Beauty Vs. The Beast

“Frankly, I didn’t know who I was talking to at first. The experience of finding another personality inside one’s patient is unnerving. It takes some adjusting and reflection on the part of a therapist not used to the phenomenon.”

“Lee was the only multiple case you had seen?”

“At that time, yes. I was eager to get up to speed on proper diagnosis and treatment. After I discovered Roy, I videotaped every subsequent session in order to be certain that I wouldn’t miss anything. That proved very fortunate. If I hadn’t had the tape to replay for Lee, I doubt he would have believed in the reality of Roy. You see, even people with multiple personalities have difficulty accepting the concept.”

Damian smiled at her with warm understanding for her reservations. “I know it must be difficult to take all this in,” he said.

Kay found herself wanting to immediately release her skepticism and accept whatever this man said. She caught herself just in time and shook herself mentally. Damn, but this psychologist was good at getting one’s defenses down. She’d have to be careful. Very careful.

She sat up straighter in her chair, cleared her throat. “How can a person’s mind become separated into these different personalities as you’ve described?”

“Psychological research connects the development of multiple personalities to a traumatic fragmenting of the core personality.”

“And the English version of that translates to...?”

He grinned at her, a very attractive grin.

“Perhaps an analogy would be helpful. If you think of our early-childhood personalities as rough diamonds and life experiences as the diamond cutter, then a multiple-personality individual is the result of life’s diamond cutter clearly missing its mark. The personality ends up shattered into pieces—sometimes two, far more often into many different pieces.”

“And in the case of your patient, the different fragmented personality piece that emerged as a young child was Roy.”

“He was chosen by the mind to exist in the hostile childhood environment.”

“What was the hostile environment that fragmented the personality?”

“Roy’s mother became pregnant as a young teen. Her parents arranged for the baby to be adopted by a childless couple they knew. However, when Roy was two, his teenage mother kidnapped him from his adoptive parents and fled the state with a guy she had just met. The man physically and emotionally abused the child.”

Kay sagged into the back of her chair. She had had to deal firsthand with the emotional devastation of child abuse in her first year as a lawyer in the King County prosecutor’s office. The anger and repulsion she’d felt at hearing such stories, along with her frustrated efforts to gather enough evidence to put away so many of the abusers, had finally driven her out of the prosecutor’s office and into civil law at a private firm.

She knew she was tough. But she no longer kidded herself that she would ever be tough enough to deal with such horrors and inhumanity with the dispassion the profession demanded. She forcibly refocused her attention to the issue at hand.

“Why didn’t the child’s mother protect him?”

“I don’t know for certain. Maybe due to fear for herself. But by turning her back to the abuse, she contributed to it.”

“You say Roy’s mother did this. But wasn’t she also Lee’s mother?”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally, no. Lee remembers little of his childhood. He seems to have nearly total amnesia for his own life events occurring before approximately six years ago.”

“But earlier you said that he views himself as a man in his thirties. How can he sense thirty-plus years of existence when he only remembers six?”

“It’s like Lee was sitting in front of a window opening to the world. He can tell you about the social and cultural changes that have occurred during most of his lifetime, including names of presidents and world events. He just can’t relate them to anything personal that happened to him until about six years ago.”

“Because six years ago was when he began to interact with life and not just watch it.”

“Yes, very well put, Kay. The Lee personality existed in early childhood only as an observer. He lived in a kind of mental attic where he felt protected and safe. Then six years ago, he came down from his mental attic and began to take over from the Roy personality.”

Despite the fact that Kay was still having difficulty getting her mind to accept the bizarre nature of this disorder, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by it. Two people inside one mind—each compartmentalized into separate memories and identities. It was literally mind-boggling.

“You said Lee Nye came to you for help. Did Roy Nye also seek help?”

“No. Roy Nye attributed his memory losses to alcoholic stupors.”

“And when he learned about Lee?”

“When I showed him the videotape of the sessions with Lee in control, he erupted first into denial, then anger.”

“How does he handle the situation now?”

