A Voice from the Field by Neal Griffin Page A

She figured by the time he got done with her he’d publish an entire series of articles in Psychology Today . Maybe a book: How I Fixed a Broken Cop .
    Most cops who survived an encounter like Tia’s shooting happily accepted a high-dollar payout, a tax-free medical retirement, and a hero’s exit. Tia had discovered her fellow officers didn’t appreciate a daily hallway reminder that sometimes things go wrong, that cops die on the job. In fact, in the unforgiving, eat-their-own-young world of law enforcement there would always be one or two who figured Tia had screwed up and gotten a cop killed. That she walked away and a good man went in the ground. None of that had mattered to Tia. As soon as she’d been physically able, she’d met with Gage and given him all the right answers and gotten back to work. And now here they were again.
    â€œGood to see you, Tia. Come in.”
    â€œThanks, Doc.”
    Gage offered his large mitt of a hand and Tia took it. His firm grip and calculated stare let her know he was conducting his initial assessment right then. Gage specialized in the treatment of PTSD, and to him words were the least significant form of human communication. Tia did her best not to lock eyes with him, instead moving quickly past him and into the office. She went straight for the stiff-backed upholstered armchair she knew was meant for her. In contrast to the recliner, this chair was solid and rigid—a chair that forced the occupant to pay attention. Tia hated “the chair.”
    Gage was only a few inches taller than Tia but twice as thick, with a muscular frame that reflected a dedicated workout regime. His skin was deeply tan from regular trips to Fiji, where Tia knew he kept a second home. Gage preferred crew-neck, short-sleeved knit shirts that Tia figured served the purpose of not only avoiding a necktie but also allowing a fortysomething man like Gage that one last opportunity to show off his physique. He kept his hair short enough for the military, but Tia had checked and knew he had never bothered to enlist.
    She sat down and crossed her legs at the knees. She put her elbows on the armrests, laced her fingers together, level with her stomach, and stared straight ahead. Hold this position, she thought. Avoid external movement. She waited for the games to begin.
    Dr. Gage took his seat directly in front of Tia, his chair set right at the edge of her personal space. He stared back, notepad and pen at the ready. “It’s been a while, Tia. How are things going for you?”
    â€œGreat, Doc. Never better.” She was pleased that her voice was steady.
    â€œMy records show you recently renewed your prescription for Librium. Went through the last batch kind of quick?”
    Tia pursed her lips and shrugged. “I talked with your receptionist, explained that I accidentally dropped a bunch of the pills, probably half of them, in the toilet. I would have fished them out but it seemed kind of silly to go through all that. I hardly ever take one.”
    Gage nodded. “I read the arrest report from your undercover detail. Chief Sawyer sent it over.” He paused as if he wanted to be sure Tia picked up on the alliance that existed between her shrink and her boss. She shrugged again. “I was surprised. I thought we agreed you would take it easy. A gradual return to full duty.”
    â€œThe shooting was seven months ago, Doc. That’s pretty gradual.”
    â€œI’m not talking about the shooting, Tia.”
    More traps, she thought. She let the insinuation hang in the air, and after a few moments of silence Gage changed tactics and threw a new line into the water.
    â€œI see you had another hallucination.”
    Reflexively, Tia took the bait. “You got that from my police report?”
    Gage began the slow process of setting the hook and reeling her in. “From the report and about a hundred hours of our therapy sessions.”
    â€œFunny,