CHAPTER NINE
Laura strode side by side with Nate as they walked into the office building, ignoring the front desk entirely. The building was the kind with a lot of different small businesses all under one roof, and they didn’t want to give Dr. Usipov too much warning that they were on the way.
Not when he was their new prime suspect.
The bored girl behind the desk didn’t even look up from whatever game she was playing on her cell phone as they walked by, heading straight for the elevators. It was a trick Laura had used time and time again in situations where a little more stealth was needed: act like you knew exactly where you were going and you were supposed to be there, and people generally didn’t question you. Especially not when you were smartly dressed enough to look like you belonged, and they weren’t paid enough to care.
They walked right into the elevator and Laura pushed the number three button, waiting for the elevator to whir into life. She’d clocked the list of business names on the wall behind the desk as they approached, from behind convenient sunglasses which she now took off and stuck in her pocket. The therapist was set up on the third floor, so that was where they were going.
“Ready?” Nate asked.
Laura nodded smartly. They knew the drill since they’d run similar things together so many times over the years. They had to get in, use the element of surprise to gauge genuine reactions from the therapist, and see what they could find out. It wasn’t going to be easy. With someone who knew the human mind well, understood what reactions they should be giving, there was a high potential for faking it. But she and Nate were just going to have to be better at spotting fakes than the therapist was at giving them.
When the elevator dinged and the doors swung open, Laura and Nate stepped out in unison. They moved only a short distance down the hall to a door which was marked with the therapist’s name on the glass, and rather than knocking, they went straight in.
The office had been subdivided, a new division made between the exterior – a small waiting room – and the interior office where sessions presumably took place. One of which, it seemed, was happening right now.
There was no one sitting at the desk, but there was a small sign asking anyone who was waiting for their session to please sit down quietly and wait for their turn. Next to it, a leaflet holder marked ‘for new patients’ held inquiry forms with instructions on what to do with them. Laura swept her gaze over the rest of the room – bland white chairs set slightly apart from one another, a potted plant with wide green leaves swaying slightly, a window that was set open to the smallest possible amount with a lock to keep it from going further.
Nothing of use. That meant they were going right in – right into the room to get the therapist now without giving him time to realize someone was waiting for him.
Laura and Nate nodded to each other just once, and then he strode forward and opened the door with one smooth motion.
“And I really think -” someone was saying – Dr. Usipov, Laura quickly guessed. He was sitting in a chair with a notebook tilted up on his knee, while the other man in the room was reclining slightly on a couch, in a comfortable position.
There was a moment of shock as both men looked around for the source of the intrusion, neither of them quite sure what was going on.
“Hello?” Dr. Usipov said, looking like he was struggling to take stock of the situation and needed the extra data before he could figure out what to do. His initial reaction, though, Laura saw with interest, was definitely on the angry side of things. His dark brows had lowered down over his eyes, his Roman nose had flared nostrils, and his wide mouth had become a straight, thin line.
“Dr. Vincent Usipov,” Laura said, not a question but a statement. “We’re going to need to speak with you privately. I’m Special Agent Laura Frost with the FBI.”
“Special Agent Nathaniel Lavoie,” Nate added, holding up his badge.
There was a whimper, and then all three other sets of eyes in the room swung to look at the patient on the couch.
He was a middle-aged white man, and he immediately shrunk into himself, his receding hairline flattened against the back of the couch cushions as intense full-body shaking made his jowly chin and his beer gut wobble.
“Get out,” Dr. Usipov hissed. “Right now.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible,” Nate said, his low rumble of a voice a clear enough threat. There was no mistaking the power in his voice – the implication that he had muscles enough to deal with both of the men in the room if he needed to, even without Laura’s help.
Dr. Usipov swung around to look at him with a glare that should have been able to melt icecaps. “Get out of this room immediately,” he demanded, his own voice rising with authoritarian power. He was not a man who was used to being disobeyed; Laura could see that immediately. “This patient is working through an intense phobia of law enforcement coupled with violent tendencies. You have made a huge mistake by barging in here, and I’m not leaving this room until I’ve fixed the trauma you’ve caused. Now, get out!”
Nate stood his ground, folding his arms over his chest.
Behind him, though, Laura took a step back. She’d looked over at the patient instead of at Usipov, and what she saw there was not a good sign.
His eyes had gone wide and then somehow kind of sharpened, like he was directing his gaze at Nate with an intense deliberateness. His face was slowly moving from red to purple, and his hands were clenched into fists.
A moment later, before Laura could react or say anything or even simply push Nate out of the way, she watched with horror as the patient somehow sprang from a reclined position on the couch into a full-on attack against Nate.
“Stanley!” Usipov shouted, as Nate put his arm up in instinctive defense, managing to just about block the patient’s fists from flying into his face.
What followed was pure chaos. Stanley didn’t waste a moment in recovering from the block but instead continued to attempt to attack Nate, scratching and clawing towards his face, shouting something incomprehensible as his open mouth sprayed spittle everywhere. Dr. Usipov was also shouting, rising up out of his chair to try to help physically restrain Stanley, and Laura stepped in herself to try to push the patient away. It was so loud she could barely understand what anyone was saying, with Nate under it all yelling and trying to get the man off him, giving growls and yelps of pain whenever a blow landed successfully.
Finally, it was a joint effort: Laura and Nate managed to shove at the man at the same time, and he fell back onto the couch, at which point Dr. Usipov sprang into the space between them and held out his arms to block Stanley’s view.
“Stanley whatever your name is,” Nate growled, his hand going to his belt to grab some handcuffs. “I’m arresting you for assault on a -”