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“I tell you what—this is the exact reason I have never been able to accept Georgiana’s line of work. Just look at what happened tonight, would you? She could have been killed, for heaven’s sake, and for what? It doesn’t make much sense to solve a person’s murder if you get yourself murdered in the process. As soon as Georgiana wakes up, I’ll tell her as much. It’s time she stopped this nonsense.”

My eyes flashed open, coming to rest on the woman who’d been airing her unsolicited opinions—my mother. She was standing with her back to me, hands on her hips. In front of her was Giovanni, who looked like he was at a loss for words, which, for him, was uncommon.

He didn’t seem to know what to say. Or maybe he did, and he’d decided it was better to keep quiet, give her time to calm down.

Either way, my head was throbbing, and I was in no mood to deal with her theatrics.

“Mom,” I said. “Let’s not talk about this right now, okay?”

My mother whipped around, shuffling my way, then collapsing over my body, throwing her arms around me.

“Oh, my dear, you gave us such a scare,” she said.

“Everything’s going to be all right. I’m fine.”

I told myself I was fine, at least.

I attempted to smile at Giovanni, but given the numbing sensation I was feeling on the right side of my face, I imagined the expression I made was more clownlike than cheery.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back in Cambria until tomorrow,” I said.

“It is tomorrow, cara mia . The moment I received word about what happened to you last night, I flew straight home.”

What did he mean, it was tomorrow?

It seemed like hours had gone by, not a whole day.

I turned toward the window and noticed the sunlight’s attempt to dance its way through the cracks and crevices of the shuttered window blinds.

Given what I was wearing and the sterileness of the room, I was in the hospital, though I had no recollection of how I came to be there.

“How long have I been out,” I asked, “or asleep ... or whatever?”

“You had minor surgery,” my mother said. “On your head.”

“I did?”

“You sure did, and then one of the nurses gave you something for the pain, and something else to help you sleep, and you’ve been out ever since. No doubt you needed the rest. Maybe it will help you get your head on straight and rethink your career choice.”

“Mom ... not now, okay?”

“If not now, when? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“Everyone else ... like who?”

“Now, let’s see ... in the waiting room is your stepfather, of course, your Aunt Laura, your sister, and Foley and Whitlock.” She tapped a foot to the floor. “Who am I missing? Ahh, yes. Simone and Hunter are there too.”

“It’s just a little bump on the head,” I said. “I don’t know what everyone is getting so worked up about.”

My mother huffed an irritated sigh, looked at me, and said, “A little bump on the head? I should think not. Here, sit up if you can. I want to show you something.”

I propped myself up a bit more, which didn’t make much difference, watching as my mother fiddled inside her purse. A moment later she pulled out a compact mirror, opened it, and turned it in my direction. At the same time, Giovanni reached out as if trying to intercept the mirror before I had the chance to see my reflection, but she was determined—and, therefore, a lot faster.

As my reflection came into view, I leaned closer to the mirror, assessing the damage, and there was plenty of it. The side of my head where I’d been struck had been shaved, and a five-inch gash remained. It had been stitched up, making it look even worse.

“Does that look like a little bump on the head to you?” my mother asked.

“I ... I don’t know what to say. I remember being attacked, but I had no idea I was hurt this bad.”

Giovanni stepped in front of my mother. “You can put the mirror away now, Darlene. I believe Georgiana’s seen enough.”

“I ... well, I just wanted to make sure she understands the extent of her injuries.”

She snapped the compact closed, slipping it back inside her purse, looking sheepish. Her cheeks were flushed, tinged with red, no doubt in reaction to Giovanni’s tone. While he’d always respected her, his respect was secondary to his protectiveness of me. His tone had conveyed a clear message—she’d pushed me enough for today.

He faced me, entwining his hand with mine. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

It was fuzzy, at best.

“I remember locking the office door and walking to my car,” I said. “I’m almost always aware of what’s going on around me, but last night, I was in my head, instead of focusing on my surroundings like I should have been.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t. I put myself in this situation by taking this case. I’m supposed to be ready for it, ready for anything, and I wasn’t.”

He winked and said, “A fall into a pit, a gain in your wit.”

“Chinese proverb?”

He nodded. “We learn from our mistakes—not that I’m saying you made one.”

“You’re right. I didn’t make one. I made several.”

A woman ambled into the room, humming as she carried a tray of food. My mother held out her hands, intercepting the tray before it reached me.

“Just stopping by to bring Miss Georgiana some lunch,” the woman said.

My mother took one look at the tray’s contents and scowled. “Ehh, thank you.”

The woman nodded and left the room, at which time my mother tossed the entire tray of food into the trash. Before I could get a word out, she grabbed an insulated bag off a coat rack and unzipped it, pulling out an egg-based Buddha bowl. I had to admit, it looked delicious.