“He doesn’t. Roy Nye is dead.”

Kay blinked in surprise. “Dead?”

“Yes. He died four years ago. Which brings me to why I’m here, Kay. Mrs. Roy Nye has filed a three-million-dollar wrongful-death lawsuit against me.”

“Your patient was married?”

“No, Lee wasn’t married. Roy was.”

“And Roy’s widow blames you for Roy’s death?”

“Yes.”

“Because of your treatment?”

“Yes.”

“Were formal charges ever brought against you in connection with Roy Nye’s death?”

“No.”

“Did the police ever consider you a suspect?”

“The police were never involved.”

“If Roy died of natural causes or an accidental death, how can his wife—”

“Roy died neither by accident nor by natural causes.”

Kay leaned her forearms on her desk, trying to bore past the solid wall of secrecy in those deep green eyes.

“Okay, I confess I’m confused. How did Roy Nye die?”

His eyes never left hers. His deep voice did not alter a decibel as he delivered the news.

“I killed him.”

Chapter Two

Damian watched his admission rivet Kay’s spine into stiff attention.

He had intentionally shocked her. He wanted to find out who the woman was inside that delicately petite five-foot two-inch frame.

From the moment he’d walked into her office, he’d sensed that Kay Kellogg was nothing like the image she presented.

Not that the image she presented was at all hard to take. Her long, honey-gold hair strained against its imprisonment beneath a silver barrette at the top of her head. Her eyes floated like plump blueberries in her milk-white face. She moved as gracefully as a slim willow, her soft voice sifting through the office like a gentle breeze rustling leaves.

And when she had taken his hand and his body had registered the strong current passing between them, he knew no woman had ever affected him so immediately or so thoroughly.

No doubt about it. Kay Kellogg possessed that kind of natural, land-mine femininity that instantly and spontaneously detonated deep in a man’s body, forcibly reminding him why he was happy to be a man.

She knew it, too, and the knowledge did not make her happy. That was evident by her lack of makeup and jewelry and the formalness and formidability of her dark blue linen suit and the high collar of her light blue cotton blouse.

She wore her clothes like armor. She was making a mistake. All that starched formality only served to accentuate the soft, beckoning woman beneath.

This valiant need she had to try to hide her femininity was far more disturbing and deadly to Damian than even all that land-mine femininity, because it stirred up all his protective instincts.

She didn’t react to his news, except for that initial and instant rigidity of spine. Her eyes remained focused on his, her hands steady, her soft voice absolutely even. She recovered exceptionally fast.

“Are you saying that the police don’t know you committed this murder?”

“I don’t consider I have committed a murder, Kay.”

“You just told me you killed Roy Nye.”

“I did.”

“Then it was an accident?”

“No, I deliberately set out to do it.”

Her eyes still remained glued to his; her composed voice did not falter. He was being deliberately obtuse. Yet she continued to deal with him calmly and coolly. She had an amazingly determined and disciplined mind within that delicate packaging.

“Kay, perhaps the situation will become clearer to you when I say that although Roy Nye is dead, Lee Nye is still very much alive.”

The small frown reappeared between her fawn-colored eyebrows. “How can one identity be dead and not the other?”

“Because I consciously sought to extinguish him. I was successful.”

“Are you saying you ‘killed’ the personality that was Roy?”

“We term it ‘extinguishing’ in psychological parlance. Once Lee Nye realized there was another personality inhabiting his body and taking over during the blackout periods, he was eager to be free of him.”

“And you agreed?”

“After I got to know Roy. He was in a self-destruct mode, inflicting ever-escalating harm. He was not amenable to change. If he had been allowed to continue, he would have taken Lee with him by killing off their shared physical self, as well as their separate personalities.”

“So you’re saying that to save Lee, you killed Roy.”

“Yes.”

“And now Roy’s widow is suing you in a wrongful death suit?”

“Yes.”

