From Ashes to Honor Read Online Free

doctor-patient wall between them, they were just two people. A man and a woman who, like so many others, were forever changed by that dreadful day.
    Her expression softened to a slow smile. "Thanks," she said, nodding at the tidy row of books he'd arranged on the shelf.
    "I've been meaning to do that since I moved in here."
    As he stared at their hands, he couldn't help thinking that maybe he really did need therapy, because he would have sworn she'd grabbed his wrists. When—and how— had their fingers become so tightly linked? He'd been a cop for years, for crying out loud. Why hadn't he noticed? And why were his eyes smarting with unshed tears?
    If he didn't get out of there, and fast, he'd get the psychological treatment he seemed to need, all right . . . in a padded cell, wearing a jacket with no arms.
    He strode purposefully toward the elevator and thumbed the Down button hard enough to make him wince. From the corner of his eye, he saw that she'd followed him. Saw the Exit sign, too, and for a second, considered racing down the stairs instead of waiting for the car to reach her floor. But the image of once-normal and civilized people, screaming and crying as they crawled over one another to escape the Towers, stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn't need a shrink to tell him those were normal reactions to a thing like that, but he sure wouldn't mind knowing long it would take before he could ride in an elevator or climb a flight of stairs without breaking into a cold sweat as his heart beat double-time.
    "I'll see you on Thursday, ten sharp. And I promise to be on time."
    Austin stepped into the car and, facing her, lit up the number One. "So, did you get everything you needed from your little experiment?"
    "It wasn't an experiment, or a test, or anything of the kind."
    Her tiny hand formed the Boy Scout salute. "I give you my word."
    Only the image of her, bent over his file and scribbling "It is my professional opinion that Officer Austin Finley should be relieved of duty" kept him from barking "Yeah, right".
    "So I'll see you on Thursday, then?"
    Nodding, he thanked God that the elevator doors hissed shut when they did, because if Dr. Samara hadn't already gathered enough "Crazy Austin" trivia for her file, his traitorous watery eyes and trembling lower lip would have sealed his fate, for sure.

2
     
    February 2003
     
    M
ercy stared at the calendar page and sighed.
    Twenty years ago today, her placard-waving feminist mother announced, "If I can sail alone from New York to Annapolis, why, I'll feel whole and fulfilled and powerful for the first time in my life!" Even at ten, Mercy heard underlying message, loud and clear: Being your mom isn't enough for me. I need more. Lots more.
    Angry and hurt, the pouting pre-teen made herself scarce when her mother left for the family sailboat, docked at Fire Island, and remained unavailable for the phone call made from a Baltimore marina. Unfortunately, she'd been there when the Coast Guard informed her dad that The Sea Wind had gone down in the stormy Atlantic, because it forced her to add "guilt" and "regret" to the list of emotions roused by her mother's never-ending pursuit of freedom.
    Her father wasted no time dragging her to a psychologist.By the time the second session concluded, Mercy had outfoxed the so-called child specialist and put a quick and permanent end to the meetings. The only good thing to come from therapy had been Mercy's unquenchable thirst for knowledge about the human psyche, for it put her on a career path that led to numerous degrees and diplomas, and filing cabinets bulging with positive outcomes for her patients.
    But even as her patients confessed sins and exposed fears, the successful Dr. Mercy Samara struggled. Not with the proper diagnosis and treatment for their disorders, not with which medication—if any—to prescribe. Her conflict? Hypocrisy, because though she'd taught herself to conceal mistrust and cynicism behind a sunny smile,