I helped her take a few sips; then she closed her eyes.

“Honey, what happened?” I asked. “Can you tell us?”

“Blood,” she managed, then sucked in a breath between hiccuping and shivering. “Blood.”

“Whose blood is it?” I asked warily, glad that I’d thought to wrap her in the blanket. The fact was, I had an unfortunate tendency to pass out at the sight of blood. It’s not my finest quality, and it was a testament to my love for Robin that I didn’t shriek and drop like a tree when I first saw her.

Robin ignored my question and stared bleakly at Derek.

“Robin, love, we’re going to have to call the police,” he said gently.

“No,” she whispered. She turned and appealed silently to me. She tried to reach for me, grab my arm, but she was wrapped like a mummy in the blanket. I watched her struggle for a moment before I thought to pull her hand free and grip it in mine. I refused to think about her bloodstained palms.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We won’t call the police.” I gave Derek a look that said, Not now, but soon.

He seemed to understand, and turned to Robin. “We won’t call the police yet, but you must try to tell us what happened.”

I helped her take another sip of water.

“Alex,” she uttered finally.

I thought for a moment. “Mr. Wonderful? The man you met at the Indian restaurant?”

She nodded slightly. “I… We… um, we went to dinner. Then he came back… to my place. We had some wine… and… you know…” She paused and met my gaze.

“Yes, I know.”

“Then… we went to sleep.”

“He spent the night at your house.”

She nodded, then signaled for more water. It was slow going, but she was beginning to come around. Her skin wasn’t quite so pale and damp, and her eyes seemed clearer than before.

“I slept,” she whispered. “I’ve never slept so well. It was… it was wonderful. So deep. Peaceful.”