Page 3 of Man of the Year

“Don’t know. She just said he was a VIP.”

As well as,“He is my jackpot. Soon, we’ll get out of that hellhole in Jersey. I promise, babe!”

But the detective doesn’t need to know that.

I’m still hungover from yesterday, and Cara… Well, Cara went home with a stranger and was found unconscious at a bus stop early this morning.

“So, let me get it straight,” the detective says calmly. “She’s been drinking. She’s just met this guy. She doesn’t know him. You don’t even know his name. And you let your friend go home with him without a second thought?”

“Listen…” I close my eyes, trying to get my thoughts in order.

How do I explain without getting judged that Cara liked to party, liked sex, liked money? She enjoyed hooking up with men.

Of course, the detective won’t understand it. Her next words prove it.

“That’s how young ladies end up unconscious at public bus stops at dawn. I’ll tell you one thing, that was probably a lucky scenario for her, considering…”

I look at her over my shoulder, running into her indifferent gaze. “Considering what?”

“Considering she wasn’t raped, as per the rape kit. No sexual intercourse in the last twenty-four hours. So why was she spiked with such a heavy drug? I have a feeling there’s more to this story, Miss Olsen.”

“Can’t you check the club’s cameras?”

“There’s no crime, per se. There’s no evidence pointing to the man from the club.”

“So you arenotinvestigating this?”

“We are interested for a different reason.”

“What other reason can there be?” I snap, though there’s no point arguing. I get it.No crime, per se.

“There’s another young woman in this very hospital in a similar condition,” the detective says. “Which was the result of the exact same drug. Except she has no brain activity.”

My insides turn. “You think there’s a connection?”

“Recently, there were two similar cases of women poisoned by the same drug. No leads. No evidence of what happened. The substance we are talking about is not a prescription drug. It’s illegal in the States.”

“Those other women didn’t say what happened?”

“They never recovered.”

Bile rises to my throat, but I push down the dread. It takes me a moment before I speak again. “What’s the verdict on Cara’s current state?”

“The doctors can’t say yet. It hasn’t been long enough. She needs to come to, talk, and go through a number of tests. It’s fifty-fifty.”

“What does that mean?”

“She recovers without a clear memory of the last several days. Or…”

It’s theorthat makes my stomach turn again.

Cara looks peaceful on the hospital bed, her heart monitor quietly beeping. Just like Lindsey before she passed. This is a screwed-up déjà vu that grips my emotions in an iron-like hold.

But hope is a trickster, often making us believe that we can beat the odds. Cara will. She will.You’ve got it, babe.

“Or she will have permanent brain damage,” the detective says.

I bite down on my lower lip to stop the tears welling up in my eyes.

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