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“You’ve been unpredictable lately. Reckless. Not like the careful, by-the-book partner I’ve had over the years.”
My back molars grind together. “Can you blame me?” I mutter, not the least embarrassed at showing some vulnerability. Tavers knows. If anyone in my life gets it, he does. He’s been around me through enough of this investigation into Aislin not to be a fucking dick about my pain.
“No. I can’t blame you. But I sure as hell can’t just sit back until you get yourself fired either.”
A silence passes between us. “You think they’re connected?”
My chest tightens. “Could be,” is all I can manage to say.
“Niko… we’ve had a lot of false alarms lately.”
“You haven’t seen her,” I growl through my teeth. “Those cuts? Those scars? They aren’t exactly brand new. She’s been somewhere. I don’t know where, and I don’t know who did this to her. What I do know is she’s not Rebecca from the Stewart case. I also know there’s not a whole lot of missing persons reports that match her description. Who is she? Where’d she come from? It’s like she appeared out of thin air.”
Tavers nods. “We’re issuing a press release this afternoon. Asking the public to come forward if anybody recognizes her.”
“You’re releasing her image to the public?” I reach back and grip the doorknob behind me in a white-knuckled grasp. The funny thing is I don’t know if it’s to keep my balance or because I’m about ready to run out of here.
“We don’t have much of a choice,” he replies calmly.
“Bullshit!” I damn near explode. “We don’t have a clue where she came from, but this is the middle of bum-fuck Egypt. We aren’t the NYPD. You release her photo and our location, and you could lead her abuser straight to her.” I run a hand over my head. Tavers doesn’t speak, giving me a minute to catch my breath. In doing so, I clear my head. “That’s what you’re hoping for.”
“It’s one outcome, yes. Another would be that a relative comes forward. Someone who knows her.”
“The chances of that—” I pause when he cuts me off.
“Are good,” he replies calmly. “The chances of anyone—a friend, a relative, an old teacher or coworker—recognizing her is relatively high. You said it yourself; this is the middle of nowhere.”
I release a sigh, knowing but not fucking liking that he’s got a point.
I rub a hand over my hair. “Are we done with this? I don’t think I need to say it, but I’ll say it anyway. I’d really like to get going to the hospital and see how she is today. See if I can get some information.”
“Go.” Tavers nods. “One hour. Captain’s been unpredictable lately, and I only have so many stall tactics.”
I snort. “And what would those be?”
He leans back in his chair. “I lied. I don’t have any. Unless you count ex-lax in his coffee, but man, we just had a new baby. The last thing I need is to get my ass canned.”
I’m halfway out the door when I lift my hand in a half wave. “You’ll be fine. Thanks.”
If he replies, I don’t hear it as I’m nearly to the exit. Lifting my chin at our receptionist, Grace, I jog out into the sunshine. It doesn’t pass my notice that the weather is such a stark contrast to the day I first met Doe. This feels different, too, in my gut. Not as… ominous but still confusing as hell. Although, I think part of me is looking forward to seeing her again. I don’t know what that says, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, it’s not necessarily a bad feeling.
I arrive at the hospital, go through the necessary procedures, and head up. This time when I walk into her sterile room, I find her sitting cross-legged on her bed. As she’s been known to do, her nightgown has ridden nearly to the tops of her thighs, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Morning, Doe,” I call softly, accompanied by a gentle knock on the doorframe. Her head whips up, and my gut sours at the wild look in her eye. I hold my gaze steady, waiting until hers locks on mine and a familiarity washes over her face.
“Morning, Detective,” she answers in a soft voice that’s a contrast to her expression.
“How’re you feeling?” Two steps into the room. Four more to the chair I want to sit in. A move that should take fifteen seconds to complete takes a minute or two as I give her time to adjust to my presence.
She shrugs. “I’m fine.”
I rake my eyes over the innumerable cuts, scrapes, and bruises covering her exposed skin. ‘Fine’ is not the most accurate word to describe her condition. I don’t know if she used it because she’s trying to hide the truth or because she’s so accustomed to operating at this level of hurt it no longer bothers her. But there’s no way in fucking hell she’s simply ‘fine.’
“Is ‘fine’ a new way to say I’m hurting like hell but tough as nails?” I ask before I remember to censor my question. Shit. Kid gloves, Niko.
Her body stiffens, and she sits up sharply. “No, no, I’m really f—”
“I swear to God, Doe, if you say you’re fine one more time…” The threat trails off my tongue.
