“That doesn’t—” I stopped myself. Swallowed. Tried again. “The latch wouldn’t move.”
“I know.”
The memory surged up, vivid and immediate. Me yanking at the handle. The spike of irritation that had turned to fear as the heat pressed in. I’d told myself it was the boat. Old hardware. Something warped.
Not this.
“Someone…” My voice wobbled. I cleared my throat. “Someone locked me in.”
“Yes.”
The oxygen hissed steadily as my breathing sped up. I brought it back under control, one breath at a time.
The room was suddenly too small. The ceiling too close. My skin prickled as the rest of it sank in, fast and brutal. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw the flames consuming the boat. My temporary home. My last link to Gwen.
Asleep. I’d been asleep.
I’d queued up something mindless and let myself drift off without a second thought.
I could have died.
Something broke loose—not panic exactly, but a surge of emotion that had nowhere to go. My chest tightened, a sharp ache blooming beneath my ribs as the implications stacked up faster than I could process them.
Rios moved without hesitation. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in carefully, mindful of the oxygen line. I leaned into him, my forehead pressing against his chest, breathing him in—smoke and salt and something solid underneath it all.
His hand came up between my shoulder blades, firm and steady.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.
For a moment, I let myself believe that meant everything.
A knock sounded at the door.
Rios straightened but didn’t pull away entirely. “Yeah?”
The door opened, and Grant Willoughby stepped inside, still in his cop’s uniform. I hadn’t seen him since Willie Sanders’s apartment. Had barely even given him a thought.
His gaze flicked to me, to the oxygen, the IV, and the way Rios hadn’t moved more than a step away. Something crossed his face—surprise, concern, maybe a flash of something he didn’t quite manage to shove down.
“Madden,” he said, carefully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were this?—”
“Hi, Grant,” I said.
He nodded once, visibly pulling himself back into professional mode. “I need to take a statement.”
Rios’s arm tightened slightly.
Grant noticed. His eyes lingered there for a fraction of a second before he looked down at his notebook. “You’re the one who called it in,” he said to Rios.
“Technically, someone on the dock called it in while I was retrieving Madden.”
Grant blinked. “Right.” His tone softened as he turned to me, but there was tension under it, like he was bracing for what came next.
“Madden,” he said, “what do you remember?”
I took a breath and tried to filter through the haze still covering my brain. “I was working earlier. Research. Then I shut everything down for the night. I was watching TV in bed.” I paused. “I must have fallen asleep.”
The memory sharpened, dragging sensation with it.
