Page 32 of The Broken Places

She shrugged and let out a short laugh. “Well, a case could be made for the fact that I wasn’t exactly of sound mind before today anyway, so ...”

A ghost of a smile flitted across his full lips before he went serious. “The two officers who checked the men in the tent before you did feel awful. But as many drugs as the man who attacked you was on, he might have actually been pretty damn close to dead when they took vitals. Something sparked his attack, and then he promptly died again on the way to the hospital. This time for good. Paramedics couldn’t revive him.”

She felt an internal sinking, and though the man had terrorized her, she felt sorry for him. That wasn’t a nice way to die. “I should have waited for backup. I will next time I’m in a situation like that.”

He assessed her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “The purple drug in the baggie wasn’t the same as at the previous scenes. It was something called purple heroin. Have you heard of it?”

She wrinkled her brow. “Maybe.”

“It’s mostly been found on the East Coast so far. This might be one of the first West Coast cases. It comes from China in pill form, but most dealers crush it up with heroin so they can sell smaller doses.”

She rubbed at her brow. “What’s in it besides heroin?”

“Brorphine, which is a synthetic opioid without a medicinal purpose, and carfentanil, which is an elephant tranquilizer a hundred times more potent than fentanyl.”

Anelephanttranquilizer.Christ almighty.

“Why purple?” she asked.

“No one really knows so far. Maybe just a marketing feature.”

She blew out a breath. “My God. The things people will put in their bodies,” she murmured. It did make her consider what had happened to her a little differently, however. The man who’d attacked her had not only been mostly dead but very literally out of his mind. Who even knew what kind of human he was when his body wasn’t pumped full of opioids and large-animal tranquilizers. It wasn’t that she’d taken theattack personally ... exactly. But, well, maybe in some small, irrational way she had, and knowing what she now knew clarified for her that he’d have attacked a fly with as much vigor if it had landed on his arm. It didn’t make it less traumatic, but it did put it in a clearer light. “He was possessed,” she murmured.

“That’s a decent way to put it,” he said after a moment.

She looked up to see him watching her. “You were going to make tea,” he said. “Stay there and let me do it for you.” Without waiting for her okay, he picked the kettle up off the stove and brought it to the sink and began filling it.

She reached into the bowl of fruit and plucked out a star-shaped piece of watermelon and placed it in her mouth. It was firm and sweet and perfect. “You picked out a good watermelon,” she told him. “Not always an easy feat.”

He glanced up at her as he turned on the burner, the flame sparking to life, and then placed the kettle over the fire. “I bought three,” he said. “I figured at least one would be good. Mushy watermelon would have ruined my recipe.” He smiled, and she stared at him for a moment. And then she did cry, her face contorting as hot tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

With a look of alarm, Ambrose approached her, leaning over and turning her chair so that she was facing him. He didn’t ask her why she was crying; he simply gathered her in his arms and held her as she wept. “I didn’t realize the thought of mushy watermelon would upset you so much,” he said. She laughed. He was kind, and funny, and his sweetness was what had made her cry, what had made her feel safe enough to be vulnerable in his presence.

And God, but she hadn’t cried in a long, long time, especially not in front of anyone.Especiallynot someone she barely knew. “Why aren’t you married, Ambrose Mars?” she murmured when her tears had ceased. “Do you know how many women would scoop up any man who made watermelon stars?”

He removed his arms and stepped back, and she suddenly missed his closeness, the clean, masculine scent of him right against her nose.I want to know you,she thought, and the realization brought a buzz of fear, yes, but it also made hope glitter inside.

He smiled in that quizzical way of his and paused as if her question might have a double meaning or was more complicated than it seemed. “Marriage isn’t in the cards for me.”

She swiped at the lingering wetness on her cheeks.Marriage isn’t in the cards.Well, that was an odd thing to say. “Have you sworn an oath to an ancient brotherhood?”

He lifted the kettle off the burner and placed it back on another. “No. I’m just ... not great in relationships. I like my life the way it is.”

She stood, stepping to the cabinet where she kept her mugs and handing him two before opening the second cupboard, which contained the tea bags and the honey. “Okay. That’s fair, I guess. There’s nothing wrong with being a confirmed bachelor.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Coming from someone else, the words might have sounded snarky. But Ambrose gave her a teasing tilt of his lips, and his eyes squinted when he did so, and honestly, it made her stomach flutter. He placed a tea bag in each mug and then handed one to her. They both took a moment to add a couple of teaspoons of honey, and then he followed her into the living room, where she curled up in a corner of the couch.

Her phone rang, and she reached for it on the coffee table, about to silence it until she saw it was the number of the station. “I should take this,” she said. “One second.” She answered and heard Adella’s voice on the other end say her name.

“Hi, Adella.”

“How are you? I was just calling to check in.”

“Thanks. I’m fine. A little bruised.” It was kind of Adella to reach out, especially since they weren’t overly close at work. Maybe this was her way of letting Lennon know that even despite that fact, she had her back.

“Arnica gel. It will clear the bruise up in half the time.”

She smiled. “I’ll Instacart some tomorrow. Thanks for the tip.”

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