“Your Aunt Laura made this for you this morning. Still warm too.”

She handed it to me along with some silverware, a napkin, and an orange-flavored drink with electrolytes. I accepted the offerings, setting the items to the side until I finished the conversation.

“As I was saying before, when I got to my car, I tossed my handbag onto the passenger seat. I was just about to get in when I felt someone’s breath on the back of my neck.”

“Did you get a look at your attacker, by chance?” Giovanni asked.

“I didn’t, and because my gun was in my handbag, I had to think fast.”

“What did you do?”

“I headbutted my attacker, slammed the back of my head onto him as hard as I could. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“You said your handbag was on the passenger seat?” Giovanni asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“When Foley and Whitlock searched your car, they didn’t find a handbag.”

The thought of my bag being stolen infuriated me.

First, I hadn’t had the chance to go over the file Barbara gave me. Now, the file was gone, along with what could be valuable clues relating to Noelle’s murder.

Second, the stolen handbag was a vintage Chanel tote, one that had belonged to my grandmother.

“Do you know why anyone would take your handbag?” Giovanni asked.

I made one more attempt at sitting higher up in the bed, and I was a lot more successful the second time around. “I do. I had two important file folders inside the bag. One contained everything I’d gathered about the case so far—all my notes. I was planning to go over the case file last night to see if there were any clues I may have overlooked.”

“And the second?”

“Noelle hired a private investigator to find one of the women who’d visited the women’s center and then disappeared. The investigator she hired couldn’t find her, but he still put together a file on his investigation. That was in my bag too.”

“What’s this about a woman?”

I turned, noticing Foley had entered the room.

“I went to the women’s center today ... I mean, yesterday, and I spoke to Barbara. She’s worked as the manager of the center ever since it opened. Barbara told me about a woman named Dawn who arrived at the center in bad shape.”

“How bad of shape are we talking?”

“She’d been severely beaten. They were trying to get her to talk, to tell them what happened. I think the pressure of admitting what happened and who hurt her was too much, and she fled the center. No one has seen her since. Noelle was worried about Dawn, so she hired a private investigator to find her.”

“Why would Noelle get involved to such a degree?” Foley asked. “From what we’ve been told, it wasn’t like her to do that—for her own security.”

“I believe there’s a connection between Dawn and the reason Noelle was murdered. What’s more, Noelle told Zoey she recognized Dawn. She’d seen her before at the tennis club before she was assaulted.”

“Did Zoey say anything else?”

“There was an argument in the club parking lot between Dawn and someone else, but we don’t know who Dawn was arguing with, or why.”

Foley ran a hand across his bald head, his expression one of shock and amazement. “Well, Georgiana, I think you’ve made the biggest breakthrough in the case so far.”

“I do too. I just wish I had that file.”

“Yeah, there’s a good chance it was taken for a reason.”

“If my attacker thinks taking it will change anything, he’s mistaken. I know the name of the private investigator she hired. As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to go see him.”

“Do you think you were attacked because of the file Barbara gave you?”

“I think it’s a combination of things. Someone is trying to send me a warning. And they either wanted to get their hands on the file in the process, or they were trying to find out how much I know. Ask me, they’re scared, which tells me, we’re getting close to nailing this guy.”

Foley leaned against the wall. “You were hit by a blunt object of some kind. If you blacked out, your attacker could have finished the job. Wonder why he didn’t?”

My mother raised a finger. “Haven’t you spoken to Simone yet?”

“No, she was on the phone when I got here,” Foley said. “Why?”

“Simone left her phone in the kitchen at the office last night, and she went back to get it. When she turned into the parking lot, she saw someone in a hoodie standing next to Georgiana’s car. He looked toward her, and then he took off. When she pulled up next to the car, she saw Georgiana. By then, the guy was long gone.”

“I hurt him when I slammed into him,” I said. “I know because he groaned. I’m not sure how much of an impact I made, though.”

“Did you get any indication as to his size?” Foley asked.

“He seemed taller than me. When I rammed into him with my head, it felt like I’d hit his chest, and I was in two-inch heels, so that would make him at least six feet tall, I’d say.”

“Good to know.”

“As soon as I’m given the green light to get out of here, I plan to speak to every person who has ties to the tennis club, try to dig up possible motives for Noelle’s murder.”

Wagging a finger in the air, my mother shook her head. “Oh, no you’re not! No, siree! You need rest and lots of it. It’s time you left the policing to Foley and Whitlock. Let them catch this guy.”

Not wanting to incite an argument while Giovanni and Foley were in the room, I said nothing, my inner dialogue telling me what I couldn’t tell her—Noelle’s killer may have slowed me down, but he hadn’t stopped me.

The next time he came for me, I’d be ready.