Morgan separated Haley’s and Noah’s pictures and returned the other photos to her bag. “Did she trip because she was drunk?”

“I don’t think so. It looked like her heel got caught in the sidewalk. The guy looked OK. He helped her up, and they kept walking.” The bouncer leaned back. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Thank you for your time,” Morgan said.

Lance followed Morgan out the door. Outside, the cool night air felt damp on his face. “Everything the bartender and bouncer said agreed with Haley’s statements.”

“Yes, but no one has given us a single lead. Basically, we’ve verified information that either means nothing or supports the prosecutor’s case.” Morgan buttoned her coat, her movements jerky and frustrated. “What if we never find anything? Haley is too fragile to survive prison.”

“It’s early in the investigation yet.” Lance took her elbow in a firm grip. “We’ll keep digging.” He turned toward the spot at the curb where they’d parked.

“I know.” She blew a stray hair out of her eyes. “We’ll need to watch the surveillance videos from the club as soon as they come in.” Morgan took out her phone. “And I want to talk to some of Noah’s former girlfriends and see if they have any complaints about him.”

“You’re thinking maybe he got rough with her?” Lance asked. “Haley’s interview seems to suggest he did not.”

“Honestly, I’m stretching for possible theories. We have no evidence to suggest Noah did anything wrong. So far, we’ve found nothing at all to formulate a defense except Haley’s amnesia.”

A raw wind sent a pile of dead leaves scurrying down the asphalt. Morgan shoved her hands in her pockets. “And we don’t know what caused her memory lapse.”

Lance wrapped an arm around her shoulders to block the wind. “Or if she’s telling the truth.”

Haley could simply be lying.

Chapter Seventeen

“What have you done to me, Haley?” The whisper surrounds her. Its low tone and slow cadence slides along her skin, raising goose bumps. She can’t escape it.

No. That’s not the voice. It’s a physical substance. Liquid. Slippery and thick.

She startles, her stomach rolling.

Blood. It’s everywhere. On her. Around her.

Panic bubbles into her throat, burning like a carbonated drink. She gags, her stomach heaving. Her breaths wheeze in and out of her lungs. Not enough air. Not enough oxygen. She can’t breathe. Fear closes around her throat, choking her.

She tries to wipe her hand on her leg, but she is naked, and it simply smears across the skin of her thigh.

She looks down. A huge knife juts from her grip. Not a hunting or fishing knife. This one comes from a kitchen. It’s long and sharp, with a rounded blade.

A carving knife, she thinks.

Blood drips from the blade. How did the knife get in her hand? She doesn’t remember picking it up. Doesn’t want it in her hand now. Yet she can’t open her fingers to drop it.

Terror lurches through her. The room spins. Her legs weaken.

No!

I didn’t stab Noah. I didn’t.

I like him.

A groan vibrates through her lips. She wants to run away. To get help.

She turns, but she has no traction. Her bare feet slip and slide in the blood on the floor.

No!

She wants to scream, but the sound is trapped in her constricted throat.

Blood. Warm and wet, it coats her hands, drips from her fingers.

She begins to cry.

I don’t want to do this.

But it’s happening, and she can’t stop it.

It feels as if she is a character in a role-playing game and someone is controlling all her movements from a faraway keyboard. She could watch herself on the screen, helpless to change her course of action.

She shakes the knife from her grip. It hits the floor and bounces twice, landing in an expanding puddle of blood.

“You killed me.” The whisper slithers through the dark toward her like a snake. “My blood is on your hands.”

Noah . . .

Haley woke and jerked upright. Her throat opened. Air flooded her lungs. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the echo of her own heartbeats drowning out the voice.

She blinked in the darkness. A line of light glowed under her closed door. A shiver passed through her. She was soaking wet.

Blood?

Terror obliterated her senses. She sucked air into her lungs and released it with a scream that sounded nothing like her own voice. It was as foreign as the whispers from her dream.

The door burst open, and her mother rushed into the room. She slapped a light switch on the wall, and the room brightened. Fear opened her eyes wide.

Haley scrambled out of bed, the sheets twisting around her feet, tripping her. “There’s blood on me. Get it off.”

She fell to the floor, not feeling the impact with the hardwood as she kicked her feet to free herself. She had to get away. To get it off her.

“Haley!” her mother yelled.

“Get it off!” Haley tore at her pajamas.

“Stop.” Her mother crouched in front of her and took Haley’s face in both hands. “You had a nightmare. There’s no blood.”

The warmth of her mother’s palms on her cheeks seeped through the cold terror. Haley froze, staring down at her hands. They were clean. “But I’m all wet.”

“Sweat,” her mother said in a firm voice. “Your pajamas are soaked through.”

Haley touched her T-shirt. The wet cotton stuck to her chest and stomach. “Sweat?”

Her mom nodded.

A shiver racked Haley’s bones. She’d had a nightmare.

“It seemed so real.” She shoved damp hair off her forehead.

“Let’s get you in dry pajamas.” Her mom went to the dresser and rummaged through a drawer. She set a folded T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms on the nightstand. Then she helped Haley tug off her wet shirt and pull a fresh one over her head. Once she was dressed in dry pajamas, her mom helped her off the floor. But despite the firmness of her tone and actions, her hands trembled.

Haley wobbled, her legs muscles as weak as cooked ramen.

Her mom steered her toward a chair in the corner. “Sit here. I’ll get clean sheets. You’ll need a pill and some water too.”

Haley curled in the chair. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged her legs. A shiver started in her bones and shook her body. Her mom covered her with a soft blanket.

Mom bustled from the room, all efficiency and purpose. She returned in a few minutes, sheets tucked under one arm, carrying a tray loaded with medication, a bottle of water, and a bag of pretzels. “Try to eat some of these. You need the salt.”

Her mom changed the bedding. Haley took her pill and tried to sip the water, but her stomach rebelled. The dream had felt so real. Exhaustion swept over her in a cold shudder. She felt as if she’d just gone to sleep.

She checked the time on her computer. “It’s only four? I didn’t fall asleep until at least two.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do? Do you want some chamomile tea? It might make you sleepy.”

“No.” Haley shuddered. “I don’t really want to sleep after that nightmare.”

“I’ll bet.” Worry filled her mom’s eyes. “Want to watch TV?”

“OK.” Anything except lying alone in the dark sounded good to Haley.

Her mom handed her the remote control to the TV on the wall.

“All ready.” Her mom led her back to bed and tucked her in as if she were five instead of twenty-five. Haley didn’t mind. She lay back against the pillows.

Her mom fluffed the pillows and climbed into the other side of the queen-size bed. “What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t know.” Haley handed the remote over. “You pick.”

“Friends is binge-worthy.” Her mom changed the channel and dropped the remote between them.

Two episodes later, her mom’s breathing deepened into sleep. But Haley resisted. Rationally, she knew she’d had a bad dream. But the memory of it still lifted the hair along her arms in a chilling rush. She drank more water and sat up straighter. She did not want to sleep.