Dr. Ian West

The courthouse conference room is stark white and bare. Ironically (that word has lost all meaning), back in college, I learned that bare walls were best when it comes to counseling disturbed minds.

Fitting, that I’m about to speak with Shaver for the first time in this room, where there’s nothing to distract us from one another.

The jangle of chains interrupts the silence before the door opens. The guard escorts Shaver inside and seats him in the chair adjacent from me. Porter follows suit and takes up his other side. The officer lingers in the corner.

Tension thickens the air-conditioned room as we wait for one of us to begin. Porter pulls out a file and opens it on the table.

I lean back in my chair, the squeak too loud in the still room. “This is like a game of don’t blink without the eye contact. Kind of awkward.”

Porter exhales audibly. “Dr. West, if this is a waste of my client’s time—”

“No.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m intrigued. Applicably, you’d strike a bargain with the ADA, not the consultant.” I look at Shaver while addressing this. He’s steadily watching me. “So I’m curious what you think I can do for you, Mr. Shaver.”

Shaver’s intense gaze doesn’t waver as he says to Porter, “I need to be alone with the good doctor.”

She shakes her head. “I strongly advise against that.”

“We’re in good hands.” I nod to the guard. “We have an officer to keep us rowdy boys in line.”

Porter glances at me and then looks to Shaver. She blows out a terse breath. “This is so unorthodox.” But she collects her file and briefcase and stands. “I’ll be right outside the room. Fifteen minutes. That’s how much time you have.”

I tilt my head as I watch her exit the room. She’s edgy, more so than usual. She has a lot riding on the outcome of this case, but it’s more than career oriented, her concern. Something has her shaken.

“You got her pretty worked up,” I say to Shaver.

He eases back in the metal chair. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit, Dr. West. You and Ms. Lovell have history, don’t you?”

We’re not going there. “What is it that you want?”

“A diagnosis.”

My smile is forced. “In fifteen minutes? I’m flattered you hold such faith in my abilities. But that’s not possible.”

He chuckles. His voice is a smooth baritone. I imagine it’s one of his assets when it comes to luring women into his web. The British accent isn’t a bad touch, either.

“I’ll agree to change my plea. Innocent by reason of insanity,” he clarifies. “And you’ll agree to be my psychologist.”

“And the laughs don’t stop there, folks.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you are. That’s what makes this so entertaining.” I sit forward and lace my hands together on the table. “You can’t change your plea in the middle of a trial. Judges tend to frown on that. Big time.”

He adjusts the collar of his pressed, white shirt. “Porter can make it happen.”

A sick feeling churns in my gut at his informal use of her name. “I’ll agree to an evaluation and expert testimony,” I say, sitting back. I hate breathing the same air as him. “And you’ll agree to ask for a new trial and new representation.”

A one-shot deal. I don’t want to spend months or possibly even years as this deviant’s psychologist. But I do want Porter away from him. Far, far away.

Shaver studies me closely. I’m showing my hand, my weakness. But he’s intelligent enough to have figured that out. Any bluff I might have concerning Porter was lost the moment he mentioned our history. He already exposed his intention to exploit my feelings for her.

Better to let him believe I only have one Achilles’ heel.

He nods solemnly. “I can probably do that. Given the judge will allow a new trial, retaining another lawyer is not a problem for me. Ms. Lovell is becoming a little too difficult to work with lately, anyway.”

We hit on this briefly before, but here’s a reminder: Use of qualifiers—like basically, effectively, probably—means you’re probably lying. See what I did there?

Shaver doesn’t want to give up Porter. She’s his ace up his sleeve. Not only is she a damn good defense attorney, we have history. Shaver could get quite creative using that to manipulate me.

Let’s not give him that angle.

If he won’t change counsel, I’ll convince Porter it’s in her best interest to remove herself from his case. Which, seeing as Shaver is about to go for the insanity plea, shouldn’t take too much persuading. She’ll want out of this circus.

Leaving Shaver all to me.

“There’s one other condition to this deal,” Shaver says.

“Of course. Nothing is ever simple, is it?”

His leery smile irks me. “I want you to tell me about your wife.”

My hackles raise. The level of control it takes to hold an unaffected countenance strains every muscle. “I don’t have a wife.”

“Right. Sorry. You weren’t yet married. But just the same, you lost someone, your woman, and I want to hear that story.”

Yeah. Fuck this guy.

This is exactly why I can’t be his doctor. I swore an oath—just as Porter swore one—to help my patients to the best of my ability. And there is nothing within me that wants to help this psycho fuck.

If that makes me unethical, so be it. That’s why I’m a trial consultant and not a shrink.

“When I begin my evaluation, there won’t be any mind games, Shaver. You don’t get to dig around in my head to feed some twisted desire. My life—me—has no bearing on your diagnosis and treatment.”

“So you won’t tell me the story, then. Shame. Porter won’t either. That just makes me all the more curious as to what the two of you are hiding.”

“Do we have a deal?” I force the subject. I’m officially over this conversation, and I want Porter removed from his case today. Now.

Shaver holds out his hand, and the guard moves to his side. Shaver smiles. “I just want to shake on it, mate.”

I stand and walk around the table. I meet his eyes, those cold orbs that have no depth, and clasp his hand. I give it a firm squeeze, eliciting another slimy smile from him, before I draw back.

To the officer, I say, “Can you please allow Ms. Lovell inside?”

“Wait.”

I stare down at Shaver expectantly.

“You never asked me if I did it.”

“Did you stalk, kill, and mutilate Devin Tillman?”

See? I can be blunt, too. Now who’s the first to blink?

But he doesn’t blink. His smile drops, and in the seconds that pass, I glimpse the truth of his intentional silence.

“Ask Ms. Lovell to come in,” I say.

I keep my gaze on the man at the table as the door opens and Porter strides in.

“What did I miss?” she asks.

Finally, I look at her. And I can see what, in my miserable little cocoon I was in yesterday, I failed to acknowledge. The dark circles under her eyes that makeup can’t completely conceal. The tired creases feathering her eyes.

“Do you want to tell her or should I?” Shaver says.

My mouth presses into a hard line. This isn’t going to be pretty. “Mr. Shaver has fired you,” I say. “Have a nice day, Ms. Lovell.”