CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Kat was surprisingly nervous.

As she sat on the couch in her downtown apartment, Dr. Janice Lemmon puttered about in the kitchen, making tea for them both. The psychiatrist had called earlier and asked if she could stop by for an informal house call.

Kat said yes, even though her Spidey sense immediately began to tingle. Lemmon had never offered to come by before, even though her office, also downtown, was less than a ten-minute drive from here. And a visit at 6:15 at night seemed unusual. The doctor had claimed that she just wanted to check in on her, but Kat felt certain that there was more to it than that.

"Did I freak you out so badly at our session this morning that you felt like you had to make a ‘proof of life' visit?" she called out to Lemmon from the living room.

"I think you're actually doing pretty well, all things considered," Lemmon said as she carefully shuffled over with a tray that had a teapot, mugs, cream, sugar, and spoons. Without her cane for support, she had to take it extra slow. "Haven't you ever had a mental health professional stop by just to say ‘hi'?"

"Sure," Kat said, "After I got blown up by that IED and everyone else in my Humvee died, I had shrinks stopping by my hospital bed every day for weeks. But none of them made me tea."

"I guess you're leveling up," Lemmon said warmly, placing the tray on the coffee table. "Do you feel as troubled these days as you did after your fellow Army Rangers died?"

Kat shrugged. "It's different. I didn't just get blown up that day in Afghanistan. My whole world did. But at least I knew it wasn't my fault. This time around, there's no way to avoid the fact that Mitch would be alive and well if he'd never met me."

"He was a law enforcement officer, Kat," Lemmon reminded her. "something could have happened to him in the line of duty every time he left the house."

Kat had multiple comebacks for that but sensed that the doctor was stalling .

"Why are you really here, Dr. Lemmon?" she asked. "Is it to tell me you've decided not to go see Ash Pierce? Or that they wouldn't let you? Just give it to me straight."

Lemmon poured tea into both mugs, picked up one of them and took a sip. Kat grabbed hers too and was about to pour some cream into it when Lemmon spoke.

"Actually, I spoke to her earlier today," she said. "That's the ‘real' reason I'm here. I wanted to tell you how it went."

Kat's hand suddenly started shaking and she quickly put her mug back down on the tray. She forced herself to take two deep breaths, then looked up at Lemmon.

"I'm all ears," she said.

"We didn't talk for that long, less than a half hour," Lemmon said, "so I don't feel comfortable offering a full-fledged professional assessment. It wasn't a formal session or interview."

"She wouldn't allow that?" Kat assumed.

"Actually, she was receptive to my visit," Lemmon told her. "She overruled her attorneys' objections to letting me in."

"Then why didn't you stay long enough to make a formal assessment?" Kat wanted to know.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Lemmon said. "Because it wasn't an official visit, I can assert, if asked, that I can't fully evaluate whether Pierce's claim of amnesia is credible."

Kat felt a lump develop in her gut. She didn't like where this was going.

"Why did you feel like you needed that ‘out?'" she asked.

"Because, Kat," Lemmon answered, looking her directly in the eyes, "I think there's a substantial likelihood that she's telling the truth."

Kat slumped back on the couch, dumbfounded.

"Really?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Lemmon said, "and if I had stayed the length of a full session, I worried that her lawyers might be able to get a court to compel me to provide my analysis. I don't want to do that because I worry that, despite the horrific crimes that Pierce has committed, my professional opinion might provide some sway that could be counterproductive to her conviction. But by cutting the interview short, I can legitimately assert that I didn't have the time to do a full and proper evaluation."

Kat shook her head ferociously .

"Listen," she said, "when I first met Ash Pierce last summer, she was posing as an abused wife trying to escape from her husband. She was totally convincing. Neither Hannah nor I doubted her for a second, she was so good. I don't want to insult you, but is it possible that she snowed you?"

"Look, I'll never say never," Lemmon said. "it's happened to me before. But not in a long time, and certainly not when I was on guard like this. I know about her deception with you and Hannah. I had access to all her files, even ones that the average doctor doesn't get to see because they require a security clearance. I was alert to all her tricks. And I still came away convinced that she, more likely than not, has real memory loss about her time as a hitwoman. I wish that wasn't my conclusion, but it is."

Kat sat with that for a moment, allowing the reality of it to filter through her brain. She trusted Dr. Janice Lemmon implicitly. The woman was a legend in the psychiatric community, and a person who had her best interests at heart. She wouldn't admit this unless she really believed it to be true. And she wasn't alone.

Hannah, too, after her visit with Pierce two weeks ago, had left uncertain that the woman was lying. And this was a person who had also been tricked by Pierce and later, nearly killed by her on multiple occasions. The fact that even she had doubts was telling.

"Do you mind if I run to the bathroom for a sec?" she asked Lemmon.

"It's your apartment," Lemmon reminded her with a smile.

She got up and went to the one just off the bedroom. After turning on the water at the sink, she threw some on her face and stared at herself in the mirror.

She reminded herself that this wasn't as bad as it might seem. Ash Pierce was still scheduled to go on trial for her many crimes, including multiple murders. Memory loss or not, there was ample evidence to convict her. Maybe she could somehow weasel her way into a lesser sentence because of her "condition," but she'd still be spending decades behind bars. That should be enough.

And yet it wasn't. As Kat toweled her face off, she felt a rising resentment grow inside her. If not for her own actions—stemming the blood flowing from Pierce's knife wound to the neck in the hospital boiler room and giving her CPR—the woman would be dead now and Kat wouldn't be torturing herself like this .

Instead the cold-blooded assassin was not just alive, but being catered to in a hospital bed, and very possibly going to live for many years to come. Yes, she'd be in prison, but Ash Pierce was the kind of woman who could mold a place like that to her will. She'd find a way to make it hers.

That was something Kat simply couldn't abide. She didn't know exactly what she intended to do about it. But she couldn't just let it happen. She couldn't just do nothing.