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Detective Presley Parrish stared at the evidence spread atop her desk, willing it to talk to her. She had to be missing some clue to last week’s homicide case which had suddenly been dropped in her lap. The crucial first forty-eight hours had passed days ago without one solid lead. She needed to solve it before it was relegated to the dustbin known as the cold case files.

Presley was good at solving puzzles and connecting the dots. If there was a clue, she would find it. She had the original detective’s notes but wanted a fresh look at everything without bias before she read his conclusion. The first thing she would focus on was motive. Who would benefit from the death? That detail could mean the difference between capturing a killer or letting one roam free on the streets.

With papers spread in front of her, she dove in. Several suspects had been interviewed, including Jerry Newman, Bob Davis, and Rich Wingo. Each had an alibi, but how would they stand up to scrutiny?

“Parrish, can you come into my office?”

She glanced up, slightly irritated that she’d been interrupted. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked around the now-empty room. Everyone had cleared out while she’d been engrossed in forensic evidence, photos, and witness testimonies. Nice to be able to leave early, but they didn’t have a homicide to solve.

Someone cleared his throat, and she jerked her head toward the sound. Captain Ed Smith stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame.

Tamping down her frustration—it wouldn’t be wise to cross the boss—she pushed from her desk and stood. “Sure.”

As she walked by him, the punch of his aftershave almost knocked her over. He rarely wore it at work. In small doses, it would smell divine. The captain must’ve bathed in it.

Many women throughout the department thought he was handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair and chocolate-colored eyes. Some even swooned and fanned themselves when he walked by. Presley didn’t see it. He did nothing for her. Besides, he was married.

Captain Smith pulled out the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

She dutifully sat.

“Are you thirsty?”

Presley realized she’d worked through dinner. In fact, she didn’t remember eating anything other than the bagel she’d grabbed on the run for breakfast.

Before she could answer, he announced, “I’m going to get us something to drink from the vending machine.”

Irritation caused her to fidget, and she glanced around, trying to figure out why he’d called her into his office. Was he going to reprimand her for something? If not, she needed to get back to her desk. The murder wasn’t going to solve itself.

No papers cluttered his desktop, so he didn’t want her advice on an active investigation. Was he going to push her on the case she’d gotten—she checked her watch—three hours ago? Surely not. It wasn’t her fault the last detective had run into a brick wall and needed help.

“Here you go. I know how you like your Diet Coke.”

She took the bottle from his hand and tipped it to her lips. She did love the stuffandwould mainline it into her veins if possible for the caffeine hit.

Captain Smith chuckled. “You must’ve been parched.”

Presley glanced at the bottle, realizing she’d downed half of it. She discreetly hid a burp. “Sorry, Captain. I was thirstier than I realized.”

“Call me Ed, Presley.”

Um, what? He was asking her to address him by his given name? She couldn’t do it. Her first name sounded weird, coming from his lips. Everyone around the precinct called her Elvis. She hated it, but the more she complained, the more they harassed her. They even hummed “Jail House Rock” whenever she brought in a suspect. She’d learned to live with it.

“Your eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, like the sky on a clear day.”

Presley swung her gaze to Ed—no, Captain Aftershave—no . . . what was his name? She couldn’t think because the move had caused her head to whirl as if she were clinging for dear life on a playground spinner, waiting for it to stop. When it did, she blinked at him, but his features contorted like Jim Carrey’s face in The Mask . Oddly, his skin was the same shade of green too.

“Presley, have you eaten today?”

The captain’s mouth was moving, but the words sounded as if they were spoken at one end of a mile-long tunnel, taking their sweet time reaching her. Something about food or crude or nude—good grief. She hoped he wasn’t talking about getting naked. That thought made her want to vomit. So did contemplating eating anything. Her stomach rocked and rolled. Presley feared she’d be sick.

Not wanting to hurl in front of her boss, she pushed back her chair. “S’cuse me.” Lurching to her feet, she swayed as the world tilted and reached for something to steady herself. Instead, powerful arms wrapped around her.

“Woah, there, sweetheart. You don’t look well. I’m taking you home.”

Presley wanted to argue, but her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and she wasn’t sure she could walk, let alone drive. “Case, solve,” she managed.

“There’s more to life than work, Presley. Worry about it tomorrow. I’ll make you forget all about it.”

He removed her gun and the holster attached to her hip, placing them on his desk. Her badge was next, followed by the band securing her ponytail, causing her hair to cascade over her shoulders. Then his fingers sifted through the locks.

“So pretty,” he murmured.

