Sleeping Beauty Suspect

Her glare should have been registered as a weapon. He held out pacifying hands. “I gather that wasn’t a trick question? Okay, look, before you get a crick in your neck staring up at me, have a seat. The furniture may not look like much, but it’s comfy.”

To prove it, he went over, set her water on the coffee table and plopped down on the recliner, praying she wouldn’t scoot out the door. After a moment’s indecision, she came and perched on the edge of the chair across from him.

Now that he had enough light to study her features, he saw that circles darkened those striking eyes. A furrow was etching itself between her eyebrows. He put her age in her early twenties and revised it up a notch after considering her for a moment.

“Were you doing drugs?”

“What?!”

Outrage started her coughing again. He got up and handed her the glass.

“Sorry. That was the speculation I heard at the hospital. I take it you weren’t doing drugs?”

“I don’t…use drugs,” she got out between coughs. Her outrage was too genuine to be faked.

“Got it. Didn’t seem real likely. I mean, why get all dressed up to go to an abandoned house and mess with something like that?”

Flynn averted his stare from the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled for breath. He waited while she got the coughing under control.

“How did you come to be inside that house?”

In answer, she shook her head. The hint of fear he’d glimpsed at the hospital again lurked in the silvery blue of her eyes. She was definitely scared and trying not to let it show.

“Okay, let’s come at this from a different direction. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Getting ready to go to bed.”

“In an evening gown?”

She managed a scowl before concentration pleated her forehead. “I came home after the party. I was having a glass of wine. The doorbell rang.” She stopped. “I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Nothing?”

“Why would I make that up?”

“Okay, relax. If you get all worked up you’ll start coughing again. So you came home after some party.”

“My father’s sixtieth birthday party.”

He nodded. “Alone?”

She offered him a troubled look. “A…friend dropped me off.”

Flynn wanted to ask about her “friend,” but decided not to press his luck. For some reason she aroused his protective instincts and he suspected she wasn’t the type to appreciate that. He got the distinct impression that she was used to taking care of herself.

“So you were having a glass of wine and someone rang the doorbell. You went to answer it and that’s the last thing you remember?”

She nodded. It didn’t take a genius to see she was straining to remember more.

“Are you prone to seizures?”

The glare was hot enough to sizzle. Flynn spread his hands. “Hey, I had to ask. What about dizzy spells?”

“No!”

“How much wine did you drink?”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Her eyes darkened along with her scowl. “I didn’t come here to answer questions.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I wanted to know what you saw.”

“Smoke, mostly.”

She stood. “You can’t help me.”

“I did save your life today,” he challenged mildly without rising.

She hesitated and inclined her head. “Yes, you did. I wanted to thank you.”

“No problem. That’s why the county pays us the big bucks.”

“They do?”

He grinned. “Nope, but we live in hope.”

She didn’t seem to know how to handle his teasing.

“Your bruises, are they from when you fell through the roof?”

“How did you know about that?”

“The entire rescue was on the news.” She sounded disgusted. “That’s where I got your name.”

Scellioli!

Sally had told Flynn there was video footage. “Well don’t you think a rescue justifies telling me your first name? Last I heard they were calling you Sleeping Beauty. While it’s catchier than Jane Doe, it’s not a moniker I’d want.”

Her skin darkened with color. She started to cough again. “Come on, Beauty, we can work on the name thing in the kitchen. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Don’t call me that!” she managed to gasp out between coughs.

“I didn’t coin it,” he protested, “and believe me, it’s better than what the guys at the station house are going to settle on me. They’re merciless. Do I look like a Prince Charming to you? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.”