Page 7 of Imprisoned

Eleanor’s expression shifts. “Ah.”

“Dr. Pierce, why is his session two hours? None of my other appointments run that long.” I lean forward, lowering my voice, though we’re the only customers in the deli. “His file... the things he’s done...”

“Willow.” She reaches across the table, stilling my fidgeting hands. “Remember what we discussed about boundaries?”

“I know, I know. It’s just—” I pull my hands back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Two hours alone with someone like that. Someone who—” The words stick in my throat.

“Who what?” Eleanor’s tone sharpens. “Fascinates you?”

My ears burn with embarrassment. “That’s not—I didn’t mean?—”

“You’re not the first to be drawn to his type.” She sighs. “Charismatic psychopaths are like flames, Willow. Beautiful to look at, but get too close...”

“I understand the risks.” I straighten my spine, trying to project more confidence than I feel. “I’ve studied cases like his for years. I just want to know why such a long session?”

“Because he’s manipulative. He needs more time to warm up, to let his guard down.” Eleanor picks up her sandwich again. “And because the state requires extensive documentation for high-risk inmates. You’ll need extra time for paperwork.”

“Oh.” Some of the tension leaves my shoulders. “That makes sense.”

“Have you met him much?” I take a small bite of my sandwich, trying to sound casual. “Axel, I mean.”

Eleanor wipes her mouth with a napkin, taking her time before answering. “We’ve crossed paths in the medical wing. He had an altercation with another inmate last month.” She folds the napkin into precise quarters. “But I’ve never sat in on any of his sessions.”

“What was he like?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Charming.” Eleanor’s lips press into a thin line. “Polite. Asked about my children by name, though I’ve never met him.”

A chill runs down my spine. “How did he?—”

“He makes it his business to know things about the staff. Personal things.” She pushes her half-eaten sandwich away. “It’spart of how he operates. Information is currency to men like him.”

I think of the family photo on my desk—Mom and me at graduation. Should I take it down? But that feels like letting him win, like admitting he has power over me before we meet.

“Does that happen often?” I ask. “Inmates finding out personal details about staff?”

“More than we’d like.” Eleanor checks her watch. “The smart ones watch, listen, piece things together. A casual comment here, a glimpse of a phone screen there. They have nothing but time to observe.”

My turkey club sits heavy in my stomach. I’d been so focused on preparing for Axel’s psychological evaluation that I hadn’t considered he might end up evaluating me right back.

“Should I be worried?”

“Not worried.” Eleanor meets my eyes. “Just aware. There’s a difference.”

Eleanor reaches across the table, her warm hand covering mine. “You’re one of the brightest psychologists I’ve met, Willow. Your instincts are sharp, and your empathy is a gift.”

“But what if—” I bite my lip, unable to voice the real fear in my gut.

“You can handle him.” Her tone brooks no argument. “I wouldn’t have recommended you for this position if I didn’t believe that.”

My fingers trace the condensation on my water glass. Eleanor’s faith in me should be reassuring, but there’s something she doesn’t know. Something I’ve never told anyone.

That little voice inside me whispers how fascinating men like Axel are. The way my pulse quickens when I read about their crimes. The thrill of understanding their twisted minds.

“Thank you.” I manage a weak smile. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“You won’t. Remember your training and keep your boundaries firm.”

But that’s exactly what I’m afraid of—my boundaries dissolving like sugar in the rain. Because despite everything I know about Axel Morrison, despite the horror of his crimes, there’s something magnetic about him. Even his photograph has held me captive, those green eyes promising secrets I want to unlock.

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