Free Sea Witch by Virginia Kantra Page B

your assailant. For all she
    knows, I raped you myself.”

    “Then she does not know you,” Maggie said.

    Her warm conviction filled a hole in Caleb’s chest he hadn’t realized
    was empty. Maybe he hadn’t imagined that moment of connection three
    weeks ago.

    He set his jaw. It couldn’t be allowed to matter. He had his job to do.
    They both had their jobs to do.

    “She’s trying to protect you,” he said.

    Donna thawed slightly. “For what it’s worth, there are no bruises or
    lacerations that would indicate rape. Of course, an internal exam might
    reveal more.”

    “But you don’t think so,” Caleb guessed.

    The doctor shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think. We both know
    hunches don’t hold up in court.”

    Maggie folded her arms across her breasts. “What about what I
    think? Or is that also not allowed to matter?”

    Caleb and Donna exchanged glances over her head. “She has the
    right to revoke consent,” the doctor said.

    Hell, he knew that.

    73

    That didn’t mean he couldn’t intimidate her. Persuade her. He had
    enough experience as a cop and as a man to coax an unwilling woman.
    But to do so now, in the face of the doctor’s doubts and Maggie’s own
    fierce certainty, seemed itself a kind of rape, an incursion of her body and
    her self.

    And for what? What was he trying to prove? That even though he’d
    let the guy who did this get away, he could help her somehow after all?

    Frustration gnawed his gut.

    “Seal the rape kit and do—whatever you have to. Whatever’s
    medically necessary,” he clarified, unsure if his decision made him a
    good guy or just a bad cop. “Is there a lock on your refrigerator?”

    The doctor nodded.

    “Good. I’ll pick up the kit in the morning. I don’t want any questions
    about chain of evidence.” If they even had any evidence, which he was
    beginning to doubt.

    “Photos?” Donna asked.

    “I’ll take them before you stitch her up.”

    Donna pursed her lips. “Is that all right with you?” she asked
    Maggie.

    She held herself as still as a deer in the woods, frozen on the point of
    flight. “What if I said no?”

    Easy, Caleb told himself. She had been poked and prodded and
    pressured enough.

    He shrugged. “Then I’d skip the pictures, and you’d have a real
    interesting scar there on your forehead.”

    “Scars are a sign of strength. Of survival.”

    She wasn’t serious. Or maybe she was. Memory stirred in his mind
    and in his heart. She hadn’t freaked out at the sight of the purple waffle
    weave on his leg.

    74

    “Mostly scars are a sign you got caught in the wrong place at the
    wrong time,” he said. “Let the doctor do her thing, and if you’re good,
    maybe she’ll give you a Wonder Woman Band-Aid.”

    Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Wonder Woman.”

    He smiled. “You want to hold out for SpongeBob, fine. But that’s
    my final offer.”

    Donna sniffed. “If you two are done playing doctor, I’ll finish here,
    and she’ll be free to go.”

    “Right. Thanks,” Caleb said.

    Maggie pulled her paper gown tightly closed. "Go where?”

    * * * *

    He woke on the floor of an empty room in front of a dead fire.

    The smell of ashes drifted from the grate and coated his tongue. Pain
    pulsed in his temples and flashed in his head. His body felt pounded,
    pummeled, as if he’d been in a fight, as if his internal organs, lungs and
    liver and spleen, had been worked over, rearranged, pushed aside to
    accommodate something alien.

    Like the mother of all hangovers.

    He had been sitting staring into the flames, sipping a fifteen-year-old
    single malt Laphroaig. The smoky sweet aftertaste lingered, roiling his
    stomach and burning the back of his throat. He could see his empty shot
    glass on the carpet a few yards away.

    He must have drunk more than he thought.

    He pushed with his arms and levered himself to his knees. Spots
    danced, black and bright, before his eyes. His stomach lurched. He
    swayed on