“Smarts, huh?” Maggie’s face screwed tight with sympathy. “Pop a couple of those pills and you’ll feel better.”

Reminded of the money she had borrowed this evening to pay for those pills, she said, “I’ll pay you back on Monday.”

Maggie waved a hand dismissively. “Hey, you lost your purse. Pay me back whenever.”

Hardly lost. The vision of her purse lying in that dark alley flashed through her mind. She would have to go back in the light of day on the off chance her purse was still there. Tomorrow. When the sun was up. The alley wouldn’t look so frightening in daylight. The dog would be long gone. The stranger, too. Whoever he was, she owed him her gratitude and she hoped he got away unscathed.

Claire sighed. At the moment, she needed relief for her throbbing shoulder. Maggie must have read some of the pain in her face because she went into the kitchen, poked her head in the refrigerator, and resurfaced with a carton of juice. Shooing Molly, Claire’s cat, off the counter, she poured a glass.

“Here you go. Take one of those pills,” she ordered, extending the glass.

“Thanks.” Claire ripped open the pharmacy bag, glanced at the instructions, and popped a pill into her mouth, chasing it with a swig of juice. “I really need to wash up and change.” She held her blouse out from her shoulder in distaste.

“Why don’t I stay until you’re out of the bath and tucked in for the night?”

Accustomed to living alone and taking care of herself, Claire felt the stirrings of impatience. “It’s late. You’ve already done enough. I don’t think it’s necessary—”

“Hey.” Maggie raised a hand in the air to silence her. “I’m a mom. Let me mother. Besides, I don’t want you hitting your head and drowning in the tub.”

“All right.” She gestured to the kitchen. “There’s leftover Chinese if you’re hungry. I won’t be long.”

Closing her bedroom door, she moved into the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she gave the faucet a twist and let the water trail through her fingers until she was satisfied it was the desired warmth. A couple of bath oils. A swish of the hand. Relief was on its way.

Standing, she pulled her blouse from her waistband and moved before the mirror, watching as she gingerly slid her arms out of the sleeves and let her blouse flutter to the carpet like a wounded moth.

The severed left strap of her bra hung like a limp noodle. She gave it a disappointed flick. Ruined. Her areola peeked out from the sagging cup of the pink satin bra. Damn. It was one of her favorite bras, too. Her lingerie was the one area of her wardrobe where she permitted herself to be feminine and fashionable.