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Anger and worry mixed, sending my blood pressure skyrocketing. I watched as the EMT cleaned the inside of the unconscious woman’s arm, readying it for the IV. My stomach rolled as the needle pressed against her skin.

Nope.

Hard pass.

Passing out and adding more work for the EMTs was not my goal for riding along.

I shifted along the hard seat, turning my focus to take in the woman’s disheveled clothing. The buttons of her top were undamaged, nothing ripped, though the hem had risen slightly, exposing some of her stomach. Her jeans were a different situation. The button was gone, as if torn off, the zipper broken and undone. In fact, they didn’t look all the way pulled up, the waist sitting below her hip bones.

I swallowed, throat and mouth dry.

The dead fucker’s pants undone, hers ripped and not all the way on at all, pointed to an interrupted assault.

And my gut told me only one person would have that violent a reaction.

The mounting evidence pointed to the one thing we didn’t want.

Our unsub was spiraling.

* * *

It was wellpast three in the morning when I finally stepped through the front door. Every time I moved, pain flared, slowing my steps. My keys crashed to the side table where I rested my badge and gun. Not bothering with the lights, I moved through the dark hallway toward the kitchen.

I paused for half a step, seeing Jameson sitting on one of the counter stools, laptop open in front of him. A highball glass filled with ice and brown liquid sat near his hand, one of my expensive bottles of bourbon beside it.

“Helped yourself, I see,” I grumbled, not really caring but not sure what else to say. My brain was just as exhausted as my body. Though seeing a beautiful woman asleep on the couch eased some of the tension from my too-stiff muscles. “Find anything after I left?” I whispered, not wanting to wake Rain when she looked so damn peaceful and perfect.

“There were zero cameras in the bar or around it.” My hand hovered over the cabinet handle, pausing at the anger vibrating in his tone. “The bartender remembered them, but the asshole paid in cash, so she couldn’t really remember how many he had versus her. They were drinking the same thing: cranberry vodkas. Bartender said the woman seemed fine when they left, nothing that caused her pause, and she was too busy to say for certain if he did or didn’t put something in her drink. Most of the patrons who were there earlier in the night were long gone, so I couldn’t question them.”

“Tiffany,” I said, finally snapping out of my daze and pulling down a highball glass. “The woman you found, her name is Tiffany Gardner. They gave her something in her IV when we arrived at the hospital after I told them we suspected she was drugged with ketamine. It didn’t take long for her to wake up and be conscious enough to tell me the basics. She went there with him willingly, though she thought his name was Brad. They met online two weeks ago, and tonight was their first time meeting in person.”

My hand trembled, making the empty glass shake on top of the granite. Jameson shot me a worried look before grabbing the bourbon and pouring me two fingers. Instead of sipping it like the delicious liquor deserved, I tipped the glass back, downing the contents in one gulp, savoring the burn down my throat. The heavy bottom clinked against the counter, and I tapped a finger against the side.

“Is she going to be okay?” Jameson asked, caution in his tone as he poured more bourbon into my empty glass.

“Physically, yeah. Emotionally?” I shrugged. Pulling a stool out from beneath the counter, I sat on the edge, grateful to be off my feet for a few seconds. “Find anything else at the scene?”

“No, but we bagged and tagged the shit out of the area.” He twisted on his seat. “Why?”

“Why what?” I asked into the glass.

“Why did you go with her? She was in good hands.”

I rolled the smooth glass between my palms. “After talking with the victims and those at the crisis center, I wanted… I wanted her to know I was there for her. That I was one of the good guys in her corner, no matter what she needs.”

“You’re a good man, Detective Taylor.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” I grumbled, barely managing a smile. Shifting, I looked at the couch, almost to make sure she was still there and not an illusion my tired brain conjured. “She been asleep for long?”

“She tried waiting up for you. Hell, she wanted to go to the morgue and do the autopsy tonight.”

I huffed. “Sounds like Rain.”

“But I convinced her to come with me. The guy will still be dead tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I sighed, “is my day off and hers too.”

“Then we get back on the case the next day. I think we all deserve some time off. Don’t you?”

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