Wolfe turned Dana, and she let him. As she stumbled next to him, the hallway tilted to the right, and the air felt like cement. “What happened to her face?” she asked, her ears starting to ring.

“I don’t know,” Wolfe said, holding her as they walked through the building and out into the rain. “I promise I’ll find out.”

Her knees gave as they exited the building, and Wolfe swept her up, striding through the rain and opening his door to sit in his truck. With the door shut, he cuddled her close.

She took a deep breath and broke.

* * *

Feeling helpless, Wolfe held Dana tight as she sobbed against his chest. Helplessness quickly turned into anger, but he held her lightly, careful not to bruise her. Rain continued to pound through the muggy night, splattering on his windshield, making the windows fog. He let her cry and patted her hair, trying to be soothing.

When the heat became too stifling, he gingerly started the truck and switched on the AC.

Still, she cried. Her entire body shuddered, breaking his heart. No matter what happened, he’d avenge her friend.

Finally, Dana’s tears subsided, and she rubbed her cheek against his chest. She looked up, her eyes the color of a misty meadow, tears streaking her smooth cheeks.

“I’ll find whoever did it,” Wolfe said, his voice throbbing with the anger beating like a club in his heart. “I promise.”

Dana nodded and gingerly moved off his lap as if she were a hundred years old. She pushed her hair off her wet face and fastened her seat belt, looking wounded and fragile on the large leather seat. “We need to find out how she died.”

Wolfe put the truck into drive. “Force is already trying to get updates and should have more information tomorrow.” He didn’t much care what kind of favors their boss needed to use.

He made a couple of turns and drove by a fast-food place. “You hungry?”

“God, no.” She looked out the window, huddled in the seat.

Four vehicles behind him, twin headlights followed, and had since they’d left the medical examiner’s office. He reached across Dana and drew his gun from the jockey box, setting the weapon on the seat next to him.

“What’s happening?” Dana turned to look at him, her eyes weary.

“Probably nothing.” He turned onto I-395 and merged with traffic, heading toward I-95.

The headlights followed.

Okay. He checked to make sure Dana’s seat belt was positioned correctly. “I need you to face front and put your hands in your lap.”

She did so without argument. “Want me to shoot?”