She exits the station, motioning to Marvis to unlock the seclusion room. The door swings open, stimulating butterflies to take wing in her stomach. Pausing long enough to allow her pulse to slow, she enters, shuddering as the double click seals the door behind her.

The seclusion room is ten by twelve feet long. An iron bed is bolted to the floor and wall directly in front of her, a thin pad serving as a mattress. A solitary chair faces the bed, also bolted to the floor. A smoked panel of glass on the wall to her right is the undisguised viewing window. The room smells of antiseptic.

Mick Gabriel is standing now, his head slightly bowed so she cannot see his eyes.

Dominique extends a hand, forcing a smile. “Dominique Vazquez.”

Mick looks up, revealing animal eyes so intensely black that it is impossible to determine where the pupils end and the irises begin.

“Dominique Vazquez. Dominique Vazquez.” The resident pronounces each syllable carefully, as if locking it into his memory. “It’s so very nice to…”

The smile suddenly disappears, the pasted expression going blank.

Dominique’s heart pounds in her ears. Stay calm. Don’t move.

Mick closes his eyes. Something unexpected is happening to him. Dominique sees his jawline rise slightly, revealing the scar. The nostrils flare like an animal tracking its prey.

“May I come closer, please?” The words are spoken softly, almost whispered. She senses an emotional dam cracking behind the voice.

Dominique fights the urge to turn toward the smoked glass.

The eyes reopen. “I swear on my mother’s soul that I won’t harm you.”

Watch his hands. Drive the knee home if he lunges. “You can come closer, but no sudden movements, okay? Dr. Foletta’s watching.”

Mick takes two steps forward, remaining half an arm’s length away. He leans his face forward, closing his eyes, inhaling—as if her face is an exquisite bottle of wine.

The man’s presence is causing the hairs on the back of her arms to stand on end. She watches his facial muscles relax as his mind leaves the room. Water wells behind the closed eyelids. Several tears escape, flowing freely down his cheeks.

For a brief moment, maternal instincts cause her defenses to drop. Is this an act? Her muscles recoil.

Mick opens his eyes, now black pools. The animal intensity has vanished.

“Thank you. I think my mother must have worn the same perfume.”

She takes a step back. “It’s Calvin Klein. Does it bring back happy memories?”

“Some bad ones as well.”

The spell is broken. Mick moves to the cot. “Would you prefer the chair or the bed?”

“The chair’s fine.” He waits for her to sit first, then positions himself on the edge of the cot so that he can lean back against the wall. Mick moves like an athlete.

“You look like you’ve managed to stay in shape.”