Nick’s hand curled around the armrest. “You knew her. In grad school. Before she started killing people.”
“Did she?”
A psychiatrist’s.
The tension coiled between them—therapy, interrogation, something darker. Nick’s hand hovered near his service weapon, though he didn’t know why.
“That’s not—”
Beth smiled. It was the same smile she’d used in her testimony: patient, clinical, just shy of pity. “Nick, you’ve been chasing Catherine Tramell for three years. You’ve watched her lie, seduce, manipulate. And now you’re sleeping with her.”
As he left, Beth picked up a pen from her desk—a sleek, silver Montblanc. She clicked it once, twice, watching him walk down the hall. basic instinct dr beth garner
Nick stood. “And what did she say?”