woke to her ringing cell phone. She didn’t check the number before answering.
“Moreno.”
Her voice was raspy. After her shower, she’d gone down to the bar to listen to music and drink, half hoping Bishop would be there, and praying he wasn’t. He’d left for good, and maybe that was the best for all concerned. Her life wasn’t prepared to have romantic entanglements. She’d been in and out of relationships until she met her fiancé (ex-fiancé), and after Matt, she wasn’t seeking any long-term anything.
“Hello?” she repeated into the phone.
“Scarlet?”
The voice was female but Scarlet didn’t immediate place her. She glanced at the number and didn’t recognize it.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Valerie. You came by yesterday and told me to call you. I haven’t been able to sleep much, and when I did, I had an awful dream, and I don’t know if it was real or not, but I’m scared.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and dressed. She didn’t want to call Bishop, but she’d promised if she learned anything, she’d tell him. And if Valerie had remembered anything, it would be best if he were there to take her statement.
Damn, damn, damn.
She punched in the number of his cell phone. Four rings later, his voice mail picked up.
“Bishop, it’s Scarlet. Valerie called me. She’s scared about something, a memory or a dream, probably nothing, but I’m heading to her apartment. You should be there.”
She punched end . She’d done due-diligence, but she wasn’t going to keep Valerie waiting while Bishop caught up on his beauty sleep. Or deliberately chose to ignore her.
It was barely seven on a Sunday morning and the streets were empty. It only took her fifteen minutes to drive to Irvine—a good start to the day.
She looked at her phone, no messages or missed calls. She wasn’t going to wait for Bishop to give her the green light—or tell her to stand down. She went up to Valerie’s apartment and knocked on the door.
The girl answered almost immediately, her eyes red from crying. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and said, “Thank you for coming over.”
Scarlet stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“I didn’t know who to call,” Valerie continued. “I’ve been trying Tessa and she hasn’t called me back. Do you think—do you think something happened to her, too?”
Bishop hadn’t told Valerie about her friend, and Scarlet didn’t know if she should say anything at this point. Even though Tessa and Valerie were friends, and Valerie deserved to know what had happened, it wasn’t her place. And Bishop might have had a reason to keep Valerie in the dark.
Instead, she sidestepped the question and said, “I called the detective in charge of the investigation.” She deliberately didn’t say murder because Valerie was too emotionally fragile and Scarlet needed the truth. “I don’t want you to be surprised if he shows up.”
“I don’t know,” Valerie began. She sat cross-legged on the couch and bit her thumbnail. All her nails had been nibbled off.
Scarlet sat on the same scarred coffee table she’s sat on yesterday. “What scared you, Valerie? Did you remember something about Friday night?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I had this awful dream last night. A nightmare.”
Scarlet wasn’t an expert on the aftereffects of date rape drugs, and Bishop had never told her specifically what Valerie had been drugged with. It really depended on the drug and the dosage on what a victim might remember. Some drugs, they remembered everything; others, they completely blacked out. Alcohol was a wild card, but usually worsened the effect of the drugs.
She prompted Valerie to continue. “I’m listening.”
“In my dream, I was crying.” Valerie tilted her head to look out the window and avoid Scarlet’s eyes. “On the beach. Tessa was there, and she was so mad at me, and I didn’t know why. It was like
“Moreno.”
Her voice was raspy. After her shower, she’d gone down to the bar to listen to music and drink, half hoping Bishop would be there, and praying he wasn’t. He’d left for good, and maybe that was the best for all concerned. Her life wasn’t prepared to have romantic entanglements. She’d been in and out of relationships until she met her fiancé (ex-fiancé), and after Matt, she wasn’t seeking any long-term anything.
“Hello?” she repeated into the phone.
“Scarlet?”
The voice was female but Scarlet didn’t immediate place her. She glanced at the number and didn’t recognize it.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Valerie. You came by yesterday and told me to call you. I haven’t been able to sleep much, and when I did, I had an awful dream, and I don’t know if it was real or not, but I’m scared.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and dressed. She didn’t want to call Bishop, but she’d promised if she learned anything, she’d tell him. And if Valerie had remembered anything, it would be best if he were there to take her statement.
Damn, damn, damn.
She punched in the number of his cell phone. Four rings later, his voice mail picked up.
“Bishop, it’s Scarlet. Valerie called me. She’s scared about something, a memory or a dream, probably nothing, but I’m heading to her apartment. You should be there.”
She punched end . She’d done due-diligence, but she wasn’t going to keep Valerie waiting while Bishop caught up on his beauty sleep. Or deliberately chose to ignore her.
It was barely seven on a Sunday morning and the streets were empty. It only took her fifteen minutes to drive to Irvine—a good start to the day.
She looked at her phone, no messages or missed calls. She wasn’t going to wait for Bishop to give her the green light—or tell her to stand down. She went up to Valerie’s apartment and knocked on the door.
The girl answered almost immediately, her eyes red from crying. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and said, “Thank you for coming over.”
Scarlet stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“I didn’t know who to call,” Valerie continued. “I’ve been trying Tessa and she hasn’t called me back. Do you think—do you think something happened to her, too?”
Bishop hadn’t told Valerie about her friend, and Scarlet didn’t know if she should say anything at this point. Even though Tessa and Valerie were friends, and Valerie deserved to know what had happened, it wasn’t her place. And Bishop might have had a reason to keep Valerie in the dark.
Instead, she sidestepped the question and said, “I called the detective in charge of the investigation.” She deliberately didn’t say murder because Valerie was too emotionally fragile and Scarlet needed the truth. “I don’t want you to be surprised if he shows up.”
“I don’t know,” Valerie began. She sat cross-legged on the couch and bit her thumbnail. All her nails had been nibbled off.
Scarlet sat on the same scarred coffee table she’s sat on yesterday. “What scared you, Valerie? Did you remember something about Friday night?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I had this awful dream last night. A nightmare.”
Scarlet wasn’t an expert on the aftereffects of date rape drugs, and Bishop had never told her specifically what Valerie had been drugged with. It really depended on the drug and the dosage on what a victim might remember. Some drugs, they remembered everything; others, they completely blacked out. Alcohol was a wild card, but usually worsened the effect of the drugs.
She prompted Valerie to continue. “I’m listening.”
“In my dream, I was crying.” Valerie tilted her head to look out the window and avoid Scarlet’s eyes. “On the beach. Tessa was there, and she was so mad at me, and I didn’t know why. It was like
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