She closed her eyes and searched her brain, trying to remember where she’d been before the accident and how someone would have access to the cup. “What if I got the coffee—left it in the car while I went inside somewhere—then this man broke into my car and put the drug in there?”
“Sounds possible, but where did this occur? Why were you in that neighborhood at that time of day? And who would want to drug you?”
She clutched her hands together, wishing she could come up with something. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“What about an investigation you’re working on? Maybe you made someone mad and they were getting back at you.”
“It seems to be the best explanation,” she said, “but I don’t remember anything about my current investigation.”
He arched an eyebrow, his posture rigid.
Fine. He didn’t believe her. She couldn’t change that. “Trust me, I want to remember everything about the accident. It’s awful not knowing what you should know.”
“I assume you’ll get up to speed on the investigation soon, and I’ll need to be read-in on it too.”
“My supervisor is coming by later to update me, and that won’t be a problem if you have the proper clearance.”
He grimaced. “Right. The Feds’ security clearance side step.”
“It’s not a side step. It’s a necessary part of our work.”
The door opened, and Patsy entered. Her footsteps faltered, and her gaze traveled between the men and Addy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
“It’s okay,” Addy assured her. “Feel free to do what you need to do. Blood pressure. Whatever.”
“It’s well ... I...” She took a few hesitant steps forward. “I don’t need todoanything. But we got the results back from the test you asked for.”
“The tox screen?” Addy’s heartbeat picked up. “Already?”
Patsy nodded.
“And?” Addy held her breath, and she saw Mack do the same thing.
“The test was positive for Rohypnol.”
“Roofies,” she cried out, her mind spinning as she tried to process the fact that someone had used the popular date-rape drug on her. “Someone roofied me?”
“Yes,” Pasty said between clenched teeth.
“So your accident was as far from an accident as possible.” Mack’s nostrils flared, and he clenched his hands. “Someone roofied you knowing full well that you were going to get behind that wheel. That’s as clear-cut a case of attempted murder as can be.”
Detective Palmere and Patsy had barely departed when a petite woman charged into the room, a laptop case swinging on a strap slung over her shoulder. Mack took in her black power suit and crisp white blouse. Her inky hair was straight to the chin and shiny, her eyes narrowed and intense. She might only stand a few inches above five feet, but she presented herself with confidence, and he assumed she was Addy’s supervisor. He was glad she’d finally arrived. Maybe now they would get some answers.
The woman looked up at Mack, then at Addy and back at Mack. “You must be the wayward husband.”
Mack didn’t like her tone but gave her a tight smile and held out his hand. “Mack Jordan.”
Harris grabbed his hand and pumped it hard as she rattled off her name and title. “Addy didn’t tell me you were in town.”
“I was still listed as her emergency contact,” he said, as if that explained everything going on between them.
Addy paled and looked at Harris. “You know about Mack? That we’re married?”
“You didn’t make a secret of it, so yeah. I knew.”
“So it’s true? He’s my husband?” Addy gaped at her supervisor.
“You don’t remember?”