Suddenly, the scent of aftershave was overwhelming, and she realized he’d tilted his head down to kiss her. Since her lips were numb, she couldn’t feel it. Presley jolted when his tongue slid into her mouth. Was that his hand caressing her breast—her naked breast? Surely not, except it was. He’d slid his fingers beneath her shirt. She didn’t want this, but her arms wouldn’t work to push him away. She had to stop him before he went too far.

“Captain Smith?”

He released her so quickly that she crumpled to the floor. A moan escaped her lips.

“Is Detective Parrish okay?”

“Uh, yeah. She’s not feeling well. She might’ve had too much to drink.”

Liar, a voice inside Presley’s head screamed. Half a bottle of Diet Coke hadn’t put her in this condition. The words refused to materialize.

“I’ll take her home.”

“No, that’s okay, Officer Deets. I’ve got her.”

“She lives close to me. I can drop her off and make sure she’s settled.”

Arms lifted her to her feet, but she wanted to stay on the ground. Maybe she voiced her protest. Maybe not.

“I said I can take her.”

“Not necessary. I’m off duty and was on my way home, anyway. It’s no inconvenience.”

She was led down the hallway, and the stench of Dior Men’s Sauvage grew fainter.

“Detective Parrish, are you okay?”

Her answer was her head bobbing to the side. Maybe a little drool too.

“Damn it. You’re not okay.”

Presley was shoved inside a vehicle. It smelled strongly of sweat and puke. She didn’t care. Curling on the rigid vinyl seat, she fell asleep. She woke when firm hands pulled her out and placed her on something that rolled. A siren wailed in the distance . . . or was that in her head?

The rest of the evening was a blank spot in her memory. She woke up in the hospital after having spent a night there that she didn’t remember.

“Detective Parrish, how are you feeling?”

Her lids blinked open to see an Asian man with kind brown eyes staring at her. “Muddled.”

“Rohypnol will do that to a person.”

That woke her all the way up. “I was roofied?”

“You were,” the man confirmed. “I’m Dr. Lee. I treated you yesterday evening when you were admitted.”

The last thing she remembered was buckling down to tackle a murder case. After that, there was nothing. “How did I get here?”

“A cop brought you.” He consulted his chart. “Officer Deets.”

“Did she tell you what happened to me?”

“No, only that she thought you had been drugged.” Dr. Lee dropped the file into a slot at the end of her bed. “Get some more rest, and I’ll release you later today.”

Presley wanted to argue that she was okay to go home now, but her body had other ideas. The next time she woke, the door opened, and Officer Deets stuck her head inside.

Presley scooted to a sitting position. “Helen, come in.” She figured they should be on a first-name basis since the woman had rescued her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still a little fuzzy, but better. I hear I have you to thank for bringing me here.”

“No problem.” She held up a phone. “I grabbed this from your desk this morning.” She placed it on the bedside table. “I didn’t find a purse.”

“Thank you, and I don’t carry one. Can you tell me what happened? Where did you find me?”

“You don’t remember?”

Presley shook her head and regretted it when it pounded. “My memory is wiped.”

“I saw Captain Smith, uh, with you in his office. I could tell something was very wrong. You don’t look like a drug addict, but I’ve seen too many overdoses.”

Presley detected a note of sadness in her voice. “Did the captain tell you what happened to me?”

“No. He said you weren’t feeling well, and he was going to take you home, but I thought it was strange that he was kissing you and, uh, feeling you up.”

Images filtered in her head. She recalled his warm hand on her breast, pinching her nipple.

“I told him I would take you since our apartments are close together.” Helen shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea where you live, but I knew you needed to go to the hospital, and in the spirit of sisterhood, I knew I had to be the one to take you. The captain thought you had too much to drink.”

“That’s not true,” Presley argued. “I was working on a murder case. Plus, they found Rohypnol in my system.”

Helen’s eyes widened. “You were roofied?”

“Yeah, but I don’t—”

The door swung open, and a man in a tan suit with a blue tie sauntered in. He wore sunglasses and sucked on a toothpick as he glanced around like he owned the place. Presley hated him on sight.

“Detective Parrish, is this a good time to talk?”

It was for him, seeing as how she was a captive audience, unfortunately. “Who are you?”

He flipped open a badge. “Rayburn, Internal Affairs.” He glanced from Presley to Helen. “You want to do this with a witness?”

She didn’t want to do it at all. Having a conversation with a member of the rat squad wasn’t at the top of her priority list.

“I need to get going, anyway. Glad you’re feeling better.” With a wave, Helen scurried out the door like her pants were on fire.

