“Harmless, huh? When you’re now suspected of murdering him?”

A long silence stretched taut between them, then she said, “Tell me about the morning following the party.”

He pressed the tips of his fingers into his eye sockets, then dragged his hands down his face, over his bearded cheeks and chin. “I have no memory beyond what I’ve told you. But till the day I die, I won’t forget the absolute horror I experienced when I woke up.”

He came awake but didn’t open his eyes. He lay still, sorting through the days of the week in his mind, trying to determine which day it was. What was on his agenda for today? Was he on duty or off? When would he see Hallie?

Right, he thought, as though his mind had snapped its fingers. This was Sunday. She was coming home.

With that happy thought, he opened his eyes. He was facing a wall, but it wasn’t his wall. It was too close to the bed to be the wall of his bedroom, and besides, it was the wrong color.

Where was he?

He took in more of the wall, the window, and realized he was in Jay’s apartment. Guest bedroom. He recognized it because he’d slept here a few times, when poker games went into the wee hours, when his own place was being painted and the fumes had driven him out. Jay had offered his guest room for as long as it took for the painting to be finished. Once, after a long dinner party, Jay had persuaded him and Hallie to sleep in this bed.

Those occasions he remembered clearly.

But he had no idea in hell how he’d got here last night. It was fairly late in the morning, judging by the light coming through the blinds. They were drawn, but bright sunlight rimmed the edge of each slat.

He rolled onto his back, and the motion caused him to moan. His head hurt like a son of a bitch and felt as heavy as an anvil. He wasn’t sure he could raise it off the pillow, but he was absolutely positive that he didn’t want to try. A motion that extreme would cause his eyeballs to explode. He had the mother of all hangovers, but he didn’t even remember-

He gave a cry of shock when he saw the hand.

It was lying palm up, inches from his thigh, as though seconds before it had been touching him.

That hand, lying supine and still, belonged to a woman.

He bolted from the bed. Or tried. The sheet was tangled up around his legs, causing him to stumble when his feet hit the floor. He landed on one kneecap, so hard it made a knocking sound against the hardwood floor. But in his shock, he barely felt it.

His heart was drumming, and when he heard his own gasping breaths, he willed his mouth shut in order to stopper them. He stood transfixed, but his brain was scrambling, seeking an explanation for the inexplicable.

The woman was dead.

The tanned skin had taken on the ashen hue of death. Her lips were the color of putty. Her eyes, partially open, were beginning to film.

His stupefaction lasted for maybe ten seconds. Perhaps even less. Then his training kicked in, and so did his innate compulsion to act. It wasn’t so much compassion, which denoted forethought and a choice to be valiant. With Raley, it was more like energy, spontaneity, instinct that propelled him to rescue something or someone without his even having to consider it.

He was beside her in a nanosecond, feeling for a pulse. He felt none. Her skin was as cool as marble. Nevertheless, he began giving her CPR.

“Jay!” he shouted. “God dammit, where are you? Jay!” His shouts went unheeded. He could hear no noise in the house except his own labored breathing and his muttered urging for her to move, breathe, revive.

But both his efforts and his prayers were useless. He’d known they would be, but he’d had to try. He continued until his chest was bathed in sweat, until sweat was streaming down his face. Or were those tears of anguish stinging his eyes and rolling down his cheeks?

Finally, weakened by his own exertion, he gave up. He sat back on his heels and stared at her, still trying to grasp how this horror show could possibly be playing out, with him as the lead character.

He reached for the phone on the nightstand. It was an extension to Jay’s landline. He dialed 911. The operator answered.

“There’s been a death. Send an ambulance.” He hung up before the dispatcher could begin asking questions.

His heels made loud thudding noises against the floor as he ran from the room and down the hallway. Jay was in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool, a mug of coffee in his hand, the Sunday newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him. Earphones bridged his head, and his bare foot was tapping out the beat of the music being piped into his ears.

“Jay!”

Raley didn’t think he heard him, but he must have noticed the motion out the corner of his eye. He turned his head and immediately started laughing, which under the circumstances, was obscene. It didn’t occur to Raley until much later what a bizarre sight he must have been. Naked and bug-eyed, flapping his arms to get his friend’s attention.

As soon as Jay removed his earphones, he said, “The girl-”

“You look like the Wild Man of Borneo,” Jay chortled.

“There’s a girl-”

“I know, but I promise not to tell.”

“She’s dead.”

Jay bit back a laugh. His smile collapsed. “What?”

Raley turned and retraced his steps to the bedroom, trusting that Jay would follow him. He did. He stopped in the open doorway, stared at the body with dismay, covered his mouth with one hand. “Fuck me.”

“I tried to revive her, but…” Raley ran his hand over his head. “Jesus Christ.” Thinking he might faint, he bent at the waist, placed his hands on his knees, and sucked in several deep breaths.

By the time he straightened up, Jay was standing beside the bed, studying the still form. “Looks like she’s been dead for a while.”

“I woke up. Found her. Like that.”

Jay wiped his mouth again. “Shit, man.”

“I know. I’ve called 911.”

Jay nodded absently. “Get some pants on.” Raley stared at him, not quite comprehending. “Get some pants on,” Jay repeated.

Staying in one spot, Raley pivoted until he spied his trousers in a heap of clothing belonging to him and the girl. FCUK spelled out in rhinestones, mocking him. He stepped into his pants, pulled them on, did up his fly, but each motion was mechanical.

“What happened?” Jay asked.

Raley looked at him blankly. “What?”

“What happened? Christ, Raley. I’ve got a dead woman in my house. In bed with you. What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He motioned toward the corpse. “I don’t even know her name.”

Jay placed his hands on his hips and looked at him with consternation, then, hearing the distant whine of a siren, dropped the pose and went into action. His eyes skittered around the room until they lighted on a woman’s handbag.

He got it and began rifling through it, coming up with a wallet. He flipped it open. “Suzi with an i. Monroe.” He shot Raley an inquiring glance.

Raley shook his head. “If she told me her name, I don’t remember.”

“I never saw her before last night, either,” Jay said. “I looked around for you, and saw you out on the patio making chummy with her.”

Raley ran his hand down his clammy face. “Yeah, I vaguely remember that. She came up to me and started talking. She gave me a margarita. We walked out…out by the swimming pool, I think.”

Jay was looking at him with incredulity. “I had no idea you were that far gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Raley, you and this chick-” He broke off, shook his head impatiently. “We don’t have time for this now.” The siren’s wail had got louder. It was close now. Jay continued to plow through her handbag.

“What are you looking for?”

“She shows up at a party uninvited, a gate-crasher. What does that tell you? She’s a party girl, right?”