She sat back in her chair and pursed her lips in a moment of quiet contemplation. She had inviting lips—naturally pink and soft-looking. Still, they were deliberately unpainted and she definitely wasn’t pursing them in invitation. Good thing, too. Damian resolutely refocused his eyes on her small hands, resting steady and composed on her desk.

“Well, when Adam warned me that your case would be a surprise, he certainly didn’t exaggerate. This one is an original. A suit filed on behalf of a widow of a man who isn’t even really dead.”

“Make no mistake, Kay, Roy is dead. When I was successful in extinguishing him, Lee subsequently divorced Roy’s wife and shed all ties with Roy’s past, including having his name formally changed from LeRoy to Lee. The two individuals shared a body, but never a life. Roy is, as a matter of record, gone.”

“Psychologically speaking, Damian, I bow to your terms. But, legally at least, I think we should begin by attempting to dispute that fact.”

Her eyes were bright with possibilities. She tapped her fingers on the desk to an ever-increasing beat. Damian had the strong impression that they were impatiently trying to keep pace with her racing thoughts.

“I assume Mrs. Roy Nye knows all about your treatment of Lee and your part in extinguishing the Roy personality?”

“Yes. Lee fully explained the circumstances in court when he filed for divorce. Mrs. Nye didn’t contest the divorce. Lee told me later that she even seemed relieved.”

“Then why is she bringing this wrongful-death suit?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said Lee first came to you five and a half years ago?”

“Yes. I saw him for a year and a half before Roy was extinguished. However, Mrs. Nye didn’t file the wrongful-death suit until recently.”

“Any idea why she waited this long?”

“No.”

“Have you ever met her in person or talked to her over the phone?”

“No.”

“Even though you treated her husband?”

“I considered Lee to be my real patient. Her husband, Roy, was a destructive and dysfunctional personality fragment. I feel fortunate that I was successful in extinguishing Roy, thereby freeing Lee to take control of his life.”

Damian watched Kay inhale a deep breath and let it out with a shake of her head.

“Well, it’s certainly a unique cause of action Mrs. Nye will be bringing to court.”

“Will it stand up?”

“Logically, it shouldn’t. But with all the crazy things going on in the legal system these days, it’s hard to second-guess what a judge will let a jury hear. When were you served papers on this suit?”

“Four months ago.”

Her voice rose perceptibly. “Four months ago?”

“The pretrial motions are scheduled for this Friday. The trial is scheduled to begin a week from today.”

She leaned forward. “This Friday? A week from today? Why did you wait so long to seek legal representation?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been relying on the lawyer who represents my malpractice insurance company. After months of answering my frequent questions with vague assurances that he had everything under control, he finally called me into his office last week to tell me he was going for an out-of-court settlement.”

“What reason did he give?”

“He said that the publicity a suit like this could generate would only open a Pandora’s box of new suits against the psychologists that the insurance company represents.”

“Which he naturally wanted to avoid, being their legal representative first and yours second.”

“Yes. He was eager to approach the plaintiff with a settlement offer. In fact, he told me there was no way he would let a case like this get anywhere near the publicity of a trial.”

“Obviously you disagreed.”

“I have no doubt that what I did for Lee Nye was right, Kay. I’m neither apologizing nor paying off.”

“I take it the insurance company is no longer in the financial picture?”

“They’ve told me I’m on my own.”

“Without the insurance company’s resources, you realize this type of litigation could cost you quite a bit of money?”

“Adam discussed that aspect with me thoroughly. I have no intention of backing down.”

He felt her eyes assessing him. No surgeon’s knife could have been more precise in its careful probing. Yes, as he suspected from the first, this woman’s soft appearance and manner were quite misleading.

“I agree,” she said finally. “Backing down only invites others to advance. What we need is a good aggressive line of attack. I already see several possibilities we can pursue.”

Damian rose to his feet. He knew he had to stop this before it went any further. His curiosity and strong reaction to her had already let it go on far longer than prudent.

He extended his hand for a shake and set a small smile on his lips.

“I appreciate your listening to my story, but on reconsideration, I would be more comfortable engaging another attorney to represent me in this matter. Thank you for your time. Please send me your bill.”

