He returned to his chair and sat down, keeping his gaze fixed on her but remaining silent, not wanting to scare away a memory that was creeping back into her consciousness. He had hoped that prodding her, hammering at her as he’d done, would shake loose a recollection. Apparently it had. He waited.

Finally she began to speak. “I once interviewed a man who agreed to talk to me about a labor strike, but only if he could remain anonymous. My sound tech and I electronically altered his voice, and he wore a hood during the interview. And even then, all the while I was interviewing him, his eyes weren’t on me. Through the holes in the hood I could see them looking past me, just beyond my shoulder, anxiously darting from side to side. I even turned my head once to see what he was looking at. I didn’t see anything to be afraid of. But he did.”

Her eyes pulled Raley back into focus. “That’s how it was with Jay. I thought his restlessness meant he wasn’t feeling well, or that he’d become too warm in the crowded bar, or that, despite his dismissal of the cancer, he’d become upset when we talked about it. But now, I think he was afraid.”

“Of someone in the bar?”

“What else could it have been?”

“Did you ever turn and look behind you?”

“Actually, I was about to. Maybe Jay sensed it, because he reached for my hand and asked if we could move to his place to continue our conversation. He left money on the table, and we headed for the exit.”

“Did either of you speak to anyone as you left the bar?”

“No. Except to excuse ourselves as we made our way through the crowd.”

“No cross words with anyone? No hostile exchange of any kind?”

“Not even a dirty look.”

“See anyone who looked suspicious?”

“Suspicious?”

“Sinister. Up to no good.”

“I have only blurred images.” After a moment, she shook her head. “No, I don’t recall anyone with clarity.”

“Anyone follow you and Jay from the bar?”

“No.” Then hesitantly she said, “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“A memory flickered, but…”

He could tell she was trying to snag it, hold on to it, but she failed to. “I don’t think anyone followed us, but I can’t be positive.” She brought her eyes back to his. “I explained all this to the police. Nothing, nothing out of the ordinary happened between the table and the exit.”

“What about on your walk to Jay’s town house? Did you meet anyone along the way?”

“I don’t believe so, although I don’t have a sharp recollection of the trip. I was well looped by then. I vaguely remember going inside his town house and immediately making my way to the sofa, wanting to sit down. Needing to. I wondered how I could have become so drunk over one glass of wine, and I didn’t even finish the glass.”

“So you went to the sofa and…?”

“And, that’s it. I can’t remember anything else.”

“Did Jay join you on the sofa?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you start making out?”

“I’ve just told you I don’t even remember if he sat down beside me.”

“Do you remember drinking scotch?”

“No. But I must have because I threw it up the next morning.”

“Jay was good at talking women into doing things they were reluctant to do. Like drinking too much, taking off their clothes. He was an expert at getting a woman out of her clothes. He boasted about his technique.” He watched her closely, interested to see how she would respond.

“If he exercised his technique on me, I don’t remember it. I don’t know how I became undressed, or how we got into bed, or what we did there.” Suddenly there was a catch in her voice. Her blue eyes filled. “Can you imagine how awful that is for me? I realize you have a low opinion of me, but no one deserves to be taken advantage of that way. I don’t know what was done to me that night, but the possibilities of what could have been done without my knowledge or consent make me sick and afraid.”

He didn’t say anything for several moments, then asked her, “Do you think Jay took advantage of you?”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out before she raised her head. The tears were gone, but her nose was running. “I can’t imagine that he would, but I don’t know,” she finished huskily.

He got up and went into the bathroom, pulled a length of toilet paper off the roll, and brought it back with him. He folded it into a square and pressed it against her nose. “Blow.” Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Blow.”

She blew. He wiped her nose, then went into the kitchen to throw the tissue away and asked her if she wanted more water. She declined.

He returned to his chair. “Tell me about when you woke up.”

She described how Jay was lying on his side, facing away from her. Her head was muzzy, she was confused. She collected her clothes, finding some of them in the living room, then went into the bathroom, where she threw up.

“It should have occurred to me then that I’d been drugged, but this was Jay Burgess. A police officer. A man I knew and trusted. I saw the empty bottle of scotch and blamed myself for losing control and doing something stupid.”

She paused and gave him a pointed look. “Which is not my m.o. I’m not in the habit of drinking myself unconscious and waking up in a man’s bed with no recollection of how I got there. In fact, nothing even remotely like that has ever happened to me before. I like being in control.”

“That I believe.” He said it in a way that didn’t flatter her, and he figured she caught the nuance because she frowned.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I used the bathroom and showered, the two things you’re not supposed to do if you suspect you’ve been given a date rape drug. Consequently, I can’t prove that I was.”

“When did you lose your virginity?”

The question took her aback. “What?”

“How many years have you been having sex?”

“None of your damn business.”

“It’s not that I care, I’m just finding it hard to believe that you can sit there and with a straight face tell me you don’t know whether or not you and Jay did the nasty thing.”

“A condom foil was found on the sofa.”

“Ahh. So you did.”

“It would appear so, but I don’t know. My doctor-”

“Why would you need clinical proof? Wouldn’t you know? Even hours later, wouldn’t you just feel it?”

“Would you?”

“I’m not a woman! My body doesn’t get penetrated.”

She bit back whatever she was about to say. Looking away from him, she compressed her lips and forcibly composed herself. When she looked back at him, she said, “It didn’t feel to me as though we’d been intimate. But I can’t swear to it. And does it even matter? Isn’t that a little beside the point?”

“I guess so. Jay still wound up dead.”

He stood up and took his knife from his pants pocket, then stepped around to the back of her chair. “Thank you,” she said with meaning as he cut through the tape binding her hands.

“Don’t get too excited. We’re not finished yet.” He wrapped his hand around her biceps and headed for the bedroom, hauling her along behind him.

“What are you-Wait! You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“It won’t hurt. Unless you fight me.”

He gave her a light push that sent her stumbling toward the bed. She broke her fall against it but bounced up and dashed toward the door. He hooked his arm around her waist as she ran past him, lifted her against his hip, and carried her to the bed, unceremoniously dumping her onto it.

Being caught at the waist had knocked the breath from her. It took a couple of seconds for her to regain it, then she was all fight again, kicking at him with all her might, flailing her arms in her effort to connect with his head.

But it was never any real contest. He straddled her thighs to make her thrashing legs ineffectual, then plucked the roll of duct tape from his shirt pocket, where he’d temporarily stowed it. Leaning away from her slapping, scratching hands, he ripped off a strip with his teeth, caught her left hand, and pulled it up to the bedpost. In seconds, he had her wrist taped tightly to the post at the level of the mattress.