Presley frowned. What happened to sisterhood? She studied the man standing beside her bed as he removed his glasses. Average height with a slight paunch. His thinning gray hair was closely cropped, and his green eyes were laser-focused on her.

“Care to tell me what happened to you?”

“No.”

His brows narrowed. “No, as in you don’t care?”

“No, as in, I don’t know. My memory is wiped.”

“Allow me to fill in the blanks, Detective Parrish. Captain Ed Smith has filed a complaint against you.”

“What?”

Rayburn ignored her. “He said you two were working late, and you came into his office and hit on him. The captain rejected your advances and could tell you were impaired. He recruited,” he consulted his notebook, “Officer Deets to take you to the hospital.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Officer Deets didn’t bring you here?”

“She did, but I did not hit on my superior. And I certainly didn’t drug myself.”

“The captain said you brought two bottles of soda with you, and you must’ve accidentally imbibed the one you planned on giving him, laced with Rohypnol.”

“I didn’t drug anything, and I did not come on to my boss. Ask Officer Deets.” She pointed to the closed door. “She was just here. You might be able to catch her. She was the one who insisted I come to the hospital last night.”

“I’ll get to her, but I’m waiting to hear the truth from you.”

“I am telling it.”

“We found a baggie containing Rohypnol in your desk drawer. Care to tell me about it?”

Presley’s heart started to pound. “There is nothing to tell. That isn’t mine.”

“It was missing from the evidence lockup. Your name was the last one signed in.”

“I’m working on a murder case.”

Presley was getting a sinking feeling in her gut. Someone was setting her up. Rayburn said the captain told him she’d brought two bottles into his office. That wasn’t what happened. Bile rose in her throat. Ed Smith, the man she’d looked up to and admired, had flat-out lied. That meant he had been the one who’d drugged her.

“Did you fingerprint the baggie?”

“Working on it.”

They wouldn’t find hers. “I didn’t take it, nor did I put it in any drink. I’m being set up.”

“By who?”

“Isn’t that your job to find out?”

He scowled at her. “I’ve done my due diligence and found my suspect straight from the horse’s mouth, or in this case, the captain’s.”

“Did he tell you he kissed and fondled me?”

“He said you were the one who tried to kiss him.”

Presley was in a no-win situation. It was her word against Captain Smith’s, and she had no doubt who people would believe. She was hampered by memory loss. Helen Deets could vouch for how out of it she’d been, but what if the officer believed the captain’s side of the story that she’d planted the drugs? Oh, who was she kidding? Of course, everyone would believe him.

“Look, I’m going to save you a bunch of time and paperwork and submit my resignation, effective immediately.”

Presley shocked herself. She hadn’t planned on quitting, but it felt as if a tremendous weight had lifted from her shoulders. She wished she’d gotten the chance to solve the murder, but that would fall to someone else now.

Rayburn looked surprised. “So you’re admitting it? Huh. I thought you’d be one of those hard-ass women who blames others for their screw-ups.”

Presley clenched her jaw, wanting nothing more than to knock that smirk off his arrogant face. “I vehemently deny guilt. I did not take drugs from the evidence locker, nor did I poison anyone’s drink. You can be certain I didn’t accost my captain.”

“Then why are you voluntarily quitting? I hate to tell you, Ms. Parrish, but that screams culpability. An innocent person works to clear their name.”

“I refuse to stay at a place where I’m set up to be raped. Where I’m drugged and then accused of doing it to myself. That’s ludicrous. I thought IA looked out for the officers.”

He flipped his notebook closed and stuffed it in his breast pocket. “We do, and I did. I’ll need your badge and service gun.”

“I don’t have them.”

“What do you mean?”

Was he an idiot on top of being incompetent? She spread her arms. “I’m lying in a hospital bed. I do not have a gun stuffed beneath my pillow.”

“Where are they?”

“You’ll have to ask your best buddy, Captain Smith.”

Rayburn narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have any personal items from your desk boxed up. You can pick them up at the front window tomorrow.”

He turned and left without another word. Presley almost called him back as a bolt of panic shot through her veins. She’d just quit her job, the one she’d strived for since she was eleven years old. That was how old she’d been when her cousin Gwen died.

There was a reason she hadn’t shouted at Rayburn to stop. It was something she’d been thinking about for a while. Scrolling through her phone, she found the number for Luke Colton of CObrA Securities. She’d thought about applying for a job ever since she’d met him a few months ago. His business was the standard of security companies, and their reputation was stellar. Presley wanted to work for them, but she figured it would materialize in the future when she was done with police work.

It looked as if the future was happening now.