She shot to her feet, but not to take his hand. Blue-white heat flashed in her blueberry eyes.

“You’d be more comfortable with another attorney? How can you possibly make such a decision without first hearing my ideas on the case and my strategy for your defense?”

He let his lips spread into his most soothing, reassuring smile, the one he’d been using for years on agitated patients.

“I’m certain your ideas and strategy are fine. My decision has nothing to do with your legal competency.”

She continued to ignore his outstretched hand. She did not return his smile. Her hands balled into fists. She rested her knuckles on the desk and leaned toward him menacingly.

“If you don’t doubt my legal competency, why are you dismissing me?”

He dropped his hand since she obviously wasn’t going to take it. He tried an earnest look and a calming tone, his most successful combination for difficult-patient situations.

“I don’t mean to offend you, Kay. I appreciate your reputation. Please understand that this decision is based purely on a personal idiosyncrasy.”

He followed his words with his most winning smile. Once again, she did not smile back.

“Rejection under the vague umbrella of personal idiosyncrasy, is offensive. I would hope you would at least afford me the professional courtesy of saying what you really mean. Don’t let my small size delude you. I’m not a child. I’ll be thirty in a few months. You don’t have to baby me.”

Damian’s smile faded as his eyebrows rose in surprise for the second time that morning.

So she was demanding the truth from him, was she? All right. He’d give her the truth. He looked her up and down. Deliberately. Not like a psychologist. Like a man.

“I have no illusions about your being a child. Far from it. It is precisely because I find you far too desirable a woman that you will not do. I’m facing a difficult lawsuit. I am not going to risk the possibly disastrous complications of getting personally involved with my attorney while I’m fighting for my professional life. Good morning.”

He pivoted sharply on the carpet and strode purposefully toward the door.

Her voice carried quite well considering its innate softness.

“Not so fast, Dr. Steele.”

He stopped and swung back to face her, irritated to be so strongly summoned by such a soft, yet clearly minatory, manner. That irritation crept into his words.

“There isn’t anything left to say.”

She moved quickly around her desk and marched toward him. She stopped directly in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, her chin up, her eyes sparking blue-white fire despite the saccharine smile that drew back her lips.

“I have two things to say. One, it takes two to get involved. And as difficult as it may be for you to imagine, I am fully prepared to struggle against succumbing to your charisma and live up to the ethical standards of my profession.”

She was so smug in her sarcasm. So damn smug. His irritation grew.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t—”

“The second thing I’d like to say is this,” she interrupted deliberately, still in that far-too-sweet tone. “If you, a psychologist, cannot control your impulses, then, Doctor, perhaps you’ve been spending your time on the wrong side of the analyst’s couch. I can get you the name of a good therapist if you don’t know one.”

Damian clenched his hands at his sides as an unwelcome heat rose in his chest and flared through his nostrils. How dare this pint-size attorney tell him that he needed psychological help and offer to find him a good psychologist. His voice lowered into a deadly warning hush.

“I have no trouble controlling my impulses,” he said, although at the moment he knew he was having a lot of trouble.

She took another step toward him, obviously ignoring the warning in his tone, her voice still too sweet, her eyes still too blue-white hot.

“Then we have no problem here, do we, Doctor? I will give you my word of honor that I will abide by my ethical code of having no personal involvement with a client, and you will give me your word of honor that you will not fire me for the duration of this case as long as I perform my legal services competently.”

Damian watched her silently for a moment, newly stunned by her challenge, wondering how she had managed to maneuver him into this untenable position.

How could he say no? He’d be admitting that he couldn’t keep his attraction for her under control. Which was absurd. Of course he could. At the moment, he was far more inclined to wring that slim neck of hers than kiss those soft-looking lips.

“So what’s it to be, Dr. Steele? Are you going to hire me, or are you going to spend some much-needed time on another analyst’s couch?”

She was so damn cool and confident and sure of herself. Behind that soft, feminine facade, he could clearly see a fierce feline with claws and a considerable set of sharp teeth.

