Chapter Six
Morning
I awoke to silence.
I lay on the couch for what might have been a long while, the itchy but comforting afghan tight against my chin, faint sounds slowly filtering through to me from various directions: a little street noise; the shuffle and bump of people waking up in the apartments immediately above and below; some, low-key, creaks, sighs, and gurgles from the building itself.
My mouth was dry, felt like it was full of cobwebs.
My eyelids were sticky.
My panties felt . . . crusty.
That was a panic I knew how to tamp down on: examine the data; review the evidence; jump to no conclusions.
What had happened?
Well . . .
Klaus’s apartment: that part came back clearly and quickly.
We’d been at a bar; I’d followed him home; there was something about an apple—
Hash
