Page 4 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

Officer Leopold smiled down kindly. “Now you’re awake, the doctor needs to check you over, and we’ve arranged for a representative from Alcoholics Anonymous to stop by with a few pamphlets.”

“I’m not an alcoholic!”

He shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. “Ma’am, you were unconscious when they brought you in, and when you woke up, you spent half the night vomiting. Then you locked yourself in the bathroom, and it took the nurses twenty minutes to convince you to come out. They almost broke the door down.”

Really? I didn’t remember any of that.

“That was…”

Dammit, how was I supposed to explain my escape? I could hardly admit to my deep and meaningful conversation with a dead girl, could I?

“That was what?”

“That wasn’t like me at all. I…I think I was with a man. In his car.”

“The person who called 911 was a woman, and she didn’t see anybody else around.”

“I think he drugged me. Honestly, I don’t normally drink that much, and I’ve never, ever passed out.”

Okay, so I threw up after prom, but I’d been eighteen. It was practically a rite of passage.

“That’s a serious allegation, ma’am.”

Leopold didn’t groan out loud, but his reluctant expression said it all. How far off retirement was he? A year? Two years? The last thing he wanted was a tricky case to interrupt his coffee-drinking time.

“I know it is, but what if there’s a man out there hunting innocent women? Do you have a daughter? A granddaughter?”

Reluctance turned back to sympathy. “Two granddaughters.”

“I’m in a hospital. Can’t you run a test to see if he gave me anything?”

“I think they run a drug screen as a matter of course. I’ll ask a doctor.”

“Thank you.”

Even though I’d been unconscious for hours, a wave of tiredness washed over me, and I yawned. Leopold patted me awkwardly on the shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to get some rest. Is there someone I can call? You’ll need clothes to wear home, I guess. And shoes.”

Shoes? I’d lost my favourite LK Bennett kitten heels? The news brought tears to my eyes, which was stupid considering everything else that had happened. I’d loved those damn shoes with their little white bows.

“C-c-can you call my friend Annie?”

“Do you have her number?”

“It’s in my phone.”

“You didn’t have a phone with you when you arrived.”

“No purse?”

“Sorry.”

More to do—cancel my credit cards, get a new phone, replace all my make-up. Just what I didn’t need at such a busy time of year. Then it hit me.

“I left my purse in his car! It had my phone, and my wallet, and my driver’s licence. He’s got my address.”

“You’re sure you had the purse with you?”

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