* * *
Dana tried another algorithm on Candy’s notes. This one she’d found on the Internet, and it had been somewhat helpful. So far, she’d partially deciphered a list of female CEOs who also ran nonprofits and were key to Candy’s story. The first was Margaret Jones, who ran a makeup empire and donated to cancer causes. She was out of the country for the next three months. The second woman was Phyllis Donald, who was a real estate mogul who donated to causes that benefited the elderly, and she was busy for the next two weeks. The final lead was to Theresa Rhodes, who was the CEO of a sporting goods company that spent tons of money on female start-ups. Dana called to set up an appointment with her and discovered the woman was out of town on sabbatical for the rest of the month.
Apparently the rich and very rich didn’t spend much time in the office. There was probably a lesson to be learned there.
She sat on Wolfe’s sofa with the kitten next to her and the dog at her feet. Roscoe chased something in dreamland, kicking and snorting every once in a while and completely ignoring the summer storm going on outside.
Rain slashed against the windows, and thunder rolled high and loud.
She couldn’t sleep, and she didn’t want to go back to Wolfe’s bed. Everything had just gotten too weird. She glanced at her phone and almost picked it up, but it was after midnight, and her mom would be asleep. Plus, what would she say? That she’d gone to a BDSM sex party with a friend, had gotten drugged, and then had had unprotected sex with the hot ex-soldier she’d been crushing on and had already had safe sex with?
The phone could stay in place.
Then it buzzed, and she leaned to read the face. Enough already. She clicked on the speaker. “Mike? Stop calling me.” Then she ended the call and turned off the phone. He had to knock it off.
Grumbling, she stood and walked into the office to stare at the whiteboard. She took a picture of Candy out of the file folder she’d set up and placed it on the board, drawing a line to Albert Nelson. Several lines cascaded out from him to different sources. She and Wolfe might as well work together since they shared Albert as a person of interest, even though their cases went in completely different directions.
The front door opened, and she stiffened.
It closed, and heavy footsteps sounded before Wolfe stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Connecting Candy to Albert,” she said, wanting to shuffle her feet. “What did you find out?”
“Guy named Frank Spanek had us drugged.”
She frowned, running the name around in her head. “Never heard of him. Why did he drug us?”
Wolfe lifted one powerful shoulder. “That’s the question I’m going to ask him the second I find him. I already called Brigid and asked her to do a deep dive, even though she’s kind of on vacation.” Something buzzed, and he drew his phone out of his back pocket. “The doc has answers and wants to know if we’re awake.”
Ha. Like she could sleep. “Call him.”
Wolfe pressed a button and then set the phone on the desk.
“Howdy. Figured you wouldn’t be sleeping,” the doctor said, his tone cheerful.
“Well?” Wolfe asked.
Papers rustled over the line. “I found a combination of MDMA, GHB, and ketamine in both of your systems,” the doctor said thoughtfully.
Dana’s knees weakened, and she leaned against the wall. “What is all of that?”
“Ecstasy, Liquid X, and Special K are the street names.” The doctor’s voice came over the line tinny.
Wait a minute.Dana’s head ached, but she focused in. “Aren’t a couple of those date-rape drugs?”
“Can be,” the doctor affirmed.
“I thought those drugs made people calm and lethargic,” she said, trying to remember what she’d read about them.
“They can, or they can have other effects such as euphoria and sexual arousal,” the doctor said. “They combine differently in different people, and the two of you are lucky to be breathing.”
Tension cascaded through the room, coming off the man staring at the phone three feet away from her. “Then we can assume the purpose was to kill one or both of us?”
“Maybe. Or the purpose was to kidnap one or both of you,” the doctor said. “It’s hard to tell, to be honest. Neither of you can remember if you only had a few sips or if you drank your entire glass down.” More papers shuffled. “Since you reacted by leaving the party, perhaps the person who drugged you didn’t get a chance to grab you.”
“Or they wanted us dead,” Wolfe said, his voice gritty.
“That could very well be the case,” the doctor agreed. “I think you should file a police report.”
