Slowly, Kate opened her eyes. Her head ached, and something about her midsection didn’t feel quite right, as though someone had punched her repeatedly in the stomach. The room that came into focus around her didn’t look at all familiar — white walls…black and white photos in black frames…a stainless steel torchiere lamp in one corner. Everything very clean and sleek and modern, and quite different from the pleasant jumble of colors and styles in her own apartment.
“Where…?” she began. “What?”
Jack Sandoval’s face, leaning down over here. “How are you feeling?”
“Like dog s**t,” she replied honestly, and he chuckled.
“Well, I can understand that.” She realized then that he was sitting on a metal folding chair that he’d placed next to the couch. “Do you remember anything of what happened?
