Never Let Go Read Free

Dr. Justin Whitmore by his rock-solid arm and dragged him from the room. She was wise enough to know that at five-feet-two and 107 pounds she’d never have budged all six-feet plus of him if he hadn’t been willing to follow. She wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity or his own fully aroused anger, but at least he came.
    In the hallway, she dropped her suddenly trembling hand to her side and stared defiantly at him. She tried very hard not to notice how exhausted he looked. It might have made her feel a stirring of sympathy for him and that was the last thing she needed if she was to put him quite properly and thoroughly in his place.
    “I do not practice psychological mumbo jumbo, doctor, ” she began indignantly, then tried to temper her tone to one of pure, straightforward professionalism. She met his challenging gaze with a direct, undaunted look of her own. It took every ounce of self-confidence she possessed not to duck and run for her life.
    Justin gazed down at her and found himself admiring her guts despite himself. Not many people dared to tell him off and he had no doubt that was what Miss—no, Dr. —Mallory Blake was about to do. He hadn’t intentionally cultivated his domineering attitude but he’d found it useful, and it usually kept people at a satisfactory, respectful distance. This pint-size hellion was closing that distance and practically spitting fire in his eyes. Yet her words were cool, calm and so damned reasonable he had trouble maintaining his anger.
    “Fromeverything I’ve seen, that child in there is suffering from a deep depression, in addition to whatever physical injuries he sustained,” she was saying.
    “Do you blame him? It doesn’t take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out that kid has gone through hell,” Justin snapped.
    “Exactly,” she said, and this time Mallory Blake’s fury mounted until it equaled his own. Her words lashed across him with the force of a particularly nasty, well-aimed whip. “And with every minute that his withdrawal continues, it’s going to be harder and harder to bring him back. If someone doesn’t reach him soon, if someone doesn’t deal with the hurt that little boy is feeling, all your high-tech medicine won’t do a damn bit of good. You’ll have saved him on that operating table, only to lose him because you’re too damned arrogant to think he needs anyone’s help but yours.”
    With her head tossed back, she glowered up at him, her short black hair practically crackling with electricity. Much to his surprise, Justin found he was not immune to the effect she produced. Mallory Blake was one hell of an attractive woman, even if she was pushy and totally out of line. His body’s instinctive response would have told him that, even if he’d been too blind or determinedly reluctant to see it.
    Well, maybe shewasn’t totally out of line, he finally conceded grudgingly. What she said was true to a certain extent. Davey wasn’t getting any better. He needed attention, perhaps not a psychologist’s, but certainly more attention than the staff could give him. His own scattered visits during the day were far too brief and unproductive. Aside from assessing the boy’s physical state, he had no time for more. There was always another patient waiting, another surgery scheduled. In the dark, middle-of-the-night hours when he did have time, he didn’t want to wake Davey. Usually at those times he just sat by the bed, sometimes falling asleep with the straight-backed chair tilted against the wall, hoping in some way that his mere presence would offer comfort.
    Suddenly Justin’s shoulders sagged in defeat and some of the fire went out of his eyes. Mallory Blake, Ph.D., apparently knew her business. She sensed a victory and promptly pressed her point. “Has he talked to you? Has he even looked at you?”
    “No.” It was a reluctant admission.
    “Well, he was about to respond to me, when you came barging in there and confronted me. Not only did