“You’re in the hospital,” the man said. “You were in a car accident and suffered a head trauma.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “Water?”

Someone held ice chips to my mouth, and I sucked greedily on the cold moisture, which trickled over my lips but didn’t nearly come close to satisfying my thirst. “That’s all I can give you for now. Baby steps. You’ve been through some trauma.”

Soft hands took mine in a firm, tight grip. “You scared the hell out of me.” Brit. “I thought I was going to be all alone.”

“No,” I said. “Too tough.”

Brit’s shaky laughter mingled with sniffles, and when I cracked my eyelids again, I saw the blurred image of my sister swiping away tears. Poor Brit. Always at my side when I was sick in the months after Mom died. And later cleaning up my self-inflicted messes.

A knock on my apartment door had me turning from the window and the city skyline. I sipped the seltzer, now tasteless and flat, and set the can on the counter. I checked the time, wondered who would come by so late.

I opened the door to Alan. He wore jeans, a worn Georgetown sweatshirt, tattered flip-flops, and tousled hair, all suggesting a long study session.

“I saw your light on,” he said. “I’ve been working and thought I’d take a study break.”

“What’re you studying?” I asked.

“Decomposition rates,” he said ruefully. “Evidence in an upcoming case.”

“Attorney?”

“Prosecutor.” He scratched the side of his neck. “Thought you might like a beer and some conversation. Tether me back to the living.”

His pickup lines were improving. “Sure.”

I closed my door, not bothering to lock it because the building was secure, and followed him the ten steps to his apartment. Entering, I found myself facing a wall of unpacked boxes.

“Excuse the mess.” He didn’t sound terribly upset by the chaos, but he seemed like the kind of guy who knew when to say the polite thing.

“No worries. It took me months to unpack.”

I glanced at diplomas leaning against a brick wall. University of Virginia. Georgetown. Smart. Skis leaned against another wall beside a road bike and a half dozen pairs of running shoes. “Tell me about decomposition rates.”

Clare had been in the elements four days, and the average daily temperature had been forty degrees. She’d been found lying facedown in the water, which had complicated the decomposition process. The parts of her submerged in water had turned black, but what had faced the air was bloated and breaking down.

He handed me a bottled beer. “You sure? Not a pretty subject.”