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Drea hesitated, unable—or unwilling—to look away from Theo. I stepped forward. “Even what he was wearing.”
Theo’s rumble, low in his throat, was a warning, but as usual, unheeded. “Was he in a suit?” I tried further. “A t-shirt? What colors can you remember?”
Theo may not know where I was going with this, but when I was in the hospital and so many questions were bombarding me, spewing out of stern faces and blue uniforms, notepads pulled out, handheld radios spurting static, the beeps of machines and the intercoms, the patter of nurse’s feet—it was all too much. Nothing could come to mind, not with the cacophony of concern spiraling out in silly-string tangles, filling my room.
Sometimes, the simplest question could jump-start the tiniest of details.
“Don’t think of it as bad things you have to tell us,” I said. “Even though, yes, it’s terrible what happened to you. Think of it as things that will help us find the man who did this to you.”
“P-police,” she said.
“They’ve been searching for him for two years and haven’t been able to discover where he is,” Theo said. “The FBI, task forces, all of it was conducted to find him. And he was still able to find you.”
Harsh, but true. I contributed to the silence.
“Suit,” she eventually said.
“Okay. Good.” I knelt beside Theo, using his shoulder as leverage. The old bullet wound gave off phantom cries, especially when I wanted to use my abs. Theo’s glance was quick, but full of concern.
“Did he arrange a meeting with you?” I asked, redirecting his attention.
Drea shook her head. “I met him … in a tavern. I’d gone in for a pint. It had been a long day at my desk and—”
Theo frowned. “You’re not a working girl?”
Her brows jumped. “A prostitute? No. I’m not.”
Theo held his palm up. “That’s Trace’s preference when he does things like … this.”
Trace lost his temper on a young professional? “How did you two meet?”
I said it like it was a blind date, or a meet-up after swiping right. It had the effect of casual conversation, prompting Drea to open up.
“I was … just having a pint,” she repeated. Then elaborated, “I probably appeared stressed, or down. I don’t remember looking up a lot. Then someone came up beside me at the bar. Told me the weather looked stormy, then smiled.” Drea said to me, “It was perfectly sunny out.”
“He meant your mood,” I said, letting her know I was following her train of thought. “It endeared you to him.”
“Quite,” Drea replied. Her shoulders settled against the chair. “And when I saw his eyes, well, they were exactly like yours,” she said to Theo. “Bright, bright blue. And so nice.” Her chin drooped. “I’m such an imbecile.”
“To smile at a nice guy?” I said. “That’s not dumb. It’s what we all do.”
“We started chatting, small talk, really.” Drea shrugged, then winced. “He bought us another round, then offered to pay for shots. You Americans, you prefer your liquor hard.”
I wanted to protest, then thought back to yesterday evening and the vodka I wanted to funnel just to get through the night. Couldn’t argue.
“I became tipsy,” she admitted. “Thenreallytipsy. The pub was closing, and he offered a top-up at his place. How could I say no? He was very kind, quite polite. And…” Her tongue darted out, in the space where it could, as she glanced at Theo.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“I’ve … done this before. Gone home with men. A one-night stand sort of thing.”
I nodded.
“That’s what I thought this would be. We had the drink, whiskey I believe, and he started to get all handsy, and I allowed it because that is exactly why I was there, until … his hold became hard. It was all in jest at first, or so I thought. Maybe he liked it slightly rough, and I was all right with that. I endured his smacks, until it stung, and when he b-broke skin, I—”
Drea sputtered, coughed, then began retching, seriously compromising the stitches in her wounds.
I guided her forward, my hand on her back, rubbing, but my message to Theo was urgent. “She needs a hospital. Now.”
