“Male or female?”
“Male.”
“Adult?”
She nodded.
“Good. One adult male. Any chance he’s alive?”
She paused, unwilling to meet my gaze, and I felt my patience fracture.
Blake’s car engine revved impatiently outside.
“Now’s not the time to go shy on me, Faith.” I leaned forward, keeping my voice gentle but firm. “You don’t do this alone. Not for one minute. But if he’s alive and we’re sitting here, playing Twenty Questions instead of calling paramedics, the charges you’re potentially facing could be a hell of a lot worse.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Charges?”
“You were holding a bloody knife. There’s a man who’s eitherinjured, dying, or dead somewhere out there.” I gestured to her hands. “Connect the dots.”
She stared down at her crimson-stained fingers.
“I … don’t remember what happened.”
Every instinct I’d honed over years of criminal defense screamedwarning.
I studied her face, searching for tells. For the calculated look of someone spinning a story. Was she telling the truth? Or was I staring at my greatest nightmare repeating itself?
“TheI don’t remembercard …” I kept my voice soft, but my jaw clenched. “Trust me, it’ll backfire spectacularly.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t believe me.”
“Do you know how many people commit violent crimes and, when caught red-handed, suddenly develop amnesia?” I kept my tone steady, but inside, I was screaming, wanting to protect her from herself. “Let me paint you a picture of how theI don’t rememberscenario plays out,” I continued. “While you keep that information locked in your head, police will be gathering evidence. Evidence that”—I gestured to her blood-soaked appearance—“judging by your current state, will have your DNA all over it. The whole time we could be building a defense, we’ll be wasting precious hours with this amnesia thing. But then it’ll be too late to file the right motions, the right defense strategies. I can’t plead self-defense if I don’t know what happened.”
She stared at me like I’d slapped her. “I thought you would help me.”
“This is me helping you, Faith.” I moved closer. “Whatever you did, just tell me so we can get in front of it.”
I watched a fresh drop of blood slide down her cheek, and something in her expression—raw, broken, genuinely lost—made me pause. The way she held herself, the tremor in her voice when she said she didn’t remember. This wasn’t the calculated amnesia of a guilty person trying to avoid consequences. This was trauma.
Real trauma.
I took a breath and crouched back down to her level. “Okay.Let me try this differently.” I kept my voice steady, controlled, even though seeing her like this—her white dress soaked crimson, blood streaking her pale skin—made something primal twist in my chest. “I need you to listen to me.”
She sat, curled in on herself, like a broken doll, trembling fingers clutching the bloodstained fabric. The metallic scent hung heavy in the mansion’s air, mixing with her jasmine perfume in a way that made my stomach clench.
Time. We didn’t have enough of it.
“I know this is scary as hell,” I said, staying at eye level with her. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her green eyes, the way her pupils were still dilated with shock. “But right now, I need you to tell me everything you do remember. Fast.”
She shook her head, wild light-brown hair with auburn highlights sticking to the dried blood on her cheek. “I don’t … I can’t …”
“Anything, Faith.” I glanced toward the door, where Blake’s engine continued its low rumble. “From which direction did you run and for how long? Did you pass by any other people on the way?”
Every second that ticked by was another second closer to losing our window.
“I can call the police now to try and find the guy,” I continued, fighting to keep the urgency out of my voice. “They’ll follow your blood trail with dogs, but that takes time we don’t have. We need to get ahead of this.”
Her eyes flew wide, terrified. “I can’t go back.”
