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“So with the downers, we can assume date rape drugs. But then we also have stimulants weaved in there. Methamphetamine. Heroin, with a side of washing powder.”
Enraged, I peel my lips back into a sneer. “Washing powder?”
“Whoever concocted this crap bought their stimulants from an asshole. Oh, and there’s Adderall too… in case she got bored, I suppose.”
“So we’ve got her going up, and then crashing down.”
“Or down first,” Raquel inserts. “Then up. Either way, she OD’d, and her system crapped out.”
“It was fast-acting and sent her system into circulatory collapse,” Aubree says. “She had a subdural hematoma.” Slipping around a sharp corner, she glances across when the car straightens out, and flashes a wicked smirk in my direction. “Yeah. I’m awesome.”
I roll my eyes.
“Pancytopenia, too,” Raquel murmurs. “Completely screwed with her red blood cells.”
“Alright, so we have a healthy woman who takes no medication, is not a drug user, lives a healthy life, and she’s been given, somehow, the equivalent to a date rape drug—but with a side ofparty hard.”
“Yes.” Raquel types at a keyboard on her end. “I’ve sent my report to your email. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
“Yup.” I glance up just as Archer screeches to a stop on the outer banks of the industrial area of the city. Where the ships once docked to offload supplies, back in one of the world wars. Where vagrants come to sleep, and the shady side of Copeland’s society make deals. “We’ve got another coming in shortly. I want to run the same tests and see if we get the same results.”
“You…” For the first time since our call connected, Raquel expresses something other than cool indifference or excitement at her discoveries. “You have another?”
“Suspected. We’ll know soon.”
“If you have another, we’re talking…” She hesitates. “We have a killer on our hands, Doctor Mayet.”
The second Aubree stops behind Archer’s cruiser and kills the engine, I unsnap my belt and push my door open. “We already have a killer. But yeah, if this is the same, then we have a huge friggin’ problem. Standby, Doctor Raquel. We’ll have her in the building within the next hour or two.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Standing by.”
Hanging up, I slide my phone into my pocket and turn in search of Aubree, only to stop at Archer’s intense stare. He waits just six feet in front of me, and though he should be heading toward the taped-off crime scene, like Fletcher is, he waits for me. He insists on demanding my attention.
Swallowing the odd ball of nerves in my throat, I start forward. “I don’t wanna fight.”
“I don’t want to fight either.” He stands his ground and grabs me before I barrel past. Then he holds my arms and folds his neck to look down into my eyes. “Close call with the motorcycle. You good?”
“I’m fine.”
The moment Aubree passes us with our bag slung over her shoulder, I step around Archer and close the gap between me and my new patient. Though of course, Archer follows just half a step behind.
“I don’t want you to handle me with kiddie gloves.” I peek at him through the corners of my eyes. “You promised you wouldn’t.”
“You nearly wiped out on the way here.”
“We didn’t. If we had, it would have been the motorcycle rider who was injured, not us. And you shouldn’t have been watching us drive, anyway. Your eyes are supposed to be on the road in front of you.”
“I’m gonna do both.” He steps close enough that his arm brushes my shoulder, and his aftershave fills my lungs. “Eat the fucking granola bar, Mayet, or you’re gonna drop before lunch. If you drop, I take over and make sure you’re being taken care of.”
“You can’t just—”
“Doctor Mayet?” Aubree’s professional voice brings my attention to her. She kneels close to our new body and documents the scene. Photographs. Photographs. Photographs. “Can I get your opinion over here?”
“Yeah.”
I break away from Archer’s side with an appreciative inhalation of air and step under the tape cordoning the scene off. Uniformed officers maintain a perimeter, and civilians linger to watch. But there aren’t nearly as many here as there were a few hours ago at Club Opulus.
Gentle waves break against the pebbles covering this sorry excuse for a beach. It’s freezing down here, and the chill coming off the water makes it worse. When I kneel beside Aubree and finally study my newest patient, I sigh at her strawberry blonde hair, stiff against her scalp and stuck to the rocks beneath her head.
