“You don’t remember anything?” The young male reporter who asked that question looked so disappointed that I was tempted to make something up. Maybe this was his first job, and getting information out of me could put him on the map.

“I recall hiding in the dryer,” I said, instead. “My clothes were covered with blood. That’s about it, except—” I paused. Everyone waited expectantly, including Jolie and Greer. “Except that sometimes I feel as though I’m on the verge of remembering.”

Alex had apparently had enough of the paparazzi. He came striding down the driveway, still handsome, with his gym-fit physique and full head of steel-gray hair. His eyes were Mel Gibson-blue, and they practically took the skin off me.

“This,” he said, taking a possessive hold on Greer’s arm, “is private property. Harass Ms. Sheepshanks all you like, but get out of here before I have you removed!”

“Dude,” said the young reporter.

“Who are you?” asked a woman on the CNN crew.

“My name is Dr. Alexander Pennington, and you are trespassing. Clear out!”

Greer looked up at her husband in alarm, but she didn’t try to pull free of his grasp, and that bothered me. It looked as though he was squeezing her arm hard enough to leave bruises.

I took a step toward him.

“Can you comment on Ms. Sheepshanks’s case, Dr. Pennington?” asked some intrepid soul.

Alex’s gaze sliced to me, and it was so viciously angry that I stopped, between one step and the next, as abruptly as if I’d just run into an invisible wall.

“Yes,” Alex spat. “She’s a liar and a cheat. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d gunned her parents down and blamed her brother!”

“Alex,” Greer whispered.

He released her with such force that she almost fell. Stormed back up the driveway, got into his Mercedes and roared toward us at top speed. Everyone scrambled to get out of the way.

The reporters recovered first.

They thrust cards at me, from every direction.

“Call if you remember anything.”

“We’d like an exclusive.”

I didn’t take the cards, but Jolie did. She shoved them into the side flap on my purse.

“Please go,” Greer said, watching as Alex’s Mercedes raced along the road below, practically fishtailing on the dry pavement. I think she was talking to the reporters, but she might have meant all of us.

“Stay here with Greer and me,” Jolie pleaded, catching hold of my hand.

“Not a chance,” I said. “I need a ride back to Tucker’s place, so I can pick up my car. Then I’m going home to the apartment.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Jolie protested, but I could see in her eyes that she knew I wouldn’t give in.

Greer, a beat or two behind, nodded agreement with what Jolie had said. She looked shaken and gray.

“I need to be alone,” I said.