What had ever given him the impression that this lady lawyer could be vulnerable?

Damian suddenly found himself smiling, the anger she had provoked in him fading. If she could think this quickly on her feet and prove to be this good an adversary in the courtroom, he’d be foolish not to engage her for his legal defense.

He held out his hand. “All right, Kay. You’re hired. And you have my word as a man of honor that I will not fire you for anything other than incompetency.”

She closed the small remaining distance between them and took his hand, giving it a good, solid shake, just as she had when they first introduced themselves. A small, triumphant smile lifted the sides of her lips.

“You won’t regret it.”

On the contrary, Damian was beginning to regret it already. The warmth of her hand was something he could feel right through to his solar plexus. She might be able to disavow the attraction between them, but he couldn’t. Her light scent was as addictive as sweet, warm sunshine. She was bright; she was beautiful; she was out of bounds.

A hell of a dangerous combination. Damn. He could see it now. His mistake had been in trying to walk away from her earlier. He should have run.

* * *

“SO, Kay,” Adam Justice began in the Wednesday morning partners’ meeting, “I see your case of Nye vs. Steele has already made the local news.”

Kay quickly swallowed her sip of licorice-spice herbal tea and set her mug on the oval conference table around which sat the four partners of Justice Inc.—herself, Adam Justice, Marc Truesdale and Octavia Osborne.

Kay swung her body to the right to look into Adam’s stone face, as cool and mysterious as his pale eyes and the scar that jagged from his jaw to disappear below his impeccable, starched-white dress shirt.

“Mrs. Nye’s tearful interview about the loss of her husband, Roy, was just an overt play for sympathy. The press is obviously giving her airtime only because of the unusual dual-personality feature of her case.”

“The news commentator mentioned that Dr. Steele couldn’t be reached for comment,” Adam said. “Did you advise him to avoid the press?”

“Yes. Pretrial motions are Friday morning. I believe I’ll be able to get the case dismissed entirely, in which case Dr. Steele doesn’t need to have his face flashed on the screen with that kind of negative publicity.”

Adam made a note on his case list, his full head of straight, jet-black hair nodding in silent, sober approval. Adam Justice’s reputation as a hard-driving, brilliant attorney was legendary throughout Seattle’s legal system.

And his sister, Ariana Justice—better known as AJ—ran a detective firm touted as one of the best in the state.

Yet even after five years of working with the two of them, Kay had learned very little about the human side of either Adam or AJ. Both brother and sister assiduously deflected any and every personal probe.

“What’s your angle on dismissal?” Marc Truesdale asked as he grabbed for his second bran muffin from the lazy Susan at the center of the conference table.

Marc was the opposite of Adam, open and easy to get to know. He’d joined the firm just two years before, yet Kay knew far more about him than she suspected she’d ever know about Adam. Marc was overwhelmingly good-looking, oozed charm and was only a few months older than Kay. And despite his reputation for romancing the ladies, Marc always treated her with the strict deference and respect of one colleague for another.

“My argument will be that since no corporal death has in fact occurred, there is no legal basis for a wrongful-death suit.”

Marc nodded. “Good logical approach. Think it will work?”

Kay smiled at his question. “I have an ace up my sleeve if it doesn’t.”

He smiled back. “You always do.”

“I had better have on this one. Getting up to speed for a trial by Monday isn’t exactly the way I want to spend my weekend.”

Octavia Osborne exploded into that rich, throaty, uninhibited laugh that danced around the room and brought out the worst of Kay’s envy. At five foot eleven, Octavia was a statuesque redhead whose perfect grooming and gorgeous clothes always exuded the kind of natural flamboyance and woman-of-the-world sophistication that Kay knew she could never emulate. Octavia leaned toward her, a knowing twinkle in her sagacious eyes.

“Come on, Kay. That’s just the way you’d like to spend your weekend. Talk about a lady with all work and no play in her life. You turn in almost as many billable hours each month as Adam here, and we all know he eats and sleeps in his office.”