He realized he was sweating. Weird because the air had turned cooler, everything damp and slimy. Still, the mist felt good on his cheeks, washing the grime from the smoke-choked shack off of his face and neck.

Images dancing in his brain.

After they cleaned the blood off of Ruby’s face, Decker could make out intact bone structure. Her cheekbones seemed whole, her mandible as well, although it was impossible to assess hairline cracks on physical inspection. Her upper jaw seemed all right except for a few cracked teeth. Her nose had been broken, her lip was split, and her eyes had been swollen shut. She’d be hurting for a while, but with time and painkillers, she’d heal and heal well if her parents’ money hired the right doctor. Los Angeles was the capital of plastic surgery: capped teeth and rhinoplasty being so common as to be registered as mundane.

Her body had also suffered. The whip marks were visible as crimson snakes sidling through her back and abdomen. Welts and bruises had made a crazy quilt out of her thighs and chest. Her wrists and ankles had been bound when he had found her. Her hands had seemed okay, and although her fingertips had suffered from lack of circulation—pinkish white flesh holding nails polished glossy black—they’d probably recover. Her ankles had been tied with a thicker rope and her feet were bluish gray when Decker had loosened the restraints, but they had taken on a little color as they loaded her onto the gurney—a good sign.

As Decker swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, grit scratched his skin.

She was oozing semen and trickling blood from between her legs, suggestive of being penetrated by more than just a penis. As soon as the smoke thinned, the shack would be gone over, bit by bit, floorboard by floorboard. Lord only knew what they’d find. He thought of Jacob losing his virginity in that hellhole, and anger knotted his stomach. How could such a brilliant kid be so stupid!

Of course, intelligence was irrelevant when the groin was doing the thinking. And how common was that? There was never a man alive—gay or straight—whose dick hadn’t gotten the better of him. Sometimes that wasn’t a bad thing. His dick had led him to Rina. Still, it was his heart that had kept him there, blithely accepting things—like religion, car pools, and soppy movies—without rancor.

A sudden snap brought him back to planet Earth. His heart drummed against his chest, and his senses returned to high alert. With self-contempt, he recognized that his mind had been wandering. Now how idiotic was that?