foster, it’s infuriating that I not only have to do the doctors’ job in this incompetent hospital, but yours as well. Do you realize how many people want Grayson dead? Family of the victims, police officials, like yourself?—”
“He was already being sentenced to death,” he interrupts.
“He hadn’t been sentenced yesterday, when the trial appeared to be going more in his favor.” I arch an eyebrow.
He huffs a breath. “Don’t head back to Maine just yet, doctor. I may have more questions for you.”
I throw my hands up. “Fine. Now, can I please see my patient?”
“Absolutely not. Sullivan is under strict guard. Officials and medical personnel only.”
