Patrick's long fingers circled her other arm. "Dr. Slater, this way please."
"Lab coat." Ford held out his hand.
When she didn't comply, Patrick spun her to face the corridor wall. "Arms up." He pulled the jacket free.
"Is anything in your pockets that will stick me or otherwise harm me?" Ford said.
"Screw you. This is assault."
Tate opened the door to the empty doctor’s lounge. Mike, Tate, and Martin circled her, and Kip blocked the entrance from the outside. "Let's try Agent Cox's question again: anything on you that's gonna hurt me?" Patrick’s hands moved across her body with the gentle touch of a physician and the surety of a special operator. "Take out what's in your bra."
"Fuck you." Her face contorted.
"Easy way or the hard way?" When she didn't respond again, Patrick flipped her shirt over her head, popped her bra clasp and dumped her bra cups.
"You realize you’re committing sexual battery, asshole."
Patrick used a folded glove from his pocket to pick up an empty vial of potassium chloride. "Nope, you’re attempting murder."
Ford shook out the lab coat. A syringe with the residue of a milky fluid tumbled to the floor. "You are in a lot more trouble if this contains Flecainide."
"Sit," Martin's tone cut through the air. Crutches and his bandaged brow did not make him less intimidating.
Krystal thrust out her bottom lip in defiance but sat. "I want a lawyer."
Martin dropped the crutches to the floor and placed each hand on the corners of her chair. "That is your right. Listen, then. I have two theories. First—the jealous lover. The night Randy Knox operated on Viola Dufour, you spoke with him. He rushed the surgery to go home to you. You blamed Elizabeth Reed for keeping him from you again. Wonder Doc with the God complex. You put bits of pills in her coffee or tea. Elizabeth was careless and left her cups around. When she ended up as a patient, you had to finish the job. Every time you got a chance, you put some more into her nutrition. How am I doing so far?"
Krystal rolled her eyes. "You should write fairy tales."
Martin ran his hand through his. hair. "Theory number two—cover your ass. You needed to stop Elizabeth because she was on to you and Randy. You moonlighted at the jail. When did you become involved with hiding prisoner abuse? They beg for your help? You send them back to be tortured again? When things got out of hand, or they knew too much, you made sure they didn't talk. When did you commit your first murder?"
Her pupils dilated, and the tip of her nose flushed. She was about to lie. "What are you talking about?"
Martin badgered her, "How many prisoners are in the ground because you wouldn't protect them? Poor men and women, some not tried yet, who got caught up in something they couldn't control. You are a physician. It was your job to end their abuse, to help them. You chose not to. Think about it, Krystal. You did this for Randy. What did he promise you?"
She folded her arms across her chest.
"By the way, when Randy got off the phone with you, he told me he was trying to keep you from knowing he was intimate with Elizabeth."
Krystal's head snapped up like someone slapped her. "I knew it. I swore he had something going on with that bitch. He promised me after..."
Martin zeroed in. "After?"
"Viola's surgery."
"Promised you what?"
"To marry me when I was done with the program, and we’d move away. I want protection."
"From whom?"
"You can't let me go to Silverton Jail. They'll kill me," her voice hushed.
"Who will kill you?" Martin's volume notched up.
"The guards. The prisoners. If we worked the infirmary, we patched them up and sent them back, but sometimes they were too messed up, or if one of us wasn't working, they came here. Those times, Randy would receive a call that a premium prisoner was on the way. Depending on what they needed, he did what was necessary. Most of the time, he patched them up. But sometimes he was forced to find a humane solution.”
The words caught in Patrick's throat, "Humane? What happened to ‘do no harm’?"
