“So, someone else could have been there.”
Desperation colored her voice. “I don’t know. I’m trying so hard to remember.”
“You’re doing great.” I checked my watch again. “Just a few more questions, and then I’m calling 911.”
“I think it’s already too late.” Her voice broke completely. “He was so still. Not moving at all.”
The knife lay near us on the Persian rug like an accusation, blood dark on the blade.
Now for another huge, life-changing question.
“Whose knife is that, Faith?”
She stared at the weapon like she’d never seen it before.
“Faith.” I leaned closer, caught her chin gently with my fingers. Her skin was ice cold. “Stay with me. Do you remember having the knife before you went into the woods?”
“How could I have done this to someone?”
She was spiraling, her eyes welling with fresh tears.
I cupped her face with both hands. “Faith. Look at me.”
Those emerald eyes focused on mine, vulnerable and trusting.
“This is very important,” I said softly, my voice dropping to a soft, lethal whisper. “I need you to tell me … is that your knife?”
Her gaze flickered to the bloody blade.
Please say no. Please say it belonged to him, that you took it away in self-defense, that this whole nightmare has a clean, legal explanation.
“My foster brother bought it for me,” she whispered.
FUCKKKKKKKKKK.There it was. The worst possible answer.
I dropped my hands and stood, mind already shifting into crisis mode. Premeditation. That’s what the DA would argue. That she brought her own weapon. That this wasn’t some random attack; this was planned.
I’d need to establish why she carried that knife. If there was a history—past threats, a stalker, anything that justified her need for protection—it could reframe the narrative from premeditation to reasonable precaution.
I glanced at my watch again, mind racing through damage control. “Is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?”
“My head hurts so bad.”
“Okay.” I placed what I hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You did good. Now, I need to get you to the hospital to get checked out.”
I guided her to Blake’s waiting car.
“Take her to the hospital,” I told him. “Don’t let her say a word to anyone. Not. One. Word. Get her assessed for injuries, but don’t throw away any of her clothing. And make sure they photograph and document every single injury. Especially her headwound. I want it on record that she was attacked tonight, not just attacking.”
Before I could shut the door, Faith’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength. “You’re not coming?”
The panic in her voice shattered my ribs. She looked up at me, those wide eyes searching mine, and something fundamental shifted in my chest. Even covered in blood, even with her memory fractured, even facing possible murder charges, she looked at me like I was the only solid thing in a world that had tilted off its axis.
And, God help me, I wanted to be exactly that for her.
“Ryker.” My name on her lips was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of absolute trust. The kind of trust I hadn’t earned. The kind that terrified me because I wanted to move heaven and earth not to break it.
Yet I wasn’t sure what happened tonight either.
