Her Last Word(46)

“Blown up and burned.” His blunt answer suggested he wasn’t interested in sharing details.

The more she thought about being in an unfamiliar location exposed to all sorts of people, the more unsettled she felt. Anyone could come into her room while she was sleeping, and given the shape she was in now, there was nothing she could do about it. There were no locks on her door.

“What about Erika? Have you found her?” she asked. “She could tell you what happened.”

“I spoke to the county police. There was no sign of Erika or her husband.”

“I interviewed her for my podcast in January. She was late because she’d waited until her husband left for work. She didn’t want him to know about the interview.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You get the vibe he might be abusive?”

“I don’t know.” She searched his face. “I saw her on Friday and told her about Jennifer. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Her phone isn’t transmitting a signal. Do you have any idea where she would go?”

“No.” Again she rummaged through splintered recollections, but still found nothing that would help her figure out what had happened during the lost hours. Frustrated, she pushed her fists into the sheets and was determined again to sit up. Screw the pain. She wouldn’t be sidelined, and she was going to remember. She tried to sit again. Immediately her body burned, and she hissed in a sharp breath as tears filled her eyes. “Damn it.”

He took her hand in his, and automatically she squeezed his fingers until she sat up. His calloused fingers brushed her palm, offering comfort she did not want.

When the agony mellowed to an ache, she realized how tightly she’d been gripping his hand. Feeling foolish, she pulled her fingers free. She met his gaze. “And here I thought you were an asshole,” she said.

“I get that a lot.”

A smile quirked the edges of her lips. “If it’s any consolation, so do I.”

He shook his head. “A dead woman, a missing woman, an AWOL husband, and the person at the center of it all has a hefty slice in her gut. You attract trouble like this all the time?”

“Not in a long time.” Fresh frustration quickly gained strength. “I need to remember who stabbed me. I don’t think he’s one and done. He’s coming for me.”

“You’ve been traumatized. Victims often don’t remember their attack initially.”

The label, victim, was another punch to the gut. After Gina, most saw her as a victim. People talked to her differently, some avoided her, and some believed she’d caused all her troubles. She’d have taken it better if Adler had called her a liar. “Fuck victim.”

“The stitches say otherwise.”

“Call me stupid. Foolish. Even naive. But don’t call me a victim.”

He studied her a long moment. He was a homicide detective who rooted among the lies for truths. Trained to unwind complicated evidence and piece them together into a coherent picture. “Like it or not, you’re officially a case, Kaitlin. And you’re probably right, he’s going to make another run at you.”

“You should be looking for Erika and Brad Crowley. I was at their place when this happened. They must have known something.”

“Slow down. What do you remember?”

“I do remember her text now. And I remember parking my car and walking toward the front door. I think the door was open. I thought Erika would be there, but I didn’t see her.”

“All I know is you were just inside, unconscious and bleeding. The responding officer called for backup and the paramedics. The house was searched, but no one was found.”

The image of her lying in her own blood added weight to what had happened. “I don’t remember.”

“Where else would Erika Crowley be?” Adler asked.

“I don’t know much about her. I had the impression she lived a pretty isolated life.”

“What do you know about her?” he asked.

“Only what she told me, which isn’t much. I hadn’t seen or heard from her in fourteen years. Hell, I didn’t know her well then.”

His silence, hefting too much weight, was a sure signal she wasn’t going to like what she heard.

“We need to find Erika and Brad,” she said.

“We aren’t doing anything. I’ll find them.”

A sudden wave of fatigue hit, stealing some of her fire. “I’m in the middle of all this.”

He rose, leaned over the bed, and braced his hand on the headboard and the side rail, careful not to jostle the IV in her arm. “I’m aware, and believe me, I’ll not rest until I figure this out. We’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, you’re safe. I’ll make it my mission to find this guy.”

“No one could fourteen years ago.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Now, I’m in the game. So the rules have changed.”

Panic felt like weakness, but it was undeniable. “I can’t defend myself now.”

“You’re in a lockdown unit. No one can get in or out, so rest. You’re safe here.”

Safe. What the hell did that mean? She hadn’t felt safe in fourteen years. “And when I leave?”