herself paralyzed, but a quick test of her legs beneath the covers assured her everything was in working order.
The fact that she was relatively uninjured did little to stem her rising flood of panic. She hadn’t imagined the odd exchange between Luke and the nurse, so what else could it be?
A gruesome thought popped into her head. “Did someone die?”
Avoiding her eyes, Luke massaged the back of his neck in an all-too-familiar gesture of reluctance.
My God, that’s it. I’ve killed someone! Her breath caught in her lungs as she waited for the answer.
“Yes.”
She recoiled. Around the lump of horror forming in her throat, she managed to croak, “Who?”
Luke turned away, his voice muted. “Judge Wainright.”
Judge Wainright? Why would Judge Wainright be in her car?
Cord whispered across metal.
Cassie’s gaze leaped to where Luke stood at the window, pushing aside the curtains to look at the predawn sky. She stared in alarm at his slumped shoulders while faint impressions brushed her consciousness.
Rain.
Shifting shadows.
Darkness.
Abruptly, before she lost her nerve, she spoke. “I don’t remember the accident. Tell me.”
“No accident.” Luke let the curtain fall back into place. “Murder.”
Light flashed across her memory. Light and the sound of thunder.
A storm. Yes—a storm! She’d been on her way to interview Judge Wainright… She remembered rain splattering her face as she hurried from the parking lot into the building.
Into the building?
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Something about the building. She gripped the bedrail, struggling to remember.
Shifting shadows.
The taste of terror on her tongue.
A flash of light.
Her gaze leaped to the door of what she supposed was the bathroom, strangely unsettled by the darkness beyond. And like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point, the string of impressions snapped.
Shuddering, she released the railing and stared at her open hand, unsurprised to see the imprint of the metal bar on her palm. She rubbed at the ache and took a shaky breath. “It’s all a blank.”
Luke took forever to settle into the room’s only chair, an eternity of time during which her anxiety level went up several notches. His guarded expression, when he finally raised his eyes, made her tense in anticipation.
“At approximately seven-thirty last night, a guard at the Justice Center called the police to report a homicide.”
She clutched at the sheeting. “Judge Wainright?”
Luke touched her fisted hand and nodded.
“How?”
For several moments she feared he wouldn’t answer. Head bent, he loosened her grasp from the sheet and, with elaborate attention, smoothed her fingers between his palms. His clumsy attempt at comfort only increased her apprehension.
“Please,” she pleaded.
His hands stilled. “A blow to the head. Something heavy enough to crush his skull.”
She’d thought she was prepared to hear the details. She wasn’t. Her stomach plummeted as an image of Thomas Wainright’s benevolent smile formed in her mind. “He called…left a message…”
Luke lifted his head, slipping into cop mode. “What about?”
“I don’t know. I assumed it was something to do with the series I’m working on. He’d been helping me—”
“What’s the series about?”
“Drug traffic—the new white-collar crime.”
Luke frowned, but didn’t comment. “Did you erase the machine?”
“There wasn’t time. I jumped in the car and—” She swallowed convulsively and gripped his hand. “He wasn’t there. At least, I thought—”
Something stopped her, an elusive scrap of memory that fluttered ghostlike on the edge of her consciousness.
“Tell me what you remember.”
“I heard something.” The tape holding the gauze in place tugged at her skin as she knit her brows, but the harder she tried to concentrate, the farther away the memory slipped.
“I can’t remember.”
“Take your time. It works better if you don’t try to force it.”
She recognized the tone. She’d heard him use it often enough on others. Accident victims and hysterical witnesses—they all responded to his quiet concern and spilled their guts. But Cassie had nothing to spill. No explanation. No insight. Nothing except a vast void.
And a lump on her head.
“We found you just inside the door to Judge Wainright’s chambers, unconscious,” Luke explained, his gaze fixed on her face as if hoping the telling would prompt her memory. “The attacker probably hit you with the same object he used on Wainright.”
The same object? With Wainright’s blood still dripping—
Cassie jerked her trapped hand free, then stiffened, tormented by fragmented images. Shifting shadows. A flash of light. Thunder.
“I don’t remember…” she whispered, fighting against a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Anything.”
If her response frustrated him, Luke was careful to hide it. His expression remained neutral as he leaned back in the chair. “Okay, Cassie. It happens sometimes. Especially with head wounds. Given time it’ll come back. Meanwhile we’ll see what we can get from the tape.”
His composure grated on her nerves. She hated the way nothing bothered him. She’d always hated it. No matter how bad things got, Luke remained calm and unruffled. Even when…Cassie turned her face away to hide the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes.
If only her head would quit pounding. If only she could forget the past as easily as she’d forgotten last night. If only…
She’d fallen asleep. Somewhere between protest and angry silence, she’d drifted away. Luke moved to the side of the bed, noting the dark smudges beneath Cassie’s eyes, the dried tear tracks on her cheek.
She whimpered and stirred restlessly. Without thinking, he brushed back the damp curls that clung to her forehead, and she stilled beneath his touch.
Vulnerable.
