her hospital bed and she crawled under the sheets. She seemed so frail. With a Kleenex, she wiped the cold sweat off her forehead and peered directly into his eyes.
“You seem to have made a habit of rescuing me.”
Decker didn’t answer. Her voice was sultry and bored at the same time, like a Tennessee Williams character. He regarded her face. The swelling below her eyes had gone down, though the skin was still black. It was the first time he’d seen her eyes open. The whites were bloodshot, the irises bright blue. Her lips were covered with something waxy, but the cuts underneath looked to be healing nicely. Her flaxen hair fell over one eye, cascading down to her bare shoulders. Her skin was pale except for a tinge of red over pronounced cheekbones.
He pulled up a chair and sat to the right of the bed. She shifted to her left until their faces were no more than a foot apart. Just like yesterday, he felt some desperation in her, a need for something to hold. But there was something unhealthy about the way she was asking for comfort. He inched back in his seat, trying to regain a margin of personal space.
“You know who I am then,” Decker said.
“Sergeant Deckman, was it?”
“Decker. Very good. You must have heard a lot more than I thought. It’s good to see you talking, Miss Brecht.”
Her eyes glazed over. “Thank you.” Her voice was a throaty whisper. She flung hair over her shoulders. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“I didn’t exactly do that, but you’re welcome. Everyone treating you all right?”
“This hospital is dreadful.”
“Most hospitals are. Nature of the beast.”
“Well, let it be a beast for some other poor soul. I’m leaving tonight.”
Decker paused. “Dr. Kessler’s discharging you already?”
“I’m checking out either with a discharge or against medical advice. Freddy will take care of me.” Her eyes found his. “I understand you’ve met Freddy.”
“Yesterday while you were asleep.”
“He didn’t like your questions. He thought you had a hidden agenda.”
“Not at all. Just being thorough.”
“Freddy is distrustful. It’s a trait he’s picked up from Mother.”
“I hope you trust me enough to answer a few questions, Miss Brecht.”
Lilah lowered her eyes and nodded.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” Decker asked.
“It’s not the physical, but emotion …”
She burst into tears. Decker handed her a box of Kleenex and waited. Ordinarily, he might have patted her hand or shoulder. But something stopped him from touching this woman.
“I’m very sorry,” he finally said. “I really want to find the bastard who did this to you.”
“Bastards,” she said. “There were two of them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Only two?”
“Yes. Just two.”
“Were you asleep when they came into your bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear them come in?”
“Hear them?”
“Did they wake you up?”
She looked down. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
“Take your time, Miss Brecht—”
“Lilah!” she interrupted. “I’m sorry. Just … please. Call me Lilah. The … distance … the formality. I need to feel close to you. To be able to tell you … do you understand?”
Decker nodded.
“Do you have a first name?”
“Peter.”
“Peter,” she repeated, then looked away. “Do you do these kinds of interviews often, Peter?”
“I’ve dealt with many sexual-assault cases.”
“How do you do it?”
Decker raised his brow. “They’re hard on me, but not as hard as they are for the survivors. I get a good deal of satisfaction when I apprehend a perpetrator. I like putting bad people behind bars. And that’s what I’d like to do here. But to do that, I need your help.”
She met his eyes, then retreated. “I woke up … and then … this … something was on top of me, smothering me.”
“Literally?”
She shook her head. “There wasn’t anything over my face … just this horrible presence crushing down. And then the gun. It was … terrifying.”
“Did you scream?”
“I was in shock! Should I have screamed? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you acted perfectly—”
“I should have done something!”
“You did do something, Lilah. You survived. That was all you had to do and you did it.”
Again her eyes moistened. “You say the most perfect things, Peter. Thank you!” She grabbed his hand. “Thank you so much!”
That familiar grip. He waited a beat, gave her a light squeeze, then wriggled out. Her eyes held his for a moment, throwing him off balance. He looked down at his notepad. “Did you happen to catch a glimpse of either of your attackers?”
She closed her eyes and seemed to enter a trance. “I see them perfectly. The first one is slight, dark-complexioned, blue eyes, black hair, thick eyebrows, a mole right under his lower lip. High cheekbones, thinnish lips, prominent chin but no cleft, birdlike neck …” She opened her eyes. “You’re not writing. Am I talking too fast, Peter?”
Decker said, “I’m a little confused.”
Lilah looked puzzled. “How so?”
“Miss Brec—Uh, Lilah, you’re giving me a lot of detail—”
“Faces—as well as bodies—are my business, Peter.”
“I’d like to ask a police artist to come down. I want you to describe your attackers to him.”
“Certainly.”
